The Umbrella

This week, a dose of fiction to mix things up a bit more on 'Coffee, TV & Me'

Flash fiction is a writing exercise where you take a photo and just start writing with no huge preconceived notion or plan with the goal being roughly 1000 words and not stopping for any self-editing. I’ve been experimenting with writing fiction again so I started with a photo that I took years ago when I was on a work trip to Florence, Italy in 2013. We have the photo hanging in our home so it’s one that I look at often. You’ll see it at the end of the following story. (FYI, I did take one pass at the original doc and lightly edited it so it may still be a little rough but that’s okay, right?)

The Umbrella

The rain was inconvenient on this March afternoon in Florence, Italy but luck was with Sam that day even if he didn’t know it at the time. He’d merely been enjoying his only free day during a jam-packed work trip to Florence with a cup of coffee and his book in the inviting corner café not far from his hotel. The others who had also been on the work trip chose to take a tour bus to the nearby wineries for the day but Sam instead desired a lowkey day just to wander Florence on his own schedule. Being a journalist, Sam loved his always bustling work but knew when booking a busy trip like this one that he’d have to carve out time to wander with no pre-determined schedule or a deadline he needed to fulfill.

But then, under the café awning shielding him from the light rain, he was half way through his Americano when Sara rushed into the café with navy blue tote bag hanging off a shoulder as she closed her purple umbrella, shaking any excess water as she immediately went inside. Sam noticed her (of course he did – she walked with purpose yet didn’t appear stressed and presented an expression of contentment on her determined face, or that’s what Sam gathered in the quick flash in which he saw her) but when she went inside, he went back to his book, which was Pat Conroy’s The Prince of Tides. It was a favorite of his and one of the few novels he’d read more than once (this time was his third, a first for him) but he saw it in the lobby of the hotel where they encouraged guests to borrow the books and return them before check out. It was an invitation he couldn’t pass up especially on a rainy day.

Suddenly Sara came back outside to the patio of the café and sat at the table slightly to the right and in front of Sam. (And, to be clear, he didn’t know her name was Sara quite yet but it wouldn’t be long before he’d find out). She was focused on her phone, quickly typing a text more than likely or maybe an email she needed to send before she could truly relax. She uttered “grazie” without looking up when a waiter set a white coffee cup on a saucer in front of her as well as a small white plate with a pair of small chocolate scones. As she kept typing, Sam wondered who she was meeting and if she was texting someone about being late or maybe letting whomever she was meeting that she was early and was seated outside. Her initial trip inside the café could’ve been to make sure whomever she was meeting was not already there. Whichever the situation, Sara finished her typing and put her phone in the tote bag that she then draped over the back of her chair.

She took a sip of her coffee and looked out at the plaza which lay in front of them as the cafe was popular amongst tourists because it gave you a great view of the goings on – rushed traffic, urgent taxis, the occasional bike rider, and wide-eyed tourists on foot soaking up the stunning views of the inviting historic city. It was when she shifted the angle of her chair to her left that the tote bag on the back of her chair fell to the ground. Its drop coincided with a taxi honking its horn so Sara didn’t hear the sound of her bag hitting the ground.

Sam waited a moment to see if she’d notice the bag had fallen but once her chair was adjusted, she took another sip of her coffee and then broke off a corner of her chocolate scone letting Sam know she didn’t realize about her bag so he leaned forward, assuming he’d be in her peripheral vision. “Excuse me,” he said, not too loud but loud enough that she’d hear him. She looked over her shoulder and raised her eyebrow. “Your bag fell,” he said, pointing towards the ground.

