We Were Supposed To

In college, my boyfriend and I broke up at one point because we thought we were supposed to. It felt like life was pulling us in different directions. We came from families that would never be able to merge cohesively. We were raised with different values and core beliefs. While reason told me we were better apart, I couldn’t shake my feelings for him. 

We used to take drives at night to escape the town that kept reminding us we weren’t compatible. He would drive, and I would exist happily beside him in the passenger seat. Sometimes we’d catch a beautiful sunset, but that was never the goal. We just wanted to spend time together. 

That particular night we were bored, and I was so sleep-deprived I could barely see straight. In hindsight, I had been fighting off sickness for weeks- some bug, probably, from the hospital where I did my clinical rotations. Neither of us could afford cable television, but he used one of the streaming services I paid for, but we didn’t find anything to watch. We hopped in his car that he had splurged on and later traded for something more practical. It was already dark, and although it wasn’t technically winter yet, the air was frigid. I wore one of his sweatshirts that fit way too comfortably during a time when I ate like I was still an athlete instead of a student. 

His car had seat heat, and I tried to stay awake and alert to keep him company, but I was just so comfortable. The warmth of the seat spread up my back and my heavy eyelids weighed me down like a ton of bricks. He offered me his arm, which I routinely used as a pillow. His sweatshirt smelled like his fabric softener, something I only reveled in for a second before falling fast asleep.

We always drove in the same direction. There was a road that wound up and over the mountains, then coasted by a wide river before crossing it and climbing in elevation once again on the other side. We drove it so often he was confident in the drive, and I somehow slept comfortably despite the sharp turns as he cruised through the mountains. Eventually something woke me up, but I was too happy and sleepy to move. 

He was singing to me. He’d never done that before. His voice was low and quiet, but he sang along to whatever song came on from his playlist. Metal, pop, country, he just kept going. I don’t know when he realized I was awake, but I stayed still as long as I could so as not to blow my cover. I still swim in this memory sometimes, enveloped in it and his voice. Soft, sweet, and a little bit raspy from whatever illness I had undoubtedly shared with him. A slow song came on eventually, and while I don’t remember what song it was, I remember exactly how those moments felt. I was full. Full of happiness, gratitude, and disbelief that this boy was mine, and he loved me. I remember smiling into the darkness and hugging his arm to myself. Our parents and all the reasons they had given us as to why we shouldn’t be together were so far away. Responsibilities were back in the little college town, stuffed in my backpack which sat by his apartment door. 

We lived a secret little life like that during college. I was almost never in my dorm on campus overnight. He felt like home -probably because he was from my hometown- my mom always said. It was a taste of what life might one day be like, only it couldn’t last. Not according to everyone else. Once I graduated, I would be a nurse, and I would follow my calling wherever it led, because that’s what I was always supposed to do. 

He'd told me he would go with me. I never had any reason not to believe that. It bothered me that I could dictate his next move so easily. Like his parents, I didn’t think I should have such power over him. He could find work anywhere, and any job he got would have been an upgrade to the one he had at the time. Thinking about it all was too much. 

So I clung to his arm and cried silent, hot tears that I’d hoped would go unnoticed, but laying there with my head to the side made all the other liquids in my head evacuate through my nose and mouth, so I sniffed, and he knew. He didn’t ask what was wrong. We’d been circling the same problem since high school. He just turned up the radio and kept singing. It was a ridiculous song for the situation. This song I remember. It was Du hast by Rammstein. He chanted along with such vigor that I began laughing. When the song was close to ending, he pulled off on the side of the road and kissed me until the last of my tears had dried. 

On the way back home, I joined in on the singing, but quietly. I still wanted to be able to hear his sweet, gruff voice. I didn’t want to get back. I wanted that ride to last forever, because life’s gravity awaited us in that college town, trying to break us down and keep us apart. Our problems were still our problems, and so they remained throughout the rest of college. After graduation, reality smacked me in the face. Paychecks disappeared before I knew it. New-grad nursing was a nightmare. I made horrible life decisions, but he was not one of them.

He’s my husband now. And not every day feels like that day he sang to me, but a lot of them do. Through everything married life has brought us, we still make each other happy. We continue to learn about each other every day, but I thank my lucky stars we didn’t listen to our parents. We know now not to do things just because we feel like we are supposed to.