Fishing in the Air, a short segment of a much larger story of four couples colliding from three different countries, in Italy in 2011.

Fishing in the Air

After a day in the sun at a resort, John and Stephanie found themselves sunburned and lounging on the edge of a short fuse. Driving down the road from Siena back to Greve in Chianti, where they were staying at a beautiful estate on the edge of town, Stephanie was letting him have it.
"You are such an embarrassing sick person!"
With a discouraging glance John countered," You are the one who said let’s come back tomorrow, after seeing a woman with her top off, via your binoculars, lurking from the road."
"Those pictures you took are disgusting!" Stephanie declared.
"Oh my God, they are only photos. Shit, Stephanie, they were practically having freaking sex on the lounge chair next to me. That is why I asked to be moved, remember?" John pleaded, while down-shifting the car into second gear.
"Well yeah," she said, "So you could get a better look at the teenagers and that boy humping that girl!"
"Come on,” he complained, "It was hard to escape the sex to the right, sex to the left.... and the gay boys playing grab ass between them."
Pleading again he said, "Come on Steph, we came to Italy to relax, not argue, so lets just try and relax."
John pulled over quickly for an approaching Café Racer and Stephanie barked, "What the hell are you doing?" 

Now in a straining voice he said, "Trying not to get us run over," as three motorcycles thundered past them.

Back again on the road, she saw a sign for yet another Etruscan tomb. "Look there’s another one, lets go!" Suddenly, Stephanie’s mood tempered with anticipation.
My God, he sighed to himself, Not another one.

"I think you passed it. Let's turn around," Stephanie quickly complained.

"The sign said three kilometers didn’t it?"
"I think we passed it,"
Giving in, he said, " OK, help me find a safe place to turn around." John began to think about this trip and Stephanie’s harping, mosquito like tongue and his mind easily drifted to an old lover and the time they shared together, as their sweet, tender moments permeated his now awakening memory. Suddenly, he saw a turn and then went for it.
"What are you doing? This isn't the road."

"I think something is here, let’s check it out."

"John, it is a dirt road for Christ sake," she harps.
At the top of the hill, a house came into view, covered wild with vines and briars, that looked obviously abandoned, with at least 50 acres pasture and a view to die for.
"Look at this place!" John exclaimed. His head swam in her memory and thought, She would love this place.
 In his mind, John traveled back to her time, wrapped in lust and profound love. He reflected upon that first room on the estuary, her passion calling, to anyone, that could hear.
"Floating on the moment, his body tingled as she barked, "Why are you stopping?"
Stopping the car, he ignored her and got out to look around.
"What are you doing? Let's go, this is not the place," in a bothered tone.
"No one is around, come on, I just want to check it out." Now John was totally wrapped into some distorted fantasy about his lost love and they could make their relationship work here, in this very place.

Her voice wavering on the side of frantic, she said, "Get in the car, here comes a truck. Let's go John, I don’t want to trespass," urgency now reaching in her voice. 

As the truck rolled to a stop, John said "Buon pomeriggio." 

"Buon pomeriggio," returned the aging farmer, his face pronounced like a weathered fence post, scattered with four days of stubble.

"Do you know about this place?"
"He doesn't even speak English, let's go," pleaded Stephanie.
The farmer glanced at her, with his green eyes piercing through her and said, "Yes," in English. "It was my grandfather’s home. Mussolini’s men wanted the place during the war. It was in a strategic location for their military. My grandfather said, "No," so they shot him right there, his hand motioning to the stone pathway leading to the house. It has been empty since the end of the war,” his voice now wavered on a ledge of sadness.

"Let's go," Stephanie now pleading.
Pulling out his wallet, John said, "If you ever want to sell this place, please call me," handing him his card, with hope dangling in his voice like ripe fruit.
Shaking his wrinkled head, the farmer thought, "Crazy Americano."

"I am serious, call me," he plead to the farmer.
As John got into the car and turned it around, he headed back down the hill, Stephanie said, “What do you think you are doing? This place has been empty for what, seventy years?” Her face scrunched in dismay and continued, "You are just fishing in the air, you know that? You might as well try jumping yourself to the moon on a Pogo Stick."
While turning the car back on the main road, his thoughts meandered back to his lost love. he said to himself, She’s not coming back, don’t keep doing this to yourself.
Finally John said to Stephanie, with a heartfelt sigh, "You are right, honey, I’m probably just fishing in the air. I could never jump to the moon, not even with a pogo stick."