Eddie ~Paul McCartney Fanfiction~

Chapter 35: Est-il près, est-il loin?

June 21st, 1965

The seat he was courteously escorted to by a polite usher was far from discreet as he requested. Unless sitting in the front row, a few feet away from the stage meant so to the French. They were really a weird bunch, these French. John looked down at his chair , fitting between a small round table and a narrow walkway, allowing the patron siting there more room than some of the others, then back at the usher no older than 15 years old. His dark and long locks were combed back, giving him a cleaner look, harmonizing with his white shirt and blue bowtie. ''I'm sorry. Can I be moved somewhere else? Like in the back? In a dark corner? The last thing I want is attention being drawn on me and not the show.'' He asked in a low voice, looking around the room only to notice it was getting fuller with spectators at a good pace. The teenager frowned, tilting his head slightly to the left. ''Pardon? Vous dites?''

John sighed and closed his eyes. Shaking his head, he couldn't find any French words he knew from his weak vocabulary he could use to help his translate what he wanted to convey to this young man in an intelligible manner. He opened his eyes and pointed at the balcony behind him. ''I want to sit there. Si voo plait.''

The usher copied the guitarist's movement, raising his eyebrows. ''Là bas?'' John nodded silently, smiling to indicate he understood.

''Ah bah non, monsieur!'' The usher smiled and chuckled. ''Vous méritez la meilleure place de la maison. La meilleure vue.''

It was John's turn to frown, confronted by incomprehension. ''What?''

''Vue Monsieur...'' The usher pointed at his blue eyes with two fingers.

John leaned back at the boy's gesture, suddenly offended. ''How do you know I can't see shit? Are you some kind of mind reader?'' He asked to the confused boy.

''Assoyez-vous.'' The usher smiled and gave a gentle tap on John's shoulder. ''Bon spectacle!''

The guitarist turned around as the young man walked towards the back of the room. He was hardly a few feet away, John already had to squint his eyes to help him distinguish his figure in the blurry scene he was merging into.

John grunted, he ignored how this usher, or his supervisor, maybe, found out about this, but to be seated in front, despite asking to be hidden behind was going to be more enjoyable for himself in the end.

Myopia and astigmatism made John's surrounding blurry and distorted since his teenage years. With bare eyes, he could see the end of his guitar neck while holding it. The glasses prescribed to him were never where they ought to be; on his face. Paradoxically the black frames he chose to encase his heavy prescription lenses were to look just like one of his idols; Buddy Holly. He couldn't stand being caught with his glasses on his nose. How uncool? There was no wat John could let an opportunity like this one to be made fun of or worse, to be found unattractive to women.

Contact lenses were to solution suggested by Mimi, but it has been proven to be ineffective. Her nephew hated wearing them as much as his spectacles, deaming themselves to be uncomfortable. ''Well, it's one or the other, John.'' The man could hear his aunt's voice clearly. Smirking, he thought about how ridiculous he must have looked writing with his nose almost touching his sheet of paper, sitting at his school desk on days he faked forgetting his lenses for his own comfort.

His professional life forced him forced him to make a choice for his own good sake. Bumping into one of his band mates, tripping on some cables of even falling off stage wouldn't be a good look for him at all. So he wore contacts for his public endeavors and taking them out as soon as he found himself alone backstage or out of view of camera lenses. His glasses were only worn in the comfort and intimacy of his home or hotel rooms and in cars on the way to shows and interviews.