She turned her whole body and saw it, reached for it but grabbed it in such a way that the contents fell onto the concrete beneath them. She sighed but casually put her phone, a lightweight jacket and her light-purple umbrella (inside a plastic umbrella sleeve she must’ve gotten inside) back in the bag. “Thanks so much,” she said, giving away that she was also American. Sam nodded and said, “No problem.” He tried to appear casual as he went back to his book since his older sister, Margaret, had taught him not to come on too strong when he met a new woman. “It’s such a turn off when you can just see their hunger the minute you say ‘excuse me’ or ask if you can have a sugar packet because your table didn’t have one,” she’d told him years ago.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to worry since it was Sara who pointed at the book in Sam’s hand. “I love that book so much,” she said, smiling. “I saw the movie first but I’m so glad I read the book after. There’s just so much more to it and Pat Conroy is one of my favorite writers. Are you enjoying it?”

Sam made sure the bookmark was in the book before he gently closed it in his hands. “It’s not my first time reading it but I’m probably enjoying it more this time,” he said. She leaned in slightly, which he took as an invitation to keep going. “I first read it the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in college. The whole tortured family looking back on the past that helped shape who they are in the present. That spoke to me. And then Conroy’s writing is just beautiful.”

“Now you’re making me want to read it again,” she said, smiling, when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the phone to see who was calling. “Oh, I need to get this, it’s my….” She didn’t finish the sentence and answered the phone. “Yeah, I’m at the café….no, we said the café near the…(she sighed, slightly perturbed)…it’s okay, I’ll come there. See you in ten minutes.”

She hung up the phone and stood. “I have to go but I hope you enjoy the book.” Sam smiled, unable to hide his disappointment at her leaving. Was he crazy or did she look a little disappointed, too?

She pulled some money out of her purse and laid it on the table. She took the second half of the scone and handed Sam the plate with the second scone? “Will you eat this?” she said. Sam nodded with a grin and took the plate.

“Sorry you have to go,” he said, ignoring Margaret’s voice to play it cool. She nodded and gave him the kind of warm, engaging smile you don’t forget, the kind you never want to forget. It was the kind of smile that makes you feel a warm glow and given the Florence backdrop, you can see why people probably fall in love here every day.

Sara scanned the table one more time to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything and gave Sam a wave. “Have a good rest of your day,” she said. Sam rose out of his chair slightly and stretched out his hand. “I’m Sam,” he said. She paused, took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze and said, “I’m Sara.” They both waited for more so Sam said, “I’ll be here tomorrow at the same time if you, I don’t know…”  She smiled but didn’t say anything else before she turned to go. Sam watched to see if she’d turn back but then he laughed at himself. This wasn’t a movie.

Now, 24 hours later, Sam was back at the café at the exact same table drinking his Americano once again. He had told the group he was traveling with that he felt under the weather and was going to stay behind. He banished Margaret’s voice from his head and knew he’d regret it if he didn’t return to see if he’d see Sara again. The fact that the rain was coming down harder today didn’t bode well for him seeing her as there were less people about. That said, he held The Prince of Tides in his hand but it stayed closed as watched the crowd for that purple umbrella.

He didn’t know how long he planned to wait and with each passing minute he felt more foolish waiting to see someone he’d had maybe a minute and a half exchange with the day before. What would Pat Conroy write about this sad, desperate state?

Suddenly a waiter servicing the few busy tables slipped on the slightly wet concrete of the patio and a tray with a pair of ceramic coffee cups crashed to the ground. Sam looked over instinctually and the waiter quickly picked up the larger pieces of the broken cups and another waiter before a small hand broom to clean up the rest. Sam turned back to looking at the crowd and felt his breath collect like a weighted ball in the middle of his chest as he saw a purple umbrella coming his way.

It was tilted in a way that he couldn’t see the person’s face but he waited as it came closer. He could tell it was a woman from the shape of her faded blue jeans and beige shoes that were muddied from the weather. As she approached the café patio, she lifted the umbrella slightly and he saw the reveal of that curled lip smile as she saw him. Had she been looking specifically for him? Sam didn’t know in the moment but he didn’t have to think when he smiled back as she walked towards him.

This is the photo I took from my hotel window on a rainy Florence afternoon. That purple umbrella in the lower right corner is what inspired The Umbrella.