Brooklyn Baby - The Beginning of Lana Del Rey

Part 8 - Lucky Ones

Sunday. I lept out of bed at a sharp 11 a.m. and got ready in one of my most favorite pieces. Tropical flowers on my dress and classic white sneakers.

Following his schedule, the rev of Arthur's motorcycle rumbled through my bedroom window. Skipping down the stairs, I grabbed my blue Lolita-Esque heart-shaped sunglasses. Just to add a hint of playful seduction.

I met him in the driveway, greeting him with a mixed look of excitement. I hadn't thought about the fact that I would be riding on his motorcycle, and I forgot how much I loved to just ride.

"Where are we spending our Sunday?" he spoke.

"My favorite place in all of New York is..." I said looking into the distance, "Coney Island."

"Hold on tight," he said. I obeyed and threaded my limbs around his waist.

He turned on the built-in radio, blasting Motley Crue as we drove along the New York coast highway. It was like a movie, and I felt like I was becoming someone who's life I loved.

We arrived, paid, and got in, taking in the sheer thrill of the theme park in front of us. I loved Coney Island for all of it's Sin City tendencies, and because its concept is iconic.

"Pose," he said as he pointed his portable camera at me.

"Do you just carry that around with you everywhere?" I asked and modeled for a couple more shots.

"It's my art; I have to bring it around or else I won't be able to capture what inspires me."

"Nevermind, I get it. I've carried my guitar around with me in my car for years, and had never used it in public until last night." I said admittingly.

"And you were unbelievable. You looked like you belonged up under the spotlight."

I considered if I felt comfortable on stage, and I guess I did. I had felt this feeling when I moved to New York City and joined my aunt and uncle. Although it was new territory, I felt at home on top of that podium of a stage.

"C'mon, let's get some junk food," he said interrupting my realization.

We went to a nearby concession stand and he bought a bucket of mixed blue and pink cotton candy to share. He pulled out his camera to capture a moment.

Lights, camera, action

He didn't know he'd have this much fun

After a quick photoshoot featuring me provocatively eating the sugary clouds, we started to playfully fight each other like the cotton candy chunks were weapons.

"Stop it!" I squealed as he shoved some between my lips, leaving a stain of blue on my chin.

"I paid for this, I should get to use it," he said as I returned the favor in pink and settled down as we strolled along the boardwalk.

"Where are you taking me after? The suspense is torture."

"Alright fine. Drew's house. I wanted to see how you'll sound with the whole band You are our singer after all."

"What?!" I screeched and clobbered him in a collapsing hug. "How will I ever thank you?"

"Like this," he said, and brushed his lips against mine, bubblegum to blue raspberry, and sucked my breath away in a passionate kiss.

"My little Coney Island Queen."

We competed against each other at bumper cars and rode a couple of roller coasters. At the top of the ferris wheel, we had another little impromptu photoshoot. The city, sprawled out in a distance, looked small from up there, a collection of toy buildings. He even won me a giant stuffed teddy bear at the ring toss booth. I savored every moment of it; I didn't know how long my life would continue to be this joyful. But by around 5 p.m. we were ready to leave the heat behind.

As we rode across the Brooklyn Bridge on his bike, I tightly held on to him and enjoyed the fleeting moment, because I knew that nothing lasts forever, but somethings just might last a long time. The gulls were squawking at us as we pulled up to Drew's small trailer home in the center of Manhattan Mobile Home Park. We entered the shabby abode and reviewed greetings.

Drew the bassist grabbed my arm and took me aside while the other boys were individually practicing. "Lizzy," he spoke in an accent I can only describe as The Hippie Dialect. "We want you to try out some of your own lyrics with the flow of the instrumentals we already have. We'll just keep playing until you find the groove, and then you can slide into it."

"Sounds good," I nodded and tried to remember the best lyrics I had memorized from my songbook.

"Okay, ready everybody?" Aaron said as we all migrated back to the setup.

"Try and keep up with me," Tim the second bassist said arrogantly. Arthur looked at me and rolled his eyes, then put on his guitar strap.

Aaron hit his drumsticks together, "and a 1, 2, 1 2 3."

As the soft rock music started, I took note of the flow and pattern. I stood facing no one, holding the cheap microphone, and sung.

The way your face is shaped, I wonder if you know

The way you stand up and your silhouette glows

I'm electrified, I'll be up all night now

Use that voice, sing that song

And tell me to come on, come on, come on

You won't hear no, you won't hear no

Pretty baby, pretty baby

I lost myself in my own creation and opened my eyes when the music had stopped. I turned around to see how the band was reacting, to find an impressed expression plastered on each one of their faces. I even got a timid clap from Tags on the tambourine.

"Guess you're hired," Tim said in his thick Aussie accent and winked.

"We don't get paid though," he quickly corrected, which sent me into a hysterical, relieving, and joyful fit of laughter.

"Sorry guys, I have to go somewhere," Arthur said as he set down his guitar and pulled the trailer door open, earning some cryptic expressions from the other bandmates.