A childhood event was the inspiration here. The idea for this song was initially different than what actually came out when I began writing, and it came in one day. Interesting how the writing process works, like the of writing a story that seems to take on a life of its own, sometimes it dictates what will be written despite your intention. I’m including the lyrics under the videos now, thanks to a suggestion from a follower.
Susan
Susan was new to the neighbourhood, we walked to school
Picking oranges from a grove marked for demolition
She had no mother, lived with her dad,
Grade five, California, 1967
He was never home until the end of the day
But Susan had her own key to the front door
And she wasn’t allowed to play down the street
I guess it was his way to see her safe and secure
I’d go to her house most day’s after school
We’d eat captain crunch and watch national velvet
Or turn the radio up loud and make up crazy dances
Doing our best to imitate Elvis
I remember a pool table stood where a dining table should be
And stacks of country albums in rows on the floor
I remember her dad and his short, black, shiny hair
And the cans of beer he bought from the corner liquor store
We started out as friends but for reasons I didn’t understand
She became cruel and condescending
I became the target of her hurtful remarks
By the time the school year was ending
By summertime a white moving van parked in front of her house on the road
And I saw men carry out the pool table, and boxes of everything they owned
I could see Susan in the passenger seat of the station wagon
Her dad beside her at the wheel
She never looked or waved at me standing, stared straight ahead
never let on how she feels about
Leaving another home, leaving another town,
leaving another school, leaving another friend