May 17, 2007
259 Words
May 17, 2007“Signor d'Amato,” the desk clerk said to me as I returned from the terrazza. He was not on duty when I checked in that afternoon and he smiled broadly when he recognized me.
“It's so good to see you. How have you been?”
I just nodded without a spoken reply.
His smile faded, though just for a fraction of a second, before returning to his face with a bit of effort.
“Si, Umberto, I'm back,” I said. It was a joyless response.
“It's been, what, a year?” he continued.
“Sì.”
The frown returned to Umberto, and held there.
“Still looking?” he asked.
I stared back at him, but said nothing. I confronted this question in my mind on a daily basis, but when someone else asked the same thing, it was hard for me to know how to reply.
Umberto fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, as we both considered what to say next.
“It's warm today,” he offered weakly. “The beach is warm. I think you would like a few hours by the water.”
He sounded like a therapist trying to find a solution for my momentary comfort.
I stared blankly at the floor, then slowly nodded, chin slightly bobbing to indicate my acceptance of Umberto's suggestion. It was true I could use some down time, maybe under the warming rays of the sun on Positano's stony beach. As long as I could set aside my thoughts and close my eyes for a while.
As I turned to leave, I could see that Umberto raised his chin, sighed slightly, and stared at me as I exited the lobby.
- Writer
