Petty Little Beatles

Act IV: Scene iv

The last and final months were rocky and unstable for the most part. Still, he tried to make it work, somehow. He tried to bring her joy, but he still felt an overwhelming and increasing amount of doubt and guilt. He felt he had caused her this pain, and he was uncertain how to leave it. He was uncertain what to do but to hang in there. He and Kay had talked to the boys:

"Richard, John, James, George." They knew it was serious business when Dad used their full names.

"Yes?"

"Your mother and I...we're..." He hesitated. He would not let his emotions get to him he would not let his emotions get to him he would not -

"You're what?" Paul, only eight...Tom felt he was too young, that they were all too young to hear what he needed to say.

"We're still going to be your parents, just not...just not together." Tom could see different, scattered emotions across each of his boys' faces, but there was one constant one, that of sadness.

"But you're parents. With an s. You guys are supposed to be together." Paul was the first to cry.

"Are you saying you're getting a divorce?" Tom had not even known that John knew that ugly word, but he had said it confidentially and fearfully.

"No." Tom's voice shook. "We will still be your parents," he repeated. He could not stand to be in the room any longer, but he still took the time to hug them all individually, his boys, and hugged them all at once. Then, he left the room. He went into the studio and wrote a bit, trying and trying to get his mind on anything else. He could write for a short while, but it would not distract him. He smoked, wrote a little, but mostly thought. He was thinking of Kay and the look she had given him the night he had asked if she trusted him. He had not asked her that question since then, because he would always know the answer. Some day, long ago, it had been different. But those days were over. He had said words, since then, that he regretted, and he thought she may have, too. But they could not change that. Their relationship was crumbling, and he did not know when the final stone would fall.

He found himself tearful over his writings one night. His mind was awake, restless with worry. He still felt that he loved her, but he knew it was all for waste. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands. She did not trust him. He wanted it to be fake and false, but it was the truth. She had said it herself. He kept writing and writing, lyrics and melodies. He would drive to the studio and record a bit. For a short while, it would be like the early days. There was little trouble, his home life was stress-free, Kay trusted him, and he still had good times with his band. He still had time to write and less time to worry. Then, he would return home, and the illusion broke and crashed around him. All in all, he still felt something when he looked at her. He knew it was the same something when he had first met her. That small glitter... It was still shining, like a beacon, like a star. He would seek for it, afraid it would burn out as so many things already had.

He wondered if the ashes would be as meaningful as the flames themselves.

He wore a smile when he taught the boys a new song on guitar. Sometimes, the song was his, but more times than not, it was some song he had heard in his own youth. Chuck Berry, Elvis, a bit of Little Richard... Strangely enough, the boys loved the melodies and guitars. It was hard not to smile around them. It was a little easy to find the sun when he felt the rain had already fallen.

He sometimes spoke to Kay. He was a bit uneasy, but he wanted to stay clear of a fight. She was stubborn still, caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't been there.

But the thing was, he had been there. Who else would have known what had happened better than himself? He had told her to even call Stevie up since she didn't believe him. But he knew she would never dial the number.

He just could not take it. So, he did the only thing he thought he could: he packed his bags and left. He left Kay and her stubborn disbelief in him; he left her lack of trust; he left the overwhelming gloom and doubt that lingered with him; he left the dark, dim studio; he left the fights; he left the ugly words hanging; he left the pathetic teenage magazines; he left the all the memories, good and bad alike. But, most of all, he left the boys.