The Cafe with the Wooden Fence

A short story from Positano

“What are you thinking?” asked Charlie.

“Nothing.” I said.

“I think the waiter is finally coming. Do you still want try that Lemon Spritz?”

“Yes.”

I was thinking about a lot. I was thinking about how I got to that cafe, the one with the wooden fence. The fence was white, covered with gently overgrown green foliage. It obscured the colorful houses that looked as if they were sliding down the rocky hill into the sea upon which we were facing. I wished the fence with the foliage was not blocking the houses, but I was glad it was there too.

I was thinking about the sea. How calm and blue it was, and how perfectly warm it must have been. The sea was the reason I was sitting in such a fine cafe.

I was thinking about the purple flowers on the table, and how they accented the cute white outfit Charlie was wearing. I was thinking about Charlie, and how lucky I was to have her sitting next to me. The sea was also the reason I was sitting with Charlie.

I was also thinking about how the beach smelled like gasoline. And how it took a very long time for the waitress come. I thought about how large the cafe was, but how every table was filled. And how the beach was small, but there were so many people that it was hard to see the sand.

I thought about how happy I was to be sitting at the cafe with the wooden fence, with the sea and with Charlie. I thought about where we would go next. And then the waitress came.

Positano, Italy [Summer 2022]