John and I are out to lunch. He says he has something to tell me about, something that happened the night before. He’s excited; I can see it in his eyes, but he insists that we order first before he starts talking. I look over the menu and nearly laugh out loud. Just less than five years ago, we wouldn’t have dreamed of spending this much on dinner, let alone lunch, but now we’re paying mainly for a little peace and quiet, a table in the most secluded area of the restaurant, where, even if there were people around, they’d be far too busy with their money to come over to us.
Once the waitress takes our order, John leans over the table to get closer, like he’s going to whisper a secret.
“You know how George, Pattie, and I were out last night for dinner?” John says, then he seems to search for words. “God . . . I can’t even find words to explain what happened.”
Wow. John Lennon at a lost for words.
“We were all having a coffee, and George’s friend had apparently slipped something in it –”
“Like . . . A drug?” I asked incredulously.
“Oh, but Paul, it was marvelous,” he says. “Everything looked crazy. All the coors were so much brighter, and the room looked massive, and then we went to this club and we were in the lift and we thought it was on fire! And we were laughing so hard because everything looked so funny. And George drove us home. I don’t even know how he did it, but we thought we were going to fast, and we were only going like twenty . . .”
“Shit, John, are you stupid?” I can feel my heart pounding.
He looks startled, like he didn’t except me to react like that.
“I’m not stupid,” he says, suddenly bitter. “We didn’t even know what it was. George’s friend told us to stay, but we thought that was weird because we didn’t know what –”
“But you knew what it was when you drove home!” I point out. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”
My voice has grown desperate, and I try to suppress the rising lump in my throat.
“Come on, it was great,” John says, still trying to be excited. But his face is now hard. “I bet you’d like it. I went home and drew all these great things . . .”
“I dunno, John. That kind of shit changes you forever. I don’t want that. I like me the way I am.”
“But you’d like everything else so much better,” he says, grinning again.
“I don’t need a drug to tell me that I love you, John,” my voice has dropped dangerously low, practically to a whisper, dripping with the confession. “I can’t lose you, John. Driving! Under the influence of a drug you don’t know anything about! I can’t lose you! Please.”
“Why are you so uptight all of a sudden?” his voice is bitter, but my stomach is churning too much to care.
“I told you,” I say. “John, I love you.”
I don’t think he really realizes exactly what I’m saying. I can’t believe it’s not registering in his mind yet. So I do something crazy. I reach across the table and lace my fingers through his.
“Is this uptight?” I whisper.
He looks so shocked that it takes him a few moments to react before he squeezes my hand.
“You’re right. It was stupid to drive when it was our first time using a drug we knew little about,” John admits breathlessly.
“I just don’t want to lose you,” I say. “I know it’s stupid, but the thought of losing you before I admitted all of this . . . I just . . . It makes me scared, John.”
“I’m here now, Paul. It’s okay. I’m alive,” he says, squeezing my hand again.
I don’t know what’s washed over me, why, all of a sudden, John seems so . . . mortal, like he could slip through my fingers, slip away from me at any moment. Suddenly, I need his touch, need him so badly. I can feel a dull ache throughout my entire body. Making sure no one is in the area, I lean over and take John’s face in my hands and kiss him. The thrill hadn’t died since that first kiss. Maybe now, in public, it’s even more thrilling, now that it’s not just an experiment. I feel so fragile, knowing he could shatter me in a moment.
But he doesn’t. He just stares at me, eyes soft.
“Paul,” he says, and I can hear the barrier in his voice fall down. “I love you, too.”
I want to kiss him again, but the waitress comes in with our food and it’s too late.
“John,” I whisper after she leaves, but it’s not loud enough for him to hear. But it doesn’t even seem to matter, because just the way his name falls over my lips feels like a kiss, so full of new meaning, of love. I smile, and, looking up, I see that John is smiling down at his food across the table from me. Now that it’s out in the open, I feel so much better. Because I guess I didn’t even realize it myself until I said it out loud, until I felt so . . . scared, when he’s obviously okay now.
But yes. I am in love with John Lennon. I don’t know how long I’ve been in love with him, just that it’s the most heart-wrenching, amazing feeling in the entire world.
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Yesterday (McLennon)
FanfictionAfter John is murdered, Paul has to learn to live without him, all while trying to sort through the memories of the relationship they had during their time with the Beatles.
