The Paradise Edition
I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing, laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on this world tour, my memories of them are the only things that sustain me and my only real happy times.
I was a singer, not a very popular one. I always had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wish on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted – and then losing it, to find what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living they asked me why. But there's no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people – for home to be wherever you lie your head.
I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean.
And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way, I'd be lying. Because I was born to be the other woman - who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing, who wanted everything. With a fire for every experience, and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point I couldn't even talk about. That pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.
Every night I used to pray that I'd find my people and finally I did. On the open road. We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore except to make our lives into a work of art.
Live Fast. Die Young. Be Wild. And Have Fun.
I believe in the country America used to be. I believe in the person I want to become. I believe in the freedom in the open road. My motto is the same as ever – I believe in the kindness of strangers, and when I'm at war with myself. I ride. I just ride.
Who are you? Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them? I have. I am fucking crazy. But I am free.
- Lana Del Rey
"Lolyta"
June 17th, 1994
"Happy Birthday dear Sookie. Happy birthday to you…" I blew out the fourteen candles that sat atop the pink iced vanilla cake, everybody clapped and someone somewhere started to cry out hip hip hurray. I tried my hardest not to touch the bottom of the cake with the sharp knife my mother handed me; there was no way I was kissing Jason. He may have been a couple years older than me, and some of my friends thought he was cute, but he was still my brother and that was just never ever going to happen, even in a brotherly way or the way you'd kiss your father. The boy I really wanted to kiss was Eric, he was my brother's best friend and the entire school thought he was cute. Hell, I thought he was to die for. He was much taller than me, but not in that lanky adolescent boy way. He had short blond hair the colour of wheat on a sunny day, the same colour as mine, which was much lighter than Jason's. Eric had these amazing blue eyes that made it feel like he was staring right through you. He was dreamy, and I was his best friends little sister, I would always be off limits.
I would have given anything for Eric to be my first kiss, even though I knew I would never be his. All the girls at school were talking about how everyone was saying they saw him behind the milk bar kissing Dawn.
I must have gotten lost in my mind again, because by the time I snapped out of my thoughts everyone was quiet and staring at me. Not that everyone was very many people, I only had a couple friends here plus my mum, dad, Jason and Eric. I wasn't sure why Eric was even here, Jason must have drug him along so he wouldn't have to play with the girls. It could have been for the free food though, I overheard my parents talking about how those boys would eat us out of house and home.
Eric was over our house a lot, I don't think he had much of a home to go to. We never talked about it though, we never really talked about anything. I was awfully shy around him, and I don't think I even registered his interest. I was just there, when he was with Jason, like a piece of furniture or one of the girls in the movies that always seemed to be on screen but you never really registered what they looked like or why they were there.
I was looking towards my mother when I felt someone pushing my hand that was cutting the cake down so I hit the bottom. I sucked in a quick, deep breath - I had to do this, everyone knew you were cursed forever if you hit the bottom and didn't kiss the closest boy. I looked to my side, but Jason must have moved, Eric was standing there with his hand still on mine. What was he doing?
This was it, my first kiss… Everyone else standing around the old wooden picnic table seemed to fade into the background as I stared into his eyes. The same blue eyes that had been haunting me since before I could remember. My eyes honed into his lips, the soft, dusty pink that was curled up into just a hint of a smirk. It was over before I could even start to feel of his lips on mine. I can't even remember how it felt, if I even felt anything at all.
"Happy birthday Sook." I smiled shyly at him before turning my attention back to the cake.
I slunk away from the group after my mother finished cutting the cake and handing out slices to my few party guests. I've never been one to have many friends, any friends really. Just a couple girls I keep up with so my mother doesn't get worried. I'm more than comfortable with myself, inside my own head. I have so many things zooming around my mind that I have trouble hearing anyone else. I prefer to be on my own, I've always felt such a familiar connection with the world my mind creates rather than the one that actually exists.
