If Forrest Gump walked along the banks of the Mississippi River in Cape Girardeau, he might find an assortment of chocolates as interesting as the kind I encountered the other night.

The woman who joined me on a stroll along the river thought she was savoring one of the most unique desserts she had ever experienced.

Instead of ordering dessert at a local restaurant, I suggested walking off the sumptuous dinner along the time-honored cobblestones that have known both flood and fortune.

Because she is not from this city, she welcomed any chance at discovering something momentous.

I told her that this was one of those places that enabled me to collect my thoughts. There is something about the river that allows one to solve problems or make critical decisions, I said. If you watch and listen closely, you can detect a rhythm to the river that will strengthen the symmetry of your world.

If nothing else, it offers a moment or two of serenity. Sometimes we have days that are so noisy, the contrast can become therapeutic.

She said that her parents owned a houseboat and sought the same kind of tranquility.

When we settled down to a spot close to the water, someone walked behind us and began tuning up his violin. Perhaps in any other setting it would seem odd; but not here.

Before she could ask me if this happens often, I told her that I hired this individual to cap off a night neither of us would likely forget. I could tell she was skeptical. But there seemed to be something in her eyes that suggested she wanted to believe it was true.

Sensing that the story was bordering on being credible, I said that he had instructions to play until I pretended to stretch out and wave my right hand in the air.

After a few squeaks and creaks, the violinist actually turned in an enjoyable performance. His effort was so genuine and impromptu, I couldn't stick with my story any longer.

I decided to tell her the truth. "I don't even know this guy," I said. "But I'd like to take credit for him showing up at the very time we decided to come here."

She found this amusing and decided to lean back and enjoy the music. When we decided it was time to leave, we asked the violinist why he came to this very spot at this time of night.

He merely smiled as wide as the tugboat that was chugging up river and said the thought just occurred to him. He said he played during Riverfest with a local band and learned so much from the experience he decided to work on his own before the next jam session.

We thanked him for the performance and he smiled again. The compliment seemed worth more than any money I could have dropped in his violin case.

As we were driving away, we noticed that the violinist had packed up and was leaving.

"I wonder why he decided to leave at the same time we did?" she asked. I said it was hard to figure. "You sure you didn't hire him?" she said, the skeptical look returning.

My answer was a grin as wide as the promise of the next tugboat heading up river.

~Bill Heitland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.