You were so exciting, so shiny. You were legendary.

When I grew up, you were a mirage of confident pretty girls with good teeth and thick, long, tousled hair, and of boys in Hanes tee-shirts and Levi’s who wore their cute smiles on the lazy side of life, gazing up tantalisingly at the world through a floppy fringe that they tossed or blew on so that it cleared their eyelashes. I saw America like those gorgeous, romantic Coca Cola advertisements in cinemas, especially the one where a hot guy and a cute girl met during a little fender bender… It made me almost want to get into a fender bender. And then there was the Marlboro man, riding through canyons and camping and lighting fires. And smoking of course, which looked hot, but turned out not to be. Sometimes I liked the adverts better than the actual movie.

Of course, I thought all you young American kids Noxzema-tingled your faces morning and night, never had a zit, and wore bell-bottoms at a perfect length so that they frayed just-so beneath your sneakers. All you young girls had Bonne Bell lip-gloss in exciting flavours like strawberry and blueberry and peppermint and – obviously - Coke. You smelled of Charlie and Jontue by Revlon. You had Christie Brinkley and Cheryl Tiegs and the fabulous Farrah, and the Six Million Dollar Man, and the 4th of July, right there! You blew the biggest gum bubbles and managed to look knowing and smile flirtatiously as you chewed and blew and popped and laughed.

The boys twangily woah-gushed on the merits of Mustangs and Firebirds and Corvettes, while eight-track cassette decks blasted Steve Miller and The Eagles and the Doobie Brothers into sunshine and sea spray and palm trees and ocean.

You roller-skated, you surfed. You went to school proms in weird blue suits and frilly dresses that never seemed to fit properly, yet were still so madly desirable, because they came from shops with legendary names, like Macys and Saks. You made-out at drive-ins, or beneath something mysterious called bleachers, which sounded romantic and swoony and sea-swept, as though you’d be limb-and-tongue-tangling on soft sand among shells and driftwood, but weren’t, as I later learned, which totally sucked because that image photographed better in my mental movie.

You had Sears and Seventeen Magazine, and access to all kinds of insane stuff in a catalogue called the Sharper Image, like telescopes and tanning beds and chairs that vibrated and massaged you with weird rolling-beads while you drank Cherry Coke and watched Happy Days on one of your many channels on your big televisions. You had Hollywood and popcorn, and hamburgers and dozens of shops you called stores that were grouped together in something called a mall that sounded ever so exciting to hang out in. You had bowling alleys and aerobics and spaceships and cowboys and flipping Disneyland for goodness’s sake!

You sounded like so much fun!

We all wanted to be you! Truly, we did!

But something curdled. And of course, you’re not alone in going off… Really, you’re not. The entire world is pretty damn curdled. There’s worse curdling elsewhere, for sure.

But we’re hoping for a miracle. For something gentle and kind and compassionate, something with common sense. Gentle but strong at the same time. Something real.

Because we love you, really.

Fingers crossed.

Francesca xx