Author's Note: I should probably mention that there is drug use in this chapter.
~
John’s tripping again. He’s been taking LSD a lot lately, and, admittedly, it’s scaring me. I’m afraid he’s going to eventually have a trip so bad, he won’t be able to recover. And all my fears come true when George Martin comes in the studio and tells me John’s acting funny and that he has him on the roof. Apparently he told him he was “ill,” and although George seems to have no clue what’s going on, I know immediately what’s wrong. What terrifies me is that the studio roof doesn’t have railings. John could get hurt. My heart pounds through my entire body; I can feel the beat as I try to imagine how a bad trip must feel. But I can’t, because I’ve never even had a good one. I try to breathe, figure out what to do. I have to go to John, that I know for certain. I waste no time racing up to him with George Harrison. He’s alone – shit, why would Martin leave him like this? – now in a cold sweat.
“John?” I whisper, but it’s like he can’t even see me.
I gesture wildly for George to help me, and we help John downstairs. Once back in the studio, I search my mind wildly for something that could help bring John back, maybe not to this world, but at least to a better one. When did he take the acid? How long has it been? I thank both Georges for helping, and then make a quick decision to drive John home. He’ll feel better there, I hope.
“John, we’re going to go home,” I say, and he just breathes a little more heavily, nodding at me. But there’s a slight glimmer in his eyes, and I internally sigh in relief.
I usher John into my car. The drive is silent, but I can see that John’s eyes are wide, staring at everything as it goes by, and suddenly, I’m curious. Is it really worth the risk of a bad trip? John isn’t stupid.
“Hey, do you have any more LSD left?” I ask John.
His eyes grow wide, and suddenly, I see a grin form on his face. The relief I feel is immense, and I know this is the right thing to do. If I can get into his zone, figure out what he’s experiencing, maybe I can help him feel better. I know full well my first trip might be a bad one; I’m extremely tense, but I need to help John in any way that I can, even if it means trying acid.
“Yeah,” he says, and hands me a bottle of some sort of pill-looking thing in his pocket.
I take one of them once I’m safely parked at John’s place, letting my tongue absorb the acid, and then lead John inside where we go to sit near his coffee table. By now, John’s excited, won’t stop talking. But I need to relax. I close my eyes and try to focus on my body and nothing else, knowing it takes a while to kick in. I can feel my stomach flutter, and I try to breathe deeply. Then I open my eyes and turn to John.
“It’s okay,” John says. “You just have to relax . . . Paul, this is going to be great, I can’t wait for you to see how crazy this stuff is . . .”
John’s voice fills me up, keeps me relaxed, and I’m even slightly excited by his tone of voice and how excited he is, how a potentially bad trip turned into something good in a matter of minutes.
“God John, keep talking, please,” I say.
He doesn’t need another excuse, just keeps talking about how amazing everything looks, and can I see it yet because it’s beautiful? and his excitement catches in my throat and festers until I feel a little more restless.
“Look at me, John,” I say, catching John’s hand in mine. “I want you to be the first thing I see when it kicks in.” His face is the thing keeping me grounded right now, I’m sure of it, keeping my stomach from twisting angrily and my pulse from beating unnaturally fast.
John studies my face, and I concentrate on his, trying to make it the only thing I see so I know I won’t fall into a bad place when the drug kicks in.
“We’re gonna go on a trip together,” I smile. “Finally. It’s what you’ve been wanting.”
It’s true. The fact that I haven’t tried LSD until now has created a rift between us. But John’s face breaks into a smile again, and it’s like that rift was never there, because now that I’m here doing it, I can finally see.
“How about Paris?” he jokes, and I laugh. “God, your laughter tastes like music.”
He leans over and kisses me, and when he pulls away, I swear I see his eyes dance. Tentatively at first, but no, there it is: the brown in his eyes stretching outwards, like rays of the sun.
“Bloody hell,” I whisper. “Your eyes are suns.”
“You’re tripping,” John laughs, a grin forming on his face, and I see what he means now. I can taste his laughter on my tongue.
And he’s right. I never thought it would happen, but I’m tripping. When John moves, he looks magical, like he’s shimmering. His skin is pinker, his hair more alive than I’ve ever seen it. He’s beautiful. And the room . . . The colors are saturated, glowing with a vigor unlike anything I’ve seen. I can feel everything swimming, moving around in front of my vision in swirling, dancing colors. John seems to light up the room, and yet, at the same time, he’s part of it. It’s a profound experience, like a whole other dimension has been opened, and John and I have temporarily teleported there.
“See?” John says. “Here’s somewhere we can be together.”
He’s right. There’s no one in this world but us, and I feel more connected to him than I have ever felt in the past. And after a little while, I realize I have lost contact with sensation in my body, as if it’s gone away, like it’s just my mind and the room around me. There’s nothing in between John and I, no physical restraint, just our minds, out in open space, dancing together in another dimension. I can’t say it doesn’t terrify me. That would be a lie. But at the same time, the colors swimming in my vision are the most beautiful things I’ve seen, the patterns stretching my mind open, and I finally understand. I understand why John would want me to experience this.
“I’ve heard rumors they’re going to make it illegal,” I say, while I can still speak straight.
But John is too far gone, his mind stained with colors. Considering he didn’t realize what he was taking when he took it, I wonder how large his dose was. And he’s further along than I am. All he can manage is an, “It’s too beautiful for them.”
I nearly stop to contemplate this statement, but for some reason, I have a feeling that if I do, things won’t go too well for me, that I’ll end up in a bad place and not be able to get back. So I shrug.
“I know, man,” I sigh, and then John laughs. “What?” I ask, and he laughs again.
“You know what else is too beautiful for them?” he asks.
“What?”
“You,” he grins. “Our relationship. Us. Too much beautiful for them to allow.”
“Why does beauty require risks?” I ask.
“Why does happiness require risks?” he shoots back. “I dunno. Because I guess it’s how they know you really want it. And who wouldn’t want this?”
He gestures to the room we’re in, and I couldn’t agree more. Swirling colors consume my vision, and I am immediately swept back away, back into a world where I can’t think, can’t speak, a world where I just have to let myself go. And I do. I let myself get lost, lost in John’s eyes, lost in the experience, lost to the world around me. And it’s beautiful. Everything is infinitely more beautiful, even if I know the fractals swirling in my vision aren’t real, even if I know this is all just a drug . . . Somehow everything snaps into place and seems to make sense.
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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.
