*Some names have been changed to preserve anonymity.
Last weekend in New Orleans, the universe sent me a Vacation Boyfriend. The concept feels very Hollywood, an effective storytelling device providing a whirlwind romance and self-discovery all in one. Seeing this play out on the screen leaves us with a bittersweet longing, an intensified feeling made more poignant and real by its temporality. What the main characters share is fleeting and might not even exist without this heightened sense of presence. I’ve had flings, drunken dance floor makeouts with people I never saw again, but nothing compares in intensity to the Vacation Boyfriend.
I met mine at a karaoke bar, a place that lured my friend and I in just when we were about to pack it up. On the second night of my long Mardi Gras weekend, I was running on the combined high of performing in front of a crowd, having had two double tequila sodas and a blue JELL-O shot served in a syringe, and the ever-elusive thrill of being in a place that is not your own. So my friend and I were making friends left and right, from a 70-year-old Brit and his much-younger American girlfriend, to a bachelorette party. While she was flirting with a cute guy, I attempted to do the same. He was a typical all-American, slightly douchey white boy I don’t see much in New York. We had some brief banter about how he got his beads until he took his shirt off to show me “the money-maker” (his abs??) and, offended by my lack of swooning, stormed off.
Laughing, I quite literally pivoted and was visually struck by a handsome, tall stranger standing to my right amongst a big group of guys. I had my sights locked on him when I asked if they were going to go up and sing anything. My target was extracted and I had him all to myself. Ok, so he’s 33 years old (I checked his DL), has prematurely gray hair (hot) and beautiful blue eyes (even hotter), and goes by his middle name (Sam*) unless you’re one of his friends, who call him by his last name. He’s from the Midwest but lives in Honolulu because…he’s in the Army?! If I wasn’t so completely mesmerized by his hotness and the alcohol mingling with my bloodstream, I might’ve had a stronger reaction. But instead, I told him about my family’s trip to the same island two years ago. We chatted flirtatiously about a million more things before he asked for my number and then kissed me, which of course led to making out. He twirled me around the dance floor and even dipped me at my request! (One must take advantage of army trained-strength.) His brazen confidence was the ultimate contrast with Brooklyn-based blaisé indie man-children I normally go for; Sam knew what he wanted and leaned right in. And why not? It’s vacation! And he was about to become my Vacation Boyfriend.
At the end of the night, Sam kissed me goodbye and we texted until I fell asleep. I woke up to more texts from him about meeting up during the day. We continued to spend time together throughout the weekend, merging our vacations. Since when does a DDFM (Drunk Dance Floor Makeout) actually text you back the next day? The night we met, I joked to my friend/roommate for the weekend that Sam was my soulmate. After continual days of connecting, laughing, and affection like we had been dating for 3 months, never mind 3 days, I wondered if it was true. I knew this wasn’t a rational thought, but this whirlwind romance seemed to defy all logic. My last night there, we were all standing on a Bourbon Street balcony when Sam turned to me and said “do you think this could be something?”
Vacations have often led to more flirty fun for me than my everyday life. I’ve always theorized that meeting hotties as a stranger in a strange land is easier, because, once outside of my mundane routines, the world sparkles more. In turn, I allow myself to be a version of myself without inhibitions. But this wasn’t just a shedding of physical inhibitions, it was mental too. I know I’ve been closed off to love/romance for a while (and not just because two different psychics told me “there’s a wall around your heart”). When I was younger, I had virtually no boundaries and let any suitor in, leaving too much room for the unworthy. I combatted this with a complete 180° swing into romantic isolation, my hermit era if you will. While this was a nice and much needed break, I didn’t want to live in fear forever and prayed (more to the universe, than to a god) every night for months that I would have the strength and self-love to once again explore this part of myself, but this time in a healthy, mature way. I knew I had broken through some barrier when I made out with a very hot brunette in the bathroom at a queer bar around the holidays. But would I ever be able to let a man in again? There were many times I stopped myself from approaching a stranger, living in the fear of being the fool once again.
Like all good Vacation Boyfriends (or Girlfriends), meeting Sam taught me lessons about myself I will never forget, even if I never see him again. Apparently, not long before I approached him, he remarked to his friends that “the redhead on the stage (that’s me) [was] so beautiful.” So maybe he would have talked to me first, maybe not. The point isn’t to wonder, it’s to act. If I saw Sam on a dating app, he might’ve been swiped away to the left. He’s sort of my type but also isn’t and that’s why it was so fun. I’ve never had a man be so obsessed with me, compliment me so much, or make me feel so comfortable with PDA. And I knew I deserved it but I never knew what it would actually feel like or if it would ever happen for me. Cut to: Sam and I holding hands, my head on his shoulder on a patio under the stars, leaning over to kiss each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. Who am I? I thought to myself several times over the weekend. Then, another thought bubble: this is you when your heart is free to dance.
One week into acclimating back to my real life, I am still unsettled knowing there’s a man halfway across the world who I shared this soul connection with and may never see again. Yet, I wonder maybe if we really did get to know each other in the real world, the bubble would burst. Maybe by confining our “relationship” to one very fun, cosmically aligned weekend, we spare ourselves true heartbreak, boredom, aggravation in learning and dealing with each other’s annoying habits, and the logistics of a long-distance relationship. This man dreams of building a house in the middle of nowhere and raising chickens. And I’m a city girl who wants to become fluent in French. When he asked me about our future, I answered him honestly: that I think it’s whatever we want it to be and even though we are very different people with potentially different values, I was having a wonderful time getting to know him. Then he said he’s going to build a craftsman-style home with a big porch for us and I can paint it pink if I want. I haven’t heard from him much since I got back.
Living from thrill to thrill has its appeal; it’s easier to enjoy and run before it gets serious. But is subsisting off of dopamine enough for a fulfilled life? To parse through all of these complicated feelings, I watched the ultimate Vacation Boyfriend movie: Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise (1995) starring Ethan Hawke (Jesse) and Julie Delpy (Céline). While their artsy one-night-in Vienna-story is glaringly different in setting and vibe from my bacchanalian weekend in New Orleans, the takeaway is the same. At the end of the movie, the lovers have a tearful departure at the train station. They first agree to never meet again and then plot to meet in exactly six months at the same spot. They do, however, say it would make it too depressing to try to write or stay in touch at all. Jesse and Celine part, and before the credits roll we are treated to a visually stunning montage of all the places they visited, where life goes on without them. Everything returns to normal, the world goes on spinning, and only the lovers (and us, the voyeuristic audience) know of the life-altering experience they shared. (Is it still a spoiler if the movie is older than the person writing about it?) As the more romantic Celine says to the cynical Jesse, “It’s like our time together is just ours, our creation.” My eyes grew watery during this montage, imagining the equivalent for my story: streets and bars still filled with people as Mardi Gras wound down to a close. The house with rainbow stained glass that we admired. The wrought iron balcony. The courtyard fountain.
Before I left New Orleans, I visited a store called “Voodoo Authentica” where I left an offering for the love goddess Erzulie, thanking her for the experience and accepting whatever fate might deal me next. Maybe, we’ll tell this story to our kids one day. Or maybe, as Jesse says to Celine, Sam will be one of those people I remember fondly when I’m old and long married to someone else. The ultimate ending for a Vacation Boyfriend. Maybe. What I know for certain is that je ne regrette de rien–I regret nothing.
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