65 Years Ago (A Beatles Story)

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

A gentle breeze blew through my hair, with an echo of the previous summer warmth. I looked up and could already see the leaves beginning to curl and change colour. Autumn was my favourite season; everything about it was perfect. The temperature that was gradually beginning to cool, the golden glow that seemed to follow you around, and the trees that painted a beautiful, colourful picture. Paul was walking beside me, his feet clunking clumsily as he avoided the puddles. He had already stood in one, soaking his school shoes, so he was now being extra careful.

"What you looking at?" he asked me.

"The leaves, don't you just love autumn?"

He draped his arm around my shoulders and nodded, trying to look as enthused as I did. "I'm more of a winter guy, if I'm being honest."

"How come?"

He smiled warmly. "My Mum, she loved winter, so it's my favourite too."

Of course I knew the story of what happened to his mother, but he didn't know that. "Loved?"

"She died last year. Cancer." He said, with no sad emotions in his voice, but he did not meet my eyes.

"I'm so sorry." I whispered. We walked in silence for a while, our steps growing slower. I gently put my hand in his, resting my head on his arm.

Paul and I were about to split our separate ways when a small drop of rain bounced on my forehead and dripped down my chin.

"Did you feel that?" I asked him.

He looked confused and replied, "Feel what?" A sudden look of realisation came over him as larger drops began to fall, one rolling off his nose. The previous puddles began to grow as the rain grew stronger and heavier. The sound on the pavement became louder and more intense, almost drowning out all other noise. I could barely hear Paul shout:

"What the hell!? I have never seen rain like this before!"

My vision was gradually becoming more and more blurred as the raindrops collected on my eyelashes, and my previously dry duffel coat had soaked me through to the skin.

"Let's go to my house!" I shouted over the noise, "My mother won't be home for a few more hours!"

He nodded, and, with my hand still in his, we ran down the long street towards the red bricked house choked in ivy. We pushed through the garden gate, disregarding the need to close it. The smell of fresh grass and flowers that were soaked from the rain filled my nose as we rushed up the path to the front door. I fumbled with the keys, struggling to unlock it in the rush.

"Come on, Martha. It's not getting any dryer." Paul said, shivering.

"You do it then!" I slapped the keys into his hands.

He gave me a cheeky look. "Watch me."

And I did. He unlocked the door with ease, and we were soon kicking off our wet, muddy shoes onto the mat that lay atop the hardwood floor. My socks were wet, so I peeled them off, telling Paul to do the same. He had begun to wander, so I grabbed his arm and silently took him upstairs to my bedroom.

I had tried to make my room look as nice as I could, but I had limited supplies - It being the 1950s and all. My bed had a barred, white frame with a yellow, frilled duvet. It was next to the window, which was trapped in curtains, also yellow. A wooden desk was propped against the opposite wall, a matching brown wardrobe next to it. I had a few small pictures above my desk, some of me and Carol (she had brought her new camera when I saw her last), and some that were of me as a child. Paul was looking at the photos, chuckling.

"Oh my gosh, look at this one!" He pointed at one of me at Blackpool Beach, riding on a donkey. "You look so cute."

"I remember that day," I said, biting my lip. Sometimes memories that were not mine came to me, filling me with a sickness that I cannot describe. "Dad always loved Blackpool, even before we moved here. We would go every summer."

Paul replied, "My dad takes me and Mike in the summer too. I wonder if we were ever there at the same time."

"You never know." I replied, a smile present on my face.

Delight suddenly filled Paul as he shouted, "Oh my God! I actually am in this picture."

I scrambled forward, and sure enough, there he sat, presumably with his brother Mike, making sand castles.

"How the hell-?" My heart rate suddenly quickened, my vision blurring with it. The only thing I could see was that beach. I took in a sharp breath, shaking my head no. But I had to live it; live someone else's memory.

"Martha!" Mummy shouted from across the beach, "Do you want your sandwich now?"

I shook my head at her. I was too busy playing with the boy. He had invited me to play with him and his brother - sand castles! I didn't have any siblings to play with at the beach, and Mummy and Daddy kept shouting at each other, so I was overjoyed that he had asked.

"Henry! I don't know why you have to be so rude to me all the time." She would shout.

"Well, you need to keep your bloody mouth shut and be a lady! Your opinion is irrelevant."

Then, Mummy would cry and shield her face with whatever she could find. Today, it was sunglasses.

"Excuse me?" He spoke with a funny accent. "You're doing it all wrong."

I raised my eyebrows. "No, you are."

He opened his mouth in shock but then began to laugh. His frail body wobbled.

"Catch me if you can!" I shouted to him, and we ran. Up the beach to the donkeys. He ran beside me, feet tapping in the sand. Small footsteps were the only proof we were there, but they would soon be washed away by the sea. He tagged me on the shoulder and jumped for joy with his victory. His smile was pretty.

Paul had his hands resting on my shoulders and was looking me dead in the eyes. I attempted to fight back the tears, but one managed to escape, and it rolled down my cheek, landing on the carpet. My nose flared softly as I blinked back the nausea I felt.

"What just happened?" Paul suddenly spoke.

I sniffled. "I have no idea."

"You were crying," His eyebrows furrowed. "And talking."

I shook my head, not wanting to talk anymore. He understood and wrapped his arms gently around me. I breathed in deeply, he calmed me.

"Come on, Martha. You can tell me anything." He stroked my hair. "In spite of all the danger, I won't leave."

Happiness washed over me; I knew that lyric. I squeezed him tighter, not wanting to let go.