Life after the credits roll

If Sandra Bullock’s films have taught us anything, it is that the greatest love manifests in the most unexpected fashion. Romantic comedies take viewers on an adventure through romance, but always end just as the lovers finally connect.

So what happens to the characters after the delightful movie stops?

My friends and I used to prowl nightclubs, hoping to fall in love or at least fall into someone’s bed. It became a weekly tradition. One night I managed to catch the eyes and grins of one very handsome Hispanic male. I rarely made the first move, but this one was too good-looking to pass up.

I introduced myself, but couldn’t understand anything he said. Just as I chalked it up to the loud music, a man beside him apologized for his cousin, Rodolfo, not being able to speak much English.

After a translated conversation, Rodolfo and I confirmed we wanted to go home together. While the language barrier made for an uncomfortably silent car ride, it also made for some incredibly exciting sex later. As we dressed afterward, Rodolfo started to browse my music collection, pointing out what he also loved. In as little language as possible, we discovered we had the same taste in music.

We tried to talk as I drove him home. I decided this guy was clearly my dream man – an exotic foreigner with good taste in music. But I failed to properly convey that I actually wanted to date him, not just sleep with him. I dropped him off without exchanging phone numbers, without hope of seeing him again.

Weeks later I stopped at Taco Bell to find Rodolfo handing me a bag of food through the drive-through window. Neither of us had an idea of what we wanted to say, but anyone could see the excitement in both of our eyes.

Rodolfo seemed embarrassed to be caught in his fast food uniform, while I began to fantasize not only about destined love but new possibilities for extra sour cream at no charge. Rodolfo said he was quickly learning English at work – and before I could adore him further, the driver behind me honked. I didn’t want to get Rodolfo in trouble so I dropped off without further connection.

My Taco Bell cravings recurred frequently after that – I often piled friends in my car to come ogle the man that the fast food fates had planted to sweep me off my feet. With each visit Rodolfo knew a little bit more English and spoke in the most irresistible broken accent.

Eventually our drive-through love affair turned into real dates. Communication still tripped us, but we didn’t care. Our lucky encounter had us oozing with lightening-fast love.

Dating turned into a relationship, and the relationship quickly meant moving in together. By then we’d had hit a few stumbling blocks besides language. Arguments occasionally flared. But I couldn’t let a few quarrels interfere with a life fit for a movie. The excitement made cohabitation feel like the right move.

But our love nest evolved into something not-so-romantic. Rodolfo didn’t drive, and I had the responsibility of getting him to and from work. Apparently he also was not fond of picking up after himself. I soon felt like a parent picking up a son’s clothes and cleaning his dishes. Since Rodolfo’s wages didn’t quite support his love for fashion, he would occasionally sell off parts of my music collection.

I wasn’t much better. I became bossy, controlling and jealous; picking fights when my ultra-sensitive needs were not met. The frequency of our arguments went from several per week to almost daily. My temper exploded whenever Rodolfo didn’t hold up to his responsibilities. Our verbal battles became filled with irrational low-blows and name-calling. The scenario turned from a romantic comedy into a romantic calamity.

Rodolfo and I finally called it quits three years after what seemed like love built on fate. I realized that perhaps in my own eagerness, I confused love at first sight with lust that simply had an adorable twist.

I can only wonder what really happens to characters in romantic comedies when the film credits end and real life begins.