Chapter Text
Lila was glad for her recent retro purchase - a custom neon light of her name in pink, just like the ones they had back in the day. The soft neon glow cast a nostalgic hue across the rows of cassette tapes lined up neatly on a shelf beside her bed. Right underneath that, a special shelf just for her vinyl collection.
Posters of 80s icons—Madonna, Prince, and, of course, Rick Astley—covered the yellow pastel walls, each a tribute to the decade she adored. Her room was a sanctuary of retro treasures, immediately throwing anyone back to the 1980s whenever they stepped into her room. To the dismay of her mum, whom unfortunately would much rather forget about her adolescent years.
A collection of scrunchies in every colour imaginable, a Walkman that still played her favourite mixtapes, a stack of vintage magazines she’d meticulously scoured thrift shops to find, and of course the item that started it all, her father’s vinyl player. The only thing he left behind, other than her, he decided to walk out of her and her mother’s lives.
Lila flopped onto her bed, her heart fluttering as she stared up at the poster of Rick Astley smiling down at her, the familiar sound of his smooth baritone voice singing to her, asking her to hold him in her arms in the background. There’s just something about the 80s that she loved. She loved the music, the style, the spirit of the 80s—but more than anything, she loved Rick. Not just for his music, but for the way his voice seemed to understand her, even though he sang those hits long before she was born. To her, he was more than just a pop star; he embodied everything she wished she could have experienced first-hand.
The sound of stomping feet from the hallway barely registered to Lila’s mind as she allowed herself to get lost in the music. But when her bedroom door suddenly burst open, she was rudely jolted back into reality.
"Lila!" her mother’s sharp voice cut through the melody, pulling her out of her reverie. "What is this, huh? Another day off, and you’re just lying around in this museum of yours?"
Lila sighed, slowly reaching over to turn down the volume on her vinyl player. She knew this was coming. It always did. “Mum, can you please knock next time?” she replied, reminding her mother for the millionth time.
"It’s already 11.30 am and you’re still rolling around in bed. Is that what you’re planning to do all day?" her mum continued, stepping into the room with a look of sheer exasperation. She glanced around, her nose wrinkling as she took in the neon light, the cassette tapes, and the endless memorabilia that cluttered the space. "Honestly, Lila, you’ve got more junk in here than that secondhand bookshop you work at! When are you going to start doing something productive with your life?”
She’d heard this lecture a hundred times before. To her mum, anything from the 80s was just old and useless—a reminder of a time she’d rather forget. It’s the past and it should stay in the past. But to Lila, it was a way to connect with something she felt she’d missed out on. She has always felt out of place amongst her peers. She doesn’t understand the modern trends, the music, the culture. There are some things she appreciates, like the internet. A place where she gets most of her 80’s treasures. And also her main source for all things Rick Astley. There are still more footages of him singing and being interviewed that she’s yet to discover on the internet. She has been scouring the net to find information about where he is now, in 2010.
There’s hardly any news of him, and no rumours of a comeback, not even special appearances for any kind of nostalgic events much to her disappointment. One thing she’s very sure of is that he’s still alive. He has to be. She felt it in her gut.
"Mum, it’s my day off," Lila replied, trying to keep her voice calm. "I just wanted to relax.”
Lila’s mum sighed, her gaze flicking to the neon light glowing softly in the corner of the room. “You’re young, Lila! You should be out there, doing something with your life, not stuck in here living in the past! And it’s not even your past! You were born in 1989!”
“That’s just it, Mum, I was born too late! It was the tail end of the glorious '80s!” Lila’s voice had a touch of desperation, like she was defending not just a preference, but a piece of herself.
“Glorious, pfft! There’s nothing glorious about the '80s.” Her mum crossed her arms, shaking her head.
“Oh please, Mum, just because it wasn’t a good time for you doesn’t mean it was a bad decade,” Lila retorted, feeling the tension rise. She knew her mum had her reasons, but that didn’t mean she was right.
“I could say the same for you, Missy. This decade, right now, it’s not that bad. Why don’t you try to live in it for once?”
“I do, Mum, I do. Every day. I’m not delusional. But the '80s make me happy—the music, the fashion, the way people lived…”
“The way people lived?” Her mum let out a dry laugh. “You know what I remember? People were ‘living on a prayer,’ trying to get by while the economy tanked. And don’t even get me started on the hair—clouds of hairspray everywhere, choking us all.”
Lila groaned. “Mum, not every song is ‘Living on a Prayer.’ What about ‘Take On Me’? ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’? Those are classics! They weren’t all doom and gloom.”
Her mum shook her head. “Lila, I’m talking about real life, not the movies or the songs. And let’s not romanticise things like AIDS, pollution, or the Cold War.”
“Things aren’t exactly sunshine and roses now either,” Lila countered, her frustration bubbling over.
“Well obviously, since you’re wasting your paycheck on all this nonsense,” Mrs Summers interrupted, gesturing around the room.
Lila clenched her fists, trying to keep her cool. “I like it here, Mum. It makes me happy.”
Her mum’s expression softened for a moment, but then she shook her head again. “Happiness isn’t going to pay the bills, love. You need to start thinking about your future. You can’t keep hiding in this room, in this... this time capsule.”
Lila sighed and finally turned off the record player. She hesitated before mumbling under her breath, “Sorry, Rick.”
“What was that?” her mum asked, already exasperated.
“Nothing, Mum. What would you like me to do?”
“Go out, hang out with your friends, go to the movies, date boys…”
Lila rolled her eyes. “That’s just it, Mum, boys! They’re all boys—stinky, dumb boys. Rick is a man!” She held up a vinyl cover of Rick Astley, his face looking dreamy against the backdrop of the '80s aesthetic.
“Oh my God, Lila! Listen to yourself!” Her mum’s voice grew shrill with exasperation. “That’s just wrong, Lila, wrong. Have you any idea how old he is?”
“Forty-four,” Lila muttered, slipping on her socks and shoes.
“Exactly, old!”
“Mum, you’re older than him!”
“That’s not the point! You have to get down from the clouds, Lila. No one has heard from him for decades. He could be dead for all we know.”
Lila’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “Mum, how can you say that? ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ isn’t just a song, it’s a promise. Rick would never leave his fans like that. And if you must know, he is alive and well. Just not touring, much.”
Her mum softened a little, seeing the hurt in Lila’s eyes. “Lila, I’m just saying you can’t live in a fantasy. You have to move forward. The '80s are over—‘don’t you forget about that.’”
Lila groaned at her mother’s attempt to quote The Breakfast Club. She grabbed her backpack and stomped past her mother.
“Where are you going now?”
“Going out, Mum! To live in the decade, isn’t that what you want me to do?”
Mrs. Summers sighed in resignation. She didn’t mean to hurt her daughter; her concern for Lila’s future was genuine, and it was frustrating that Lila could be so shortsighted about it.
As the door swung shut behind her, Lila couldn’t shake the feeling that today would be different—that maybe, just maybe, something extraordinary awaited her. But first, she needed a trip to the thrift store. Another place that made her happy.