Broken Words - Paul McCartney, John Lennon

Blues in the News

He could not remember if the paper had been trashed before or after the tears started. He had returned from his morning walk to see the daily newspaper as usual. However, the bold headline was anything but usual.

JOHN LENNON: SHOT IN NEW YORK

His perplexed vision made the words appear bigger, bolder and more than he could take in. His breathing ceased then started right up again. As if he had not just read the words that sent a shock through him.

And the one word beneath:

DEAD.

Paul's vision blurred. He swore, once, twice, then slammed the cup of tea he had been drinking down into the table. "Oh, my, oh, my."

Linda, his wife, had heard the commotion and seeing the scattering broken china spilled onto the kitchen table, she said, "Paul, what - oh, my God. John - he's -"

"I-I know." His voice shook. "It says so, right here, but the press lies, right?"

"I don't believe they would about this, dear. I'm sorry." He could feel Linda's hand on his shoulder.

"And he was shot? Shot! How?"

"I could not tell you that, Paul...I can't," said Linda.

"Who was shot?"

The husband and wife turned to see their eldest at the foot of the staircase. Mary's eyes flickered from the crumpled newspaper to the remains of the tea cup. Barely eleven and her mouth could form the ugly sentence of Who was shot?

Paul and Linda exchanged a glance. Paul saw his own teary eyes reflected in her own. It was Linda whom spoke at last:

"John, Uncle John."

Mary burst into tears. Paul almost swore, but held it in.

"I told him he should never have gone to New York with that witch!"

"Paul!" Linda scolded him, but she also had regret within her eyes. "I should phone Heather, tell her...the news."

"You should." Paul stood up abruptly. He walked over to Mary and kissed her forehead. Then, once he was up the stairs, he kissed the foreheads of his sleeping children. Back in the kitchen, he kissed Linda, told Mary to get some sleep if she could. He picked up the newspaper, smoothed it out a bit, and stuffed it into his coat. "Linda, tell Heather to meet me in New York, please, if you would."

"Why can't the children and I just go with you?"

"The press - they'll be a real bugger to the kids. They annoy meself on my own, I cannot imagine how they will treat the kids."

"And why can't I go?"

"Honey," he hugged her close, "I don't want to upset you, really, I don't, but I feel this is a journey for me and myself alone."

"So, Heather is yourself now?"

"Heather is the only one over eighteen."

"And she is the biological daughter of mine," Linda countered.

"That is true, true. But someone needs to watch over-"

"Oh, don't be sexist, Paul!"

"I'm not trying, too. It is just, you're better at taking care of the children than me."

"We are best together."

"We are, we are," mused Paul. "But you are the majority of that 'best.'"

"Honestly, Paul, please just stop trying to sugarcoat sexist comments of yours."

"I'm not trying to! I just feel this is my own journey. Mine alone."

"I get that, but, dear Lord, John was near to all of us. He is not just yours. He is his own." 

He bit down a particularly ugly retort about the fact she was already talking about him in past tense. Instead, he said, "John was closest to me. I am going to New York - I'll phone you when I get there. And, yes, I was honest about bringing Heather along."

"I still don't understand why you can bring your stepdaughter but not your own wife."

"I don't either, love. It's just a feeling I have...I feel it's what I'm supposed to do."

"Well, why does Heather have to go with you anyhow?"

"She doesn't, necessarily, have to..."

"The she is not."

"I can phone her up right now, and get her opinion," said Paul.

"Go. Do it then. The phone is awaiting."

He took the bait. Dialing the number with a twirling finger, he heard the light dial tone in his ear.

Heather picked up quickly. "Hello, Dad. Is there anything w-wrong? I mean, y'know, besides -"

"Hello. Heather, listen, Uncle Johnny is dead. He's - he's been shot." He started to cry again. "In New - New York."

"I know, Dad, I know. God, why couldn't it have been different?"

"I don't know. But I was wondering if you would like to, go to New York with me and -and see, s-see."

"Dad, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think I'll be able to handle it. It is too soon, sudden. Like in your song, 'I'm not half the man I used to be. There's a shadow..."

"Hanging over me," finished Paul. "And, about the visit, it is fine. I'll just go there meself..."

"You can handle it, can't you?"

"Yes, you sound so much like your mother." He chuckled. "I'll be in New York next time I call." Paul ended the call.

Linda said, "I will call you." She hugged him.

"And I will answer." Paul kissed her again.

"You better."

"I will, babe." His eyes twinkled. "Maybe you'll be amazed at how quickly I'll answer."

They finished with their traditional farewell.

"I love you, Paul."

"I love you, too, Linda."