Take a sad song and make it better

Chapter One

The year was 1959 and John Lennon finally settling into a deep sleep after a restless night. A loud bang rang out from his bedroom door, and John quickly sat bolt upright- breathing shallowly from fright. John could could picture the sadistic delight his Aunt Mimi would have plastered across her usually stoic face, he knew his that his dear old Auntie took great pleasure in waking John every morning, knowing how irritated it made the teenager, a little bit of payback for the irritation he caused her most days. John hated to be woken up against his will, especially after a night when his intermittent insomnia had wreaked its havoc. It was safe to say that John was not a morning person. Not at all. As John heard his Aunt descend down the stairs to the kitchen he decided that there was no point in going back to sleep, because his Aunt would just wake him again, and there was sure to be yelling involved - and possibly threats against the welfare of John’s records and guitar. Can't have that. John thrust his legs over the side of his small bed and stretched his back and arms.

“Fuckin’ ‘hell…” He muttered. He stood up and turned to face the full length mirror that hung on the back of his bedroom door. His hair was a mess. And it was not a good mess. Not a mess that said “I don't give a shit about my hair.” Or a post sex mess - as much as John wished that was the case - no, it was an “I’ve been tossing and turning all night, insomnia, what a bitch.” kind of mess. It was doing him no favours. John moved his eyes from his hair down to his face. he sighed heavily before slapping his hands to his cheeks and let them drag down pulling his skin and bottom eyelids down to reveal the extent of his bloodshot eyes.

“Great.” John said as his hands fell to his sides. deciding to forget about his face, which was just a lost cause today apparently.

“Thanks for that one God. I’ve always wanted to look like a drugged up sailor who hasn't slept for a week. Cheers, lovely that is.”

Johns eyes continued to travel down to his torso and stomach. Finally something that John was happy with. His upper body was thin and toned - not overly muscular - just nicely solid, and much to John delight, completely hairless. John hated chest hair, chest hair was for old people and cave men, not for young teddy boys and rock and rollers. John bet Elvis didn’t have chest hair. John smacked his hands on his chest and decided to stop staring at himself and get ready for another no doubt crappy day at the art college… The art college where John was bound to see Paul…. “ NO.” John thought harshly. Mates don't get excited to see mates. Not the kind of excitement that John felt anyway. Paul, no doubt the reason behind Johns bout of insomnia, had been on Johns mind a lot lately and John was beginning to get very confused about his feelings for Paul. A warm feeling filled Johns chest when he thought of Paul. A warm feeling in his soul. John shook his head violently and ruffled his hair - lets face it, nothing was making that mess any worse - and forced Paul out of his mind. John quickly put on a random rock and roll record and began to search for some clean clothes. He settled for a pair of tight black drannies and a white t-shirt, and went back to trying to create some kind of reasonably good quiff in his messy mop of hair.

 

After a quick chat with Mimi, informing John that she was leaving for london for a week, possibly two and that he was to take good care of the house while she was gone and not to have Cynthia or any of his rough looking friends around while she was gone, John was out the door. He could hear his Aunt yell from behind the glass of the living room window “Glasses John!” So John quickly took his glasses from the front pocket of his pants and placed them on the back of his head and turn his hand to wave backwards at Mimi.

“DONT BE CHEEKY JOHN!” John could faintly hear her yell as he walked away.

“But I'm oh so good at it luv..” He muttered to no one in particular.

John opted to walk to school rather than ride his bike like usual, simply for the fact that his hair was already a fucking mess and the wind rushin’ past his head wasn’t exactly going to help now was it? “Jesus Christ… When did I gets so fuckin’ vain?! Like a bird I is..” John thought. The little voice in John's mind replied, “Since you started going out with Cynthia of course, got to look good for Miss Powell Johnny boy me lad!” John thought this was a good enough excuse for his vanity but the little devil that sat on John's shoulder had a different opinion. “It’s not really about the little birdy though is it John? No sir. Me thinks it has something to do with our little Elvis look alike… Our little Paulie has our little Johnny all a flutter, isn’t that right my boy?” Johns upper lip curled in anger, if voices in your head could be killed John thought, this one would be under a bus by now.

John reached the gates of the Liverpool art college in no time, and he let out a huge sigh as he crossed the threshold. Another swell day in Hell.