1. She's one of John's favourites

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"Still, no matter how much time passes,

no matter what takes place in the interim,

there are some things we can never assign to oblivion,

memories we can never rub away.

They remain with us forever, like a touchstone."

-Haruki Murakami.

***

January 1964

Celia wipes away the watery mascara from underneath her lashes. No time to cry when there was ironing to do. No one else was gonna do it, that's for sure. She switches on the telly in need of a bit of background noise while she works. She's forbidden herself from listening to the radio or the record player while she uses the iron. See, the thing is, she gets too carried away dancing to the music, which is a problem because she ended up burning a hole in a shirt and the second time a dress. Music and dancing are strictly off limits. Anyway, the TV will take her mind off things for a little while, and my god does she need a break from the antagonising thoughts playing in her mind.

Celia bends down and switches on the TV set. A few seconds later, the image on the screen makes her stomach flip and her breath hitch. There they are suited and booted in the middle of an interview. The four mop-tops. Her boys.

She thought she'd be used to seeing them by now, they are everywhere- in every magazine, on every billboard, on everybody's lips- but she can't wrap her head around it still. Celia is overcome with so many emotions every time she sees them. Him especially. Excitement, curiosity, anger, sadness, but most of all, if not always, she feels pride. That emotion is never absent. She's proud seeing how far they'd come since the crummy streets of Liverpool and how much they'd grown since.

"Yeah, Paul loves slappin that bass, don't you? He slaps that lovely big bass all night long."

Okay, so maybe they haven't grown in maturity, but they've most definitely grown in talent since their days performing in dance halls and sweaty crowded nightclubs. The United States will be a whirlwind for them. America won't know what's hit them- she can tell already. If Celia's face was any closer to the flickering screen, she'd fall into it. The camera zooms into his face, and he turns his head, looking directly into the lens. He's looking right at her. Right into her. Her heart skips a beat. Celia raises her hand to the screen and gently brushes it against his cheek.

"I can see you, John," she whispers. She can feel the softness of his skin against her fingertips. "Can you see me?"

Ah, but he can't, can he? He's there, and she's here. It's not his cheek she's so delicately caressing, it's glass. And what she feels against her fingertips is the tv's static. Celia shakes her head, quietly tutting at herself. She's being ridiculous.

She hesitates for a moment, thinking to switch over the channel, but the girl can't bring herself to do it. She never can. How can she switch off the people she loves so dearly? She sits through all their TV appearances when she's home alone. When Celia isn't alone,  she's always scolded with "none of that Beatle rubbish!" and the channel gets changed immediately. Well, they aren't rubbish to her. In fact, she's very fond of them and so is the whole nation by the looks of it. Only a few weeks ago Celia had been thrown out from a shop for reading almost every single Beatle magazine with no intention to purchase them. She had wanted to, but she couldn't- it wouldn't be fair. Celia didn't need those bits of paper, anyhow. She has enough photographs and memories stored in her mind to last her a lifetime. Because that's what she's doing really, isn't it? Living through those memories. He isn't though. Of course, he isn't. Why would he with the lavish lifestyle he's living? He's on a rollercoaster that only goes up. And she's...well she's still here. Motionless.

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