Downtown LA faded in view, and then in my mind as the miles passed. I emerged from the tunnel at the end of the 10 Freeway and the beginning of the PCH North, greeted by the glistening ocean. I breathed in air and freedom. It was the Thursday of the Labor Day weekend. I had decided to take off Friday so I could fully enjoy dinner and my friends from the East Coast at Duke's Malibu, without the anticipatory responsibility of another work day. The traffic was surprisingly light, and I arrived 45 minutes early for our reservation for seven at seven. I savored my Beach Boy dacquiri (it would be my only alcholic beverage) and watched the early suppers and the waves and the gulls intermittently begging with fixed looks and scratching their beaks with a webbed foot. I love sea gulls. I know that they are grouchy, even mean, birds, but boy they are a joy to look at. When it got close to reservation time, my little buzzer buzzed, but my friends weren't there yet but I sat alone at the big table, closer to the picture window and the gulls still hoping for a morsel out of one of the slight opening cracks to the outside. It occurred to me that even if no one showed up, as much as I missed the planned reconnection with college chums I hadn't seen for about two years, I would just stay and eat and watch the birds and the waves and the setting sun. And it got better. About seven dolphins appeared at my left eye level, maybe a quarter mile out or less, jumping, cavorting really. Their actions mirrored my internal sense of play.Diners stopped. There were ooohs and ahhs, and some got up, and stood near where I was sitting. We bonded over the sight of dolphins doing the magic of simply being. A waiter said with a happy realization that he has something that we land dwellers usually do not, "They do that all the time!"
They leaped and splashed until they moved right of my view, then were out of sight.
A perfect prelude. My friends came and we ate and reminisced and laughed. A perfect main event.
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