I’m going to the chiropractor – my camper mattress is shit – and it’s near Siesta Key and it’s Vic’s day off so he’s coming with me and then we’ll watch the sunset on the beach.

We get to the café just as it’s getting ready to close.  We stand there quickly scanning the menu board as I lean my forearm on his shoulder in a cool pose like I’ve probably seen in the movie Grease or somewhere.  We want a pizza done half vegetarian and the manager says he’ll do it “because he’s so handsome,” looking at Vic.  I look too….he is handsome.  We go to eat it on the beach and after I take one bite and am moving my hand from my mouth to chew, I feel the talons of a seagull on my fingers and watch as it flies into the horizon with the remainder of my piece.  I call out freaked out as memories of The Birds play through my brain and my instincts tell me to throw the beach towel we just found on the sidewalk on the way in over the remaining pie and run for shelter.  Vic calls to me from the backside of the lifeguard stand, but that’s not far enough for me; I run all the way back to the shelter of the overhang by the café and collapse into the safety of the table.  I sigh like I’ve just returned to civilization.

After we eat I feel super tired so I lay my head on his thigh and stretch my legs out on the bench.  We talk various times about getting up and returning to the beach sans food/bird bait but never actually move.  Finally, the pressure of time and the promise of the sunset motivates us and we get up.  We stroll along the beach for quite awhile, lost in conversation and Mother Nature’s Majesty, stopping for shell picking and kissing, and we come up to an old retaining wall with a makeshift stage that has a guitar resting on the mic stand and a set of bongos abandoned towards the back.  As we watch people playing with their dogs, we assume that we’ve just missed a little concert or a party special for puppy people, as dogs aren’t normally allowed on the beach.  We talk for a while, musing over the motivations of the furry creatures and we decide to start walking back.  Just as we turn to take our first steps, the musicians begin their return to the stage.  We linger a moment and hear that iconic first chord, then watch it be interrupted by a woman talking to the lead singer.  We wait in anticipation to see if what we thought we heard was really what we heard.  After what seems like a long delay (it’s always long when you’re waiting) the guitarist starts again, and it is as we thought and we watch on in awe as they play an acoustic version of Purple Rain as the sun sets.

“Did you organize this?”  I ask.  I know it’s incredulous that he could but it’s just as incredulous that he didn’t.  He responds to me wide eyed, “how could I have possibly?  I’m good Starfish, but I’m not that good!”  This is the second time that my Purple Love, my first love, has showed up in the short time I’ve been hanging with this, my new love.  I take this as a very good sign.

As much as this happens in my life, I am constantly amazed every single time.