We’re in the studio again, rehearsing a song for Help! It’s an unusually beautiful day. I never realized how blue the landscape looks when the sun is hiding behind clouds, but I don’t see how I could have missed the contrast. The sun’s rays reach out, fingers of orange caressing the land below. I can feel it beat down on my face, even through the window. But the sun is dropping fast, dipping below the horizon, tinging it with rose, and it feels cruel to be locked up in here on what might be the last sunny day for weeks.
“John,” I say, and he looks at me attentively.
“Yeah?”
“Let’s get out of here. Today’s too beautiful to waste away.”
John nods, grinning, and we get up off the floor where we’ve been sitting, and sling our guitars over our shoulders to bring with us. We sneak out of the studio before anyone can stop us. The day feels unusually hot for a pair of jeans and button up shirt, but, even though I’m wearing a sweater as well, I don’t take it off. The warmness is so sudden that I want to cherish it. I do, however, reach to pull off a pair of glasses I was wearing in the studio as a bit of a joke, but John stops me.
“No,” he protests. “Keep them on. They suit you.”
He’s grinning, and I can’t help but blush. I wish I could walk closer to him, link my hand with his, but we’re in public, and just outside the studio no less.
“Hey, you’ve got to hide your love away,” John sings softly under his breath, looking at me.
“But love will find a way,” I sing back to him, smiling, and he rolls his eyes, but smiles.
“Yeah, but you took that one out of context.”
“I’m just trying to be positive,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“There’s nothing to be positive about,” he says bitterly. “Most of the world is against us.”
The truth in the statement stings, but I brush it aside.
“Come on, John. Let’s go somewhere where no one will ever disturb us. Let’s make it a good day. It’s gorgeous out,” I say, skipping up a little bit.
“Let’s go for a drive,” John says excitedly. “Somewhere where no one will ever find us.”
The sun is slipping away fast, and I want to enjoy it, but I know just the place to watch a sunset. Somewhere no one really goes. So we walk briskly to my car and drive off. In the safety of my car, we can act and speak freely, but I’m in too much of a hurry to get to my spot for me to say much of anything. I speed until we get to a little park with a hill nearby, then grab my guitar and head up to the top with John following. There’s a nice grassy patch where we settle down on, and though it’s not a big hill and you can’t see much further than you would on flat ground, the view of the sky is clear, and no one is around.
John smiles and reaches for my hand, and I lean on his shoulder. His head comes down to rest on top of mine, and I love the feeling of warmth, the feeling of being so close without having to worry much.
“You know, I guess I’ve always loved you,” John says, and I blink, not expecting the words from him. “But I just never admitted it to myself. Because it’s . . . illegal and all. And weird. And I’ve liked girls before. So I never thought it could be something like this. But I’ve been thinking about the past, and how I might have been attracted to you since the moment I met you. You could play all those instruments, and I was so impressed, so . . . mesmerized.” He’s holding so fiercely to my hand, like he’s afraid I might jump up and leave at the remark.
I have never seen John this vulnerable.
“John,” I whisper. “What’s going to happen to us?”
“I dunno, Paul,” he says, staring out at the sunset.
We’ll never be able to tell anyone about a relationship like this. We’ll just be . . . friends to the rest of the world. Will that be enough for us? Will it be easy to have to pretend to live separate lives? I can see us now, in two separate houses, pretending to live there alone, but actually spending every night together. In some ways, a secret relationship has its merits. It’s all ours. Can’t be destroyed by anyone else.
“I’ll follow the sun,” I sing, strumming my guitar softly, watching the sun fall, trying not to think too hard.
“I wish we could, for real,” John comments. “It’s still daylight in America. And probably sunny.”
“Remember when we went to Paris?”
“And you got me a hamburger for my birthday? Yeah, I remember,” John grins.
“You got me a better present for your birthday,” I laugh.
“Hey, Paul,” John says suddenly. “I’ve been writing something. And I know I’ve been keeping it from you. But I wanted you to hear it only after I got all the lyrics down.”
I sit, attentively, waiting to hear. Something about the tone in his voice tells me this is something different from his normal stuff. He takes a deep breath and starts playing.
“There are places I remember . . .” he begins, cascading into a song that literally brings tears to my eyes. “In my life, I love you more.”
My heart stops, and so does my ability to speak.
“I wrote it with you in mind,” he whispers. “That’s why I didn’t want the boys to hear it. That’s why I kept the lyrics hidden from you. I wanted you to hear it only when it was almost finished, and I wanted you to hear it first. And it’s not totally finished yet, but I couldn’t resist showing you any longer.”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.
I’ve never had a song written for me, before; I’m always the one writing the songs for other people. So this experience is something totally different, something that just takes all my words away.
“So are you,” he says, and I lean my head on his shoulder, staring out at the sky.
I wish I could just live in this moment forever, with John being so perfectly adorable, and the sun sending rays of fire across the landscape. I wish I could be this carefree every day. I wish . . . I wish John and I didn’t have to hide this. I reach for his hand and squeeze it.
“No matter what happens, John, just know that I love you right here and now,” I say softly.
“Oh yeah?” he says, a glimmer in his eyes. I’m already grinning, knowing something is coming. “Then why don’t you tell the whole world?”
“You know I can’t, John –”
“Then tell the sun,” he says.
I stare at him for a split second before screaming off into the sun.
“I love John Lennon!” I declare, grinning.
He grins and then scrunches his eyes up and screams, “I love Paul McCartney!”
“I said it louder.” I wink, and then John pushes me playfully and I fall over and roll down the hill, laughing as John rolls down after me, leaving our instruments at the top of the hill.
When the last rays of the sun slip away, my shirt is covered in grass stains and I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. But I couldn’t ask for a better day.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
Yesterday (McLennon)
फैनफिक्शनAfter 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.
