Undoing the Lyrics

I wish that you were mine

“I wish that you were mine.” – Beautiful Child

August 25th 1978

Stevie stumbled her way through the front door of her house, her arms laden with bundles of demo tapes and sheets of unfinished drawings she had been working on at the studio.

“Lori? Sharon? Anyone home?” she called out, but heard no reply.

Then she remembered that today was Saturday, and that she had booked for them both to go to this wonderful spa at one of the best hotels in the city. The house was rarely empty these days; there would always be a few people milling around in the kitchen or chatting in the lounge, but Stevie found the quiet rather calming after a long and tedious stint in the studio.

Placing her bits and pieces on the table in the hallway, Stevie spun around to pick up the mail she had stepped over on the way in.

“Bills, bills, bills…” she muttered as she flicked through the hefty pile, until suddenly her eyes were drawn to a rather peculiar-looking envelope.

The name and address on the front were handwritten, but she could recognise neither the handwriting nor the stamp in the top right-hand corner. Her interest was piqued; she disregarded the rest of the letters on the table in the hallway and made her way into the lounge, carefully tearing open the envelope as she went.

Stevie reached inside and pulled out a thin piece of paper, with only this short message written on it:

“Thank you for the most precious gift anyone has ever given us.”

At first, she was confused… But then something swiftly dawned on her, and she slowly reached into the envelope for a second time, scared as to what she might find. It was thicker between her fingers, not paper… more like, card… or perhaps…

A photograph.

Stevie’s breath hitched in her throat as she slowly pulled the polaroid out of the envelope. Her eyes became fixated on the small, grainy photograph she held between her fingers, and she stumbled back into an armchair so as not to collapse to the floor in astonishment. Blinking hard and holding the photograph closer to her face, she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. Beautifully written on the bottom of the polaroid below the image was the date ‘22/08/1978’… only three days ago.

It was her...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

August 18th 1976

There was a light tap on the door, before Lindsey peeked his head into the hot and sticky bedroom. It was the middle of August and the summer in California had been a scorcher, with the temperatures sometimes reaching 90oF and above.

Stevie was nine months pregnant and everything had become the greatest challenge – the heat was almost crippling. Lindsey had placed two electric fans at the end of their bed, trying to make her as comfortable as he could.

“Babe?” Lindsey whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t wake her if she had actually managed to get some sleep in this heat.

He heard no reply, but lingered a little longer before hearing a faint sniffling coming from her direction. Closing the door behind him, Lindsey made his way over to her and sat on the bed behind her.

“Steph? Is everything alright?” he asked worriedly.

Stevie just sniffed in response, wiping the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, not moving from her position lying on her side. Lindsey didn’t really need to ask though; he knew why she was upset. It was what had been making her upset for the last few months, making both of them upset, but he had to be strong.