It's not that I don't like other people, it's that I just don't care for them and their trivial lives. I want to be someone that matters, be something. I don't know what yet. I've always felt myself to be some kind of artist, but what kind I just don't know. I can't paint or draw or sing, I don't have any particular talent. There's nothing that sets me apart from all the other talentless nobodies in this small nowhere, nothing town. I've tried to write – I have all these crazy ideas, and my mind never stops turning, but when I sit down with pen and paper nothing seems to come out. I flit from idea to idea, never quite achieving anything other than a sense of hopelessness and frustration. The link between my mind and my mouth are missing. I think it in my mind, in my own crazy way, but can never put into actual words. I think in a crazy mess of colours and sound and words, but I'm boring on paper – boring in real life. My mother always tells me it's the real life that matters, my mind won't help me if I don't have anything to eat, no home to live in.
I don't even realise when someone sits down beside me, again I'm that far in my mind that I've lost all sense of reality. The spell is broken when I hear him speak.
"You're such a mystery Sookie Stackhouse."
Eric. I don't know what to say, the link between my inside and out are still broken. Disconnected. I want to tell him a million things, I have a hundred witty answers all queued in my mind. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. The silence passes slowly as we sit on the little dock out the back of my parents house, I don't even remember coming out here. I trail my toes through the water, making a slow figure eight. I take the time to look at his feet, dipped in the water so close to mine. His feet are a lot bigger than mine, but he's so much paler. I practically live outside, almost every inch of me is a soft caramel and while Eric looks like he's spent a good deal of time in the sun, he's still nowhere near as dark as me.
"You have big feet." He laughs. That was stupid, why would I say something like that? It's so unlike me not to think every word I say through, usually I evaluate any hidden meanings and then by the time it's ready to come out the conversation has passed and we've drifted down an awkward path that inevitably leads to someone making excuses then I'm left alone. People don't try to talk to me much anymore.
"You never talk to me Sookie. I've been trying to talk to you for years." I'm sure he thinks I'm such a snob, that I think I'm so much better than he is. "Do I scare you?" I shake my head.
"When I look at you Sookie, I see this beautiful girl and she's trapped. She's too big for this place, she's too amazing for a nothing town like here. You think that no one sees you, that you blend into the crowd. Baby, that's the furthest thing from the truth. I see you, I've seen you for years. What I did before, when I kissed you? I've been wanting to do that for years. I want to know you. The real you, the one that I only ever get to hear in my dreams." He's holding my hand, and his thumb is stroking the soft skin between my thumb and first finger. I'm still staring down at our feet, I'm still drawing the figure eight and his are completely motionless in the water.
I can feel him let go of my hand, and he softly grabs my chin, turning my head to face him. My eyes are still cast down as he rests his forehead on mine. I can feel it, predict it this time. I'm going to be ready for the moment when our lips touch again, this can be my first kiss. A complete do-over.
"Sookie!" My mothers yelling voice carries in the wind and it breaks the spell between us.
"I should go." I move to get up, but his hand grabs at mine. I look him in the eyes. "Meet me here, after everyone's gone to bed. We'll talk?"
I nod slowly and he smiles, lets go of my hand and starts to walk away, but not before placing a soft kiss to my palm. I slowly drift back the house. It's almost dark, I must have been gone for hours.
"You really need to get out of your own head Sookie. It'll do you no favours in the real world." My mother berates me as I walk into the kitchen. She's getting dinner ready, meatloaf in tomato sauce, mashed potatoes and green beans, my favourite. The special birthday dinner. Tradition every year – if it's your birthday you get to chose what you want. Nothing is off limits – Jason usually choses ice cream. And beer – beer for his eighteenth birthday. My parents are Australia, and find the whole waiting until you're twenty-one to drink ridiculous. Legal age in our house is eighteen, younger if you catch them in a good mood. I'm not all that interested in getting drunk, I have no trouble escaping reality on my own.
"I'm perfectly happy there." I don't want to talk about this, I know exactly how this particular conversation goes. I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard it, I'd be able to leave everyone in this town behind and never come back. Not for anyone.
And that's the beginning.
The title for this comes from Lana Del Rey's upcoming album, and the story begs themes from all of her songs. There's something so magic about her, I can't quite put my finger on it. I would love feedback, I know how I want this to begin, and how I want it to end but I'm still working out the middle. Thanks for taking the time to read this.
xx
alittlesaltt