There are no accidents...

I felt so free in my cherry red 1985 Mercedes Benz convertible. The weight of thousands of adventures before me made the tan leather worn and sinkable. The radio was old and worked when it wanted to. Even if I had the money, I’d never change it. It was the only thing my Dad had left me and the only thing that mattered at the time. When you’re twenty-two and lost… in this car I felt truly rich.

It was a Saturday morning in July and I had a full six hours before my shift at Big Bucks’, a local haven for beer-drinking bikers. It wasn’t great, but it was honest, and I felt at home there. I sipped ice coffee and scanned my phone for anything of interest. Nothing as usual and I got irritated at myself for wasting time.

I threw my hair in a messy bun, grabbed my sunglasses, and headed to the beach for those much-needed smells and sounds of the Seacoast. Not the clean coast, but the real. The sounds of ski ball, the smell of fried dough, and the sweaty waft of sunblock. Kids chasing seagulls and sticky sidewalks. All mixed with that salty ocean air. I loved it and I couldn’t wait to get there.

My foot was pretty heavy on the pedal as I hit the highway. That messy bun was wild in the breeze. I turned right after Exit 2 and stopped at the light. I turned to the left and saw him stopped in the lane to my left.

His eyes went right through me and we both smiled. His perfect hair was dark, wavy, and styled in the most perfect pompadour. It was like he was a gift from another time. Driving a red and white 1957 Corvette convertible, his ride matched his look and I wanted in on everything about him. “Hey there, I’m going to need you to pull over,” he said with a grin as he nodded to the right. He could see my hesitation. “Come on, I need to tell you something.” I could feel my face getting flushed and I shook my head to decline.

With butterflies in my stomach and regret in my heart, I hit the gas to pass him. Asking myself why I didn’t stop, I daydreamed of our life in the rearview. He looked determined as if he was planning something, and I was so into looking back, that I didn’t see that wagon stop short ahead. WHACK.

The hit startled me, but I was fine. I pulled over to check if there was any damage. When I saw my front end, my heart sank. “God damn it”, I said under my breath. “Are you okay?” I heard from behind me, as he put his hand on my shoulder. I turned and it was him.

“Oh, hi. It’s you. Why did you stop?” The passenger of the wagon popped his head out of the window and looked at him. He waved, nodded, and sped off. Confused “Umm, what the hell was that? Who is that? Do you know him? Why did he leave? I need to give him my insurance information… and fuck my car needs to be towed! I can’t afford this.” He grabbed my hand. “Don’t worry about him or your car. He’s with me and so are you. Just in different ways” he said matter-of-factly.

He opened his passenger door and I got in. “I told you to pull over and you didn’t. So, I had to make you stop somehow. Petey, the guy that you hit is a friend of mine and he owes me a favor. I texted him and told him to stop short. Sorry about your car, but I’ll take care of it. “Wait, what? What the fuck? You did this on purpose? Who are you?”

He buried his eyes in mine, “This is going to sound crazy, but when I saw you, I knew that I had to have you. Like, I really knew.” He reached over me and I gasped softly. He grinned and opened the glove box to pull out a small black notebook. He flipped about halfway through and handed it to me.

“I had a dream last night and you were in it. Sometimes I have these dreams I guess, but they feel like more than that. Like too real to be a dream. I saw your face, clear as day in my dream. That red hair, that perfect pale skin, those eyes. Every tiny freckle on your nose. I’ve seen you. When I feel it in my gut, I jot it down. When my visions go from my head to this book, they are like phrases that I have to make sense of. But, when I get it right, it’s always right.

Take a look, right there,” pointing. Looking down, in perfect blue ink, the page read “On the way to the sand, a fiery redhead will cross your path. Stop her. Go to the swing she once knew. Find her sunshine and dig two feet down.”

Under normal circumstances, I would have bolted. But I felt his sincerity throughout my whole being. I told him that I felt connected to him too and that of all that there is to believe in, coincidences are not on that list.

My heart pounded and my hands were sweaty. He rubbed my knee slowly and told me to breathe. “So, what’s your name? That seems like a pretty late question”, smiling. We both laughed. “Right. I’m John. John Preston.” Stopping in his tracks, “and my God, you have to be the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.” He pulled me close and caressed my face with the back of his hand. I couldn’t move.

My butterflies turned to bats and I could barely get the words “I’m Natalie” out. “Natalie. Natalie what?”, he grinned. “Natalie Monroe.” “Well, Natalie Monroe, there is some adventure to be had today. Are you ready to find it?” I told him that I had to go to work and that I had to fix my car. He laughed, handing me his phone, “Call and quit. You won’t need to work after today.” Without asking any questions, I left logic behind, called, and quit.

I felt more at ease as the minutes flew by. My face was turning from red to white as I looked down at the little black notebook again. A lump crawled up to my throat when I realized that I knew exactly what his words meant.

I began to give him directions to the house I grew up in. He asked no questions and just drove. It was as if we were in a race to start our lives. Goosebumps covered my body as we sped through the dusty backroads, that he seemed to know like the back of his hand. He put his arm around me and I nestled my head in that perfect spot between his neck and shoulder.

I pointed and he pulled into the driveway of the home I once knew. A for sale sign stood in the overgrown grass and vivid flashes of my father danced in my brain.

I held John’s hand tight and led him to the storybook swing that hung from the oak tree in my front yard. My dad spent most evenings pushing me on this swing. “Higher, Daddy!” I’d yell, trying to get my feet over my head. He would laugh and sing to me. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey…”

In front of the swing sat a rickety white fence that swayed in the wind and I got down on my hands and knees behind it. “What are you doing?” Tears filled my eyes as I looked up at him. I pointed to the bottom of the fence where my dad had carved the words “You are my sunshine.” John picked me up, held my face in his hands, and wiped my tears with his thumbs. We held each other as tight as possible.

He grabbed a shovel from his trunk and started digging. Two feet in, he hit a small metal box. He pulled it from the ground and handed it to me. I pried it open with a screwdriver and pulled out $20,000 in cash. “Holy shit!”, I screamed and John laughed. “It looks like your Daddy is looking out for you. Jump on my back, baby doll. This isn’t over.”

I jumped on his back and chuckled as he carried me back to his car. He put me down, turned around, gently pushed me against his car, grabbed the sides of my face, and kissed me. My knees weakened and my heart raced. I tried to step away, but he pulled me in by my waist and held me against his body. “There is one page left”, he whispered. He leaned in the open window and pulled out the notebook. Flipping through, he handed it to me.

I looked at the last page. My eyes widened and I gasped. He threw his head back and laughed as I buried my nose in his chest. With that little black notebook in hand, we jumped in that perfect Corvette and sped away.