You know we're right

Seattle is gray and overcast, like always, and we're driving through another random neighborhood listening to the radio and searching for something out of my boyfriend's past.

The radio is playing Nirvana's "You Know You're Right" for the first time ever. The next day headlines will be about Courtney Love's anger at the song being released before she wanted it too. And how independent radio stations are filled with delinquent, criminal, losers. Of course they're right, but as the spot in between each consecutive playing of "You Know You're Right" says:

"Fuck you Courtney Love, we have the new Nirvana song!"

My boyfriend is giddy over the fact that they are playing the song ten times in a row. Then choosing the song for the "Top of the Day" and playing it ten times more. After Number 17 I'm getting a little sick of Kurt's whining. But my guy is busy railing against the machine that is ClearChannel and revelling in the big middle finger "the man" just got.

Weeks later, when we have finally tied the knot he buys the CD and plays the song over and over again. Since Seattle I've had my fill of both Nirvana and Salmon. I look over at him and wonder if we are matched as well as we think we are.

A little over three years later and Maryland is sunny and chilly. We're driving through fields and farms, looking at cows and searching for a winery out amongst dairy-land.

I have a Broadway Show soundtrack in my CD changer that I spent a good portion of the week prior wearing out. Driving to and from work, switching between two songs I really liked, replaying them over and over. Bothering no one but myself. My husband found the CD when he was taking my car for a spin.

Now as I count the number of horses and look out for bare grapevines my husband is playing one song over and over again, listening to it, then flipping it to the beginning before the next song changes.

It's the same song I was listening to the week before.

I may have had my fill of Nirvana's missing song and Broadway's leading man belting out hell-fire, but I'm not annoyed. I'm happy. I'm floating. My head feels a little disconnected, the same way I felt the first day I met him.

We really are a good match. We really do belong together. It's a nice feeling.