Ballad, n
On our first holiday away together, we rented a car and just drove. Drove across all of Britain, going to wherever we wanted, sometimes sleeping in the car at service stations when we were running out of money or lost, occasionally taking a night at a hotel or bed a breakfast when we became stale and far too unclean to continue in each other's presence. But we also had a tent in the back of the car at your insistence, where we spent some nights under the stars and pressing close to each other to keep warm.
During this time, we listened to a lot of radio. It filled the silence when we were angry with each other, fed up with one another's presence after spending hours in the car and trying to direct ourselves to places with a map that neither of us could read very well. It was one of these moments, as we were cruising down the M4, when a rather upbeat song played on the radio, completely juxtaposing the mood, and making me clench my jaw; until that point, it had only been slow ballads that mourned the loss of their love, which was fine enough for the both of us. I had looked over to you, to see if you would change the radio station so we could get back to the mellow crooning of our usual artists, but you were asleep. I kept the song on.
By the time it finished, our car was parked in a layby and my head was pressed against the steering wheel, wishing that you had been awake to hear it. But you weren't, and I had to continue driving; all I could do was hope that it was played again when you were awake.
And it did. You liked it, I think (I never asked, but you must've, if you joked about it becoming our wedding song), and it eventually played so many times in our presence during important and mundane moments, that it became our ballad. Sometimes, when we were alone together, we'd sing or hum it.
Three years later, when we did this again, there was another song (which you were awake for this time). Not a ballad, but equally one that seemed to explain us. More upbeat, more our style. It couldn't be our wedding song, however - we were going for a traditional slow dance – but, five years later, when our first child was being born, we played it; you held my hand and smiled at the irony and memory.
