Meet me at Giovanni's Book Haven at 4:00 PM.  I will be there browsing the shelves and trying to figure out how to communicate with Sofia, the Italian clerk.  She looks me in the eye every day when I purchase my daily book.  She says, "Graci", smiles her beautiful smile and that is the end of our encounter until tomorrow. She speaks no English and I speak no Italian.

It's August 10, 2010 and I have exactly ten days left here in Rome. There had better be a breakthrough in our relationship soon!

My name is John Weis.  I arrived in Rome five days ago.  It was to be the vacation of a lifetime for me.  I am a lowly payroll clerk at a large bank in Chicago.  In fact, people say that I am the perfect ringer for Clark Kent, but the Superman part is definitely not there. 

For some reason I have always wanted to travel to Italy.  I can't explain why.  I don't have Italian ancestry.  I don't have Italian friends and I definitely don't speak Italian.  I have scrimped and saved and finally had enough money for the plane ticket and a small hostel room near the center of the city.  Perhaps it is my destiny but here I am in Rome.

I did all of the usual sight-seeing excursions with the help of a little blue travel guide. But then I just wanted to relax and enjoy the rest of my time in Italy.  While I was walking one day only a few blocks from my building, I came across the book shop.  Giovanni's Book Haven.  She was visible through the large glass window in the front of the shop.  She had beautiful, dark brown curly hair that hung down over her eye on one side and cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.  Of course, I went in.

I smiled at her and said, "Isn't it a lovely day?"  She shrugged her slim shoulders and put her hands out, palms up in a helpless gesture.  "No English!" she replied.  I smiled back what I assumed must by now look like an idiot's grin pasted on my face and proceeded to browse the overflowing shelves.  Romance, no.  History, no.  What about an English to Italian translation book?  Either there was not one in the shop or I couldn't find it.  I couldn't ask for it either.  In desperation I grabbed a slim volume off of the next shelf that I came to and took it to the desk for her ring up. 

Somehow I managed to pay for the book in the correct currency.  Somehow I found out that her name was Sofia.  After that it was my ritual each and every day to go to Giovonni's and purchase a book just so I could see Sofia.  Sofia.  A name that dreams are made of.

It's August 15th.  I have exactly five days left to break down the barrier between myself and Sofia. You never know.  Today could be the day when some miracle happens and we are able to understand each other.  Yes, surely, today will be THE day.

At 4:00 PM I walk into the shop.  I look up at the clerk's desk and see a big, round man.  He has dark olive skin and a balding head.  He is certainly not my Sofia!  "Sofia?" I ask.  "No English," he replies with the same palms up gesture that my Sofia used on the first day that I came.  He may be her father or just the owner or an uncle or a cousin.  There is no way for me to find out. 

I do not buy a book today.