Airports were one of Eoin’s favorite places to be. The anonymity that they gave him, the blank stares and bored faces of the staff made him feel immeasurably great. It meant he was in a new place, a new location where no one knew who he was or what he did. Arriving in Amsterdam with nothing more than his duffle and guitar filled his lungs with thrilling ecstasy.
Eoin had learned to travel minimally when he backpacked through the world. A worn duffle packed with two pairs of pants, a few shirts, and a week’s worth of underwear (the only thing he would never sacrifice), and his most essential toiletries always made his passage through TSA a breeze. He handed the customs agent his passport. The man asked him the purpose of his visit.
Work.
His visa? All set.
Place of residence for the time of his stay. Who will be vouching for him? What’s in the big case?
Eoin went through the motions, smiling easily, his weight balanced on his heels. He thought about flirting with the man, but the grunt in his voice indicated that it would be more trouble than it was worth.
The Airbnb he’d found was comfortable. A studio with a kitchenette and a nice view of the town. The sheer white curtains swayed in the soft summer breeze. He kicked his boots off, sliding off his socks. The hardwood floor was cold, smooth and thrilling against his skin. His phone rang.
Eoin laughed at the sound. He could imagine his bandmates up in NYC to a missing lead singer. He could picture Stevie’s wide eyes as he wandered from room to room looking for him. He could see Erin cursing up a storm as she made phone calls; as she called him.
He could pick up. He could be kind and tell them where he had taken off to. But where was the fun in that?
His Instagram Live lasted thirty minutes. In it, he gave the time of day and the weather, then he played part of a song he had written on the plane. He saw Erin’s username on his screen, saw Stevie bombard him with questions. Their fans laughed, saying things like “Oh! He ran away!” and “They can’t find him again lol.”
Eoin could share his location. He could let his bandmates meet up with him or drag him back home. But he needed some time. He wanted to wander the city on his own for a while. His feet itched to go out, to blaze a trail they’d never been on before without anyone holding him back. His father called this his nomad urges. His mother said he was a wild, free spirit that longed to learn. Eoin just wanted to get the fuck out and do something on his own.
There really wasn’t anything much more to it than that.