Beano’s

Dear Elena,

Your cough woke up this morning a few minutes before 5 AM. I am grateful that you quickly rolled over and went back to sleep. I could have easily done that, but today will be a busy day with Dad still in Iowa and Mama not having her co-teacher, so I can take a break to write today’s slice. So now it’s the best time for it.

I stared at the screen for a bit, waiting for an idea to come out of hiding, but they must have rolled back to sleep with you. So, I decided to pull out a memory from my time living in Egypt. I want you to hear so many stories, girly.

I love the “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” pattern my mind goes to when I start writing without a clear path. It begins with the 5 AM brightness of the clock on my right side; then, I crave some coffee. I wonder if I should pause this to make some, or perhaps buying one on the way would be better. If that fails, I can get some of the not-so-bad coffee from school. That’s when I remember Beano’s.

In my first year, I lived on road 210. Two blocks away from school, one block away from a small grocery store, and four blocks away from a coffee place called Beano’s.

Going there every Saturday morning to meet Trillian for breakfast became a nice tradition. I’d walk past the pharmacy, across the dog Midan, and waved hello to one of the security guards from school on the corner of 253. Past the underground store and dusty yellow house was Beano’s, a small coffee shop hidden between two buildings—always packed with locals, foreigners who lived in the area, and sleeping dogs on top of old and broken cars.

Their coffee is still, by far, my favorite. I don’t know what it was because I’m no coffee expert. But something about its toasty aroma and mellow bitterness made it addictive and reassuring. I even began drinking iced lattes there. And Elena, Mama always shook her head No to the idea of cold coffee.

I mostly loved walking to Beano’s because of the people working there. They were in no rush but quick to greet every customer and wish them a good day. Omar was there almost every morning, with his long apron and curly hair. I remember asking him once why they didn’t open until 7:30 on weekdays and seeing his confused and nervous face as he tried to explain that they had no need. I knew that if I wanted a Beano’s coffee before work, I’d have to be okay with walking past Wayne (our head of school), holding that orange cup of Beano’s, and feeling like I was perhaps a bit late to work. But sometimes, Elena, it was so worth it.

Beano’s was a place to relax on Saturdays and grab a delicious coffee. No rush.

Maadi was a place to embrace the lateness of everything. No rush.

Egypt didn’t slow down, but I learned to adapt to different rhythms. Like yours every morning. No rush.