Dear Mr. McCartney

Don't Pass Me By

It has been 3 days since I sent that blasted letter to Paul, and well I'll be honest, I didn't know WHERE to send it, so I sent it to his original home in Liverpool, where it has become a museum, hoping maybe the manager or somebody else knows where to send it off too...

I'm not loosing hope.

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6 Days Later ...

I woke up in my queen sized bed, feeling excited, and I didn't know why. I sat up and stretched as the sun rays sneaking through my halfway cracked window. I smiled and whispered "Hi" to George up in heaven. Call me crazy but yeah, George Harrison, I say hi to him in the morning and to John every night when I see the moon. I do miss them. Then it hit me, today was day 6 since the letter. The thought killed my excited mood.

I'm always the first one to wake up in the morning, to go and feed the horses. I got out of bed and threw on my buddy hollyish looking glasses, got dressed in my usual jeans and plaid work shirt, threw my wavy hair in an extremely messy side braid, and headed for the door.

I entered the kitchen and saw someone sitting on our front porch steps smoking a cigarette, a ... man. I tried to quietly walk to the door, but the old floor boards had other plans. The man stood up and turned around to meet my gaze.


It can't be.


He's so... y o u n g .


I was face to face with THE Paul McCartney... but he wasn't him. He looked my age .. 18 or so ... and I was speechless. Every detail of his face matched the Paul I knew, his famous eyebrows, his plump lips, his lazy hazel eyes, his little button nose, even his mop top hair.


"Ello', my names Paul. I'm looking for an Elizabeth Daniels? Do you know where I could find er'?"


His voice was enchanting and oh so charming, his Liverpudlian accent was rich and I realized it had been a while since he spoke ..

"uerhm.. yeah ... hi," I spoke slow and giggled about how ridiculous I was being. "I'm Elizabeth, just call me Lizzie, or Ale A-L-E."

"Like the drink? That's cool." He laughed at my blank expression.

"So uhm, what exactly ... how exactly ... how erm, why are you here?" I probably blinked a thousand times and blurted those words out before I felt my face flush it's famous blood red.

Paul giggled, "Well Ale, I'm ere' because I got this brilliant little letter in the mail the other day sent to my address... wonderful really." He paused and looked at the floor. "I was just comin' ta say thank ya' for all you said. It does mean a lot." He smirked.

"What's so funny?" I asked, intrigued and afraid about how the hell he was so damn young. Is this really Paul?! My insides were exploding at the very thought ...

"I'm sort of confused love, you see, I'm only assumin' that you meant that letter was meant for the real Paul, not this one." He pointed to his chest and snapped his head up with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Go on." I stuttered .

"And whel', since you did send it to MY house, I'm only returning the answer." His gaze drifted to something off in the distance.

I sighed. Completely shocked that I knew this was real, and not knowing what to say. "Paul... I have one question. Are you really 'Paul' as in THE Paul McCartney? You are a spitting image of him, and you are so much like him..."

"Yes, Ale I am him. Not the one you know and love, I'm a tad different, I'm not as old as my famous self yah see. Me dad doesn't want anyone to know I "exist" to get an attention. But I had to come. Ale, you seemed so sweet, and so caring, I just had to meet you."

I smiled as a million thoughts spun through my head. "That's so great Paul..." I paused and bit my lip. "You want to help me feed really fast? Then maybe we can come back inside and get a cup of coffee?"

"Do you av' tea?" He smiled and stared into my eyes. It sent shivers down my spine.

"Yeah, I'm sure I can find something." I smiled and walked side by side with Paul down to the stables.