I drove hundreds of miles to escape. A few hours later, I realized the Universe still knew exactly where I needed to be.
In July 2020, I took a solo road trip to a small Texas beach town, nearly 400 miles from home. Having made good time, I checked into the hotel and headed straight for the lobby bar.
The Hand
I met a young couple from out of town who had been there for a few days. Our conversation started because the guy had a massive wrap on his hand. It was the week after the Fourth of July.
“Please tell me you didn’t blow up your hand with fireworks.”
He replied. “That’s exactly what happened.”
We exchanged contacts, planning to meet up later, but it never happened.
I had dinner nearby then took an Uber to a spot recommended by my waitress, and didn’t get back to the hotel until 4:00AM.
The Plan
That afternoon, I spent a casual hour on the beach, grabbed a late brunch, and decided to take it easy since I planned to leave the following day.
I watched the sunset, grabbed some takeout, and was back in my room and in bed by 9:00PM.
The Demand
A loud banging on my door woke me up around midnight. It was the girl from the couple I met the day before.
She was demanding: “We’re going to a frat party, and you’re coming.”
I tossed on swim trunks and a hoodie, and we waited out front for her boyfriend to pick us up.
We drove for at least 20 minutes until we arrived at a house with three kiddie pools in the front yard.
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“Yep. This is the frat house.”
The Pivot
There were fewer than ten people there. I met the host and slipped him a $20 (I always feel guilty showing up empty handed).
I hung out by the foosball table, which was placed where the kitchen island should have been.
A girl walked up and asked me to grab her a drink. As I closed the fridge door, she held up her phone and whispered, “Don’t look, but does that guy playing foosball look like him?”
It was his Tinder profile she was showing me. The photos were clearly of him, but he looked 7–8 years younger. It was her first time meeting him in person, and she was kinda upset about the slight betrayal.
Given the situation, she started up a standard conversation: “Where you from? What you been doing down here? Covid sucks.” Standard.
With nothing else to do, I decided to engage. I told her that I had been kidnapped by a couple from my hotel. She thought it was hilarious.
She had a familiar accent, so I asked where she was from.
“Minnesota.” she replied.
I hesitated. “My ex-girlfriend is from there.”
“Really? What’s her name?”
I gave her my ex’s first name.
She immediately blurted out the last name.
“NO FREAKING WAY!”
I was hundreds of miles from home, in a random house, with a handful of complete strangers.
She explained they had gone to college together and were even on the same dance squad. They graduated the same year.
She invited me out to the balcony to continue the conversation, then offered to drive me back to my hotel. She stayed the night but had to leave early for work.
The Receipt
Later that day, she texted me a photo of her and my ex together on their college dance team.
