say hello wave goodbye

35: those were the happiest days of my life (1997)

September 1997

When it came to romantic gestures, Lindsey didn't have the best track record.

On Stevie's 21st birthday, he had the idea to leave single long-stemmed roses in various places she'd see through the day- on the windshield of her car, outside the door of her apartment, at their practice space, and so on. The only problem being, he was a little short on cash and couldn't ask his parents for a loan, because he had already done that the day before. Not wanting to endure the ribbing that would come with asking his brothers or friends for help, he was stuck.

Until he happened to look at the window and catch a glimpse of his crotchety old neighbor's prized rose bushes.

Hmm.

He thought he'd gotten away with it, sneaking next door under cover of darkness and cutting a few flowers from the lowest branches. And he almost did, until his neighbor spied Stevie walking up to his front door with her collected bouquet in hand.

They were making out on the living room couch, her in just her underwear and him with his pants around his ankles, when there was a knock on the door.

"Mmm. Baby. Maybe you should get that?"

"Nah," he said, unhooking her bra with a practiced snap of the wrist. "Probably just girl scouts selling cookies."

Another knock, this time louder and more urgent. "Uh, that doesn't sound like a girl scout."

Swearing under his breath, he pulled up his jeans and staggered over to the door, willing his hard-on to go away as he tried not to think about his nearly naked girlfriend in the next room.

Fortunately, or not, the sight of a surly cop on his front porch was an instant boner kill. "You Lindsey Buckingham?"

"Y-yes? I mean, yes officer, sir." What the hell was going on?

"We got a complaint from your neighbor, he thinks you may have vandalized his garden. Stole some roses. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

"Ah. I. Can't say I do? Sir. Officer," he babbled. Shit. His parents were going to kill him. At least he wouldn't die a virgin.

The policeman frowned, nodding toward the flowers that were clearly visible on top of the table in the foyer. "You sure?"

"Honey, is every-" Stevie wanders toward the doorway, hair mussed and the buttons on her blouse askew from her haste to get dressed. "Oh. Oh geez."

Maybe the officer himself had once been a gangly, slightly awkward teenager trying to impress a girl who was way out of his league, or maybe he just felt sorry for Lindsey. For whatever reason, he looked at the two of them and cleared his throat. "I'll go next door and tell him he must be mistaken. Have a nice day, you kids."

The truly amazing thing about that story is how it actually turned out better than another one of his grand attempts- namely, the first time he proposed to Stevie. After years of vaguely talking about marriage sometime in the future, once they had 'made it', he had decided that it was time to do something about it. They were just coming off of their first tour and newly flush with cash, so it was nothing to call up a florist and order five dozen roses. No need to steal this time. He ordered from her favorite expensive restaurant (he didn't want to go out; he wanted privacy and she would inevitably run into a friend he's never met), lit enough candles to set the place alight, and put a bottle of top shelf champagne on ice.

She said no.

She said he wasn't doing it out of love, he was doing it out of desperation and it wasn't going to fix the things that were already broken. How do you explain that you can be in love and desperate at the same damn time?