|UK Elle September 2013|
At that same time, I was working babysitting jobs, and I saved all of my earnings for something special. I would carry the cash around as if any second the 'what' was right in front of me to buy. My brother ran high school track, and my mom would drive us around to all of the meets that he ran. I didn't mind. I liked to watch the boys run, jump, and throw. But sometimes the meets ran for the whole day, and even the cutest team couldn't hold my attention for that many hours. Once, I saw a mall nearby, so I asked for permission to go check it out. Across the parking lot may just be the place to spend.
The first store that I ran across was The Limited. It was new to me and as soon as I hit the floor, I knew that I was going to find a treasure. I wanted to buy blouses that would make me feel like a hippie rock star. I wanted butterfly sleeves. Maybe some embroidery. Or pearled buttons. The first rack that I went to I found my desire. It was a dusty shade of lavender with hints of periwinkle blue and mauvy pink. I think. More than the color, I remember that it was a gauzy sort of floaty cotton. I tried it on and felt like Stevie. I about wore that shirt out for the number of times that I wore it. I didn't care, it was an identity for me.
I went to a Fleetwood Mac concert a couple of months ago. Stevie is a little older and a little stiff, but she is still a butterfly, and her voice brings a depth to the songs that she wrote when she was younger that might not have been there before. Curious, I googled her to see what became of her and the time when I first knew her to now. Hers is a complicated tale riddled with drugs and addiction, men, and a sort of outsider-ness. I don't envy and wouldn't want my magic gauze shirt to lead me to addiction, but the outsider-ness ... sure.
You know what? I'm just going to stop. That's what Stevie is ... never too much, only a taste of who she is ... except for in her music. There, she is. What else matters. That's how a cool California hippie rocker rolls.