[No introduction beyond her name. Rebecca settles the guitar against her knee, tests one string with her thumb, then begins a gentle country picking pattern.] [Verse I] There was a girl at fourteen who hadn't been anywhere, hadn't kissed a boy yet, still fought knots out of her hair. She'd run barefoot through the summer, come home muddy to her knees, thought the whole world was as endless as the road beyond the trees. She had songs she hadn't written, had a voice she'd barely tried, had a thousand little Rebeccas waiting somewhere deep inside. And she was getting close to finding who she'd someday get to be— [softly] I wonder if she'd have liked me. [Verse II] She wasn't brave or broken. Wasn't famous. Wasn't strong. She didn't need a fucking costume just to prove that she belonged. She'd get angry with her mother, then apologize by ten, swear she'd never do that stupid thing then go and do it again. She thought seventeen was ancient. Twenty-one was practically dead. She had absolutely no idea what was waiting up ahead. And if you'd asked her what was special, she'd have shrugged and kicked a stone. She was fourteen. She had time. She didn't need to know. [Small Refrain] So this one's for Rebecca, before somebody changed her name. Before they told her being loved and being watched were just the same. Before she learned to smile on cue. Before the world got loud. For the girl who hadn't found herself— but would've. [quietly] I'm sure somehow. [Verse III] Maybe she'd have played guitar. I like thinking that she might. Bad chords underneath her bedroom window halfway through the night. Maybe she'd have fallen stupid-hard for somebody at sixteen, then cried for three whole fucking days like heartbreak's never been. Maybe college. Maybe nowhere. Maybe waitress. Maybe wife. Maybe she'd have changed her mind a hundred times about her life. God, what I'd give to hear her bitch about some ordinary day— a parking ticket, rent that's due, some asshole in her way. [Verse IV] People tell me that I'm special. I know what they mean by now. I can lift what shouldn't move and outrun things that shouldn't allow. I've crossed oceans before breakfast. I've stood where mountains touch the blue. I've done things that fourteen-year-old girl would swear could not be true. But she had something I don't have, something nobody can restore: She didn't know what came tomorrow. She could've been anything before. [the picking slows] And maybe that's a kind of power nobody notices you've got until somebody takes the future and decides what you're not. [Refrain] So this one's for Rebecca, before somebody changed her name. Before they taught her every camera was another kind of fame. Before the boots. Before the ears. Before she learned the crowd. For the girl who hadn't found herself— but would've. I'm sure somehow. [Verse V] I used to think I'd lost her. Like there was some dividing line. Rebecca ended there, and FuFu started, and only one of them was mine. But lately I've been wondering if maybe that's not true. Maybe girls don't disappear just 'cause somebody tells them to. Maybe she's the one who likes the smell of rain against the road. Maybe she's the one who stops to watch the first December snow. Maybe every stupid little thing that makes me laugh until I ache is fourteen-year-old Rebecca still deciding what we'll make. [Final Verse — almost whispered] So, hey, kid. Sorry it took me this long to say hello. You were getting pretty close, I think, to something you deserved to know. You weren't special 'cause of powers. Wasn't something you could prove. Wasn't how much hurt you'd live through. Wasn't how much you could move. You were special 'cause you hadn't finished. There were pages left to turn. Things you would've loved, and hated, and a million things to learn. And they took away some pages. Yeah. They took a fucking lot. [gentle smile in her voice] But they didn't get the ending. Turns out— neither have I. [Outro] So this one's for Rebecca. Fourteen. Almost there. Still getting knots tangled in that ordinary brown hair. You never got to find out just how special you could be. [the picking becomes very soft] But maybe... if you're still in here somewhere... you can find out with me. [One final picked chord. No flourish.]
