Don't Pass Me By // Mclennon

~ seven ~

We made our way infront of Paul's house once again. He turned his key in the lock as we walked inside. The house was a lot less vibrant and much more dull and quiet. I squinted my eyes as I studied the surroundings, noticing neither of his parents were anywhere to be seen.

"We've got this place to ourselves tonight, boys! Me family's down at the clinic for me Mother's health." Paul explained with slight worry in his voice, but not enough to be apparent to the others.

We headed upstairs into Paul's room. He lit a candle and propped it on his table before lighting a cigarette.

"Feel free to light up, lads." Paul offered, puffing smoke out of his full lips.

"Don't mind if I do!" Richard said as he lit a cigarette of his own.

I shuffled into my pockets and took one out of the packaging. I cupped the flame with my hands as I lit the end of the paper.

"So, what's on the agenda, today?" George asked.

"Well, I havent got any ideas. Music-wise." Richard admitted. "How abou' ye lot?"

"Me neither." Paul huffed.

I sat down on Paul's floor and took a deep breath.

Should I tell them I write? Would that be weird?

"Hm... Well, if ye lads need any type of material to use in a song, I could help..." I bit my lip as I spoke.

"What do ye mean, Lennon?" Paul asked, folding his hands.

I smiled as I looked him up and down, "Well, I write."

George furrowed his brows, "What do ye write, exactly?"

I looked over at the boy, flashing my gaze to meet his own, "Erm- Guess it'd be easier if I jus showed ye. So, uh, maybe take a look at this." I passed my journal over to George.

He scanned the paper and beckoned Paul to come over and read the writing as well.

"Christ. This is... brilliant, John. When did ye learn to write like this?" Paul asked.

"I picked it up over the years, I guess." I replied shyly, feeling heat in my cheeks. "It's a good, uh... coping mechanism."

"Never woulda expected a bloke like John to be so... poetic." Richard chimed in with a mocking tone. "It's rather surprising, really."

I rolled my eyes, "Thanks."

Paul paused for a moment before asking George and Richard to talk in private. I nodded in approval as they left the room.

Twiddling my thumbs anxiously, I awaited their return. My mind was sent into a spiral, contemplating what they could possibly be talking about.

After several minutes of waiting, I finally heard the door creak open.

"Alright." Paul started, "John? How would ye like to join me band?"

My eyes lit up in excitement, but I couldn't have them know I was jumping with joy.

"Uh- Su- Sure." I stuttered. "Yeah, that'd be good." I tried to play it cool.

My eyes shot down to my feet and I attempted to conceal a huge grin from forming across my face.

Paul wanted me to join his band.

It was so obviously Paul's idea.

"Then it's settled! John, do ye play?" Paul asked, cocking his head and placing a finger on his chin.

"Wi' what, exactly? Myself?" I chuckled out.

Paul playfully pushed my shoulder, "No, ye git, an instrument!"

I laughed in retaliation, "Yeah, I play... I play the guitar. I sing a bit, too."

Paul's eyes lit up and he looked down into his lap, "Ye oughta bring yer guitar 'ere sometime and play us all a little tune."

I blushed a little, "Al- Alright. I definitely would love to."

George glared at me as he noticed this reaction of mine. I looked at him from the corner of my eye, wearily. It was as if he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue.

Not sure why that man is so Hellbent on being cautious of me. The closer I got to Paul, the more aggressive he seemed to get.

After a few hours of watching the others play their own instruments and practice their songs, Paul announced we should be heading home. His parents were still out, but if they came home, they'd be upset to know Paul had guests over while he was home alone.

"Seeya, John!" Richard waved me off.

George remained silent and walked off with Richard.

A strange man, that one.

I stared up at the blackened sky, knowing how upset Mimi is going to be when I get home late.

Although I should be worried, I can't help but have butterflies in my stomach. The good kind of butterflies, too.

Paul invited me to join his band. Paul thinks my writing is... brilliant! He cares.

What is this feeling deep embedded within me? This emotion I feel towards Paul? Surely it's not love, is it?

No, John! You're straight as a nail. This ain't what it seems like, right?

Right?!

Being queer is illegal! I could never date another bloke! I simply just care deeply about this boy, as a friend, and nothing more! Emotions like these easily get confused as romantic feelings with people often. Surely, that's all I'm noticing.

I gripped my backpack strap anxiously as I walked home. All I want to do now is sleep. I can't mind with these problems floating around my head, now.

"Joooohn!" Mimi growled as I walked through the door. "Again! Yer home late, yet again!"

I sighed, "I know, I know! I promise ye it's for a good reason!"

She collapsed down on the couch, "This oughta be good."

"I joined a band, Mimi! A band!" I announced happily.

She groaned, "John, that's great and all, but ye still disobeyed my rule. Ye can't be comin' and goin' as ye please, ye know that?"

I half smiled, "I know and... I'm sorry. Genuinely."

"Jus... swear to me, John, ye'll stop doin' this. It's scary to have ye bein' out so late after what happened to Julia..." She paused. "I jus want ye to be safe, is all."

I bit my bottom lip and frowned, "I..."

I stayed silent.

"I know." I uttered out, before heading down the dark hallway to my room.

I shut my bedroom door gently as I flopped onto my bed. My head even more confused than before.

Tears began to well up in my eyes as I remembered that fretful day. The sirens. The crying. Everything.

I burrowed into my blankets and burried my head into my pillow, letting out a good sob.

Julia... I need you more than ever, now. I just hope you're out there, looking over me.

And I hope you're not too upset with me for being queer. I hope you're not disgusted with me for loving Paul.

I fancy Paul.

Paul McCartney. Macca.

And I'm afraid it's all too apparent, now.

The line between crying because of Julia's death and crying because I may be queer became blurred as I was unsure of what to even feel, now.

How am I supposed to feel?