⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Five: The Art of Being Stealthy

August 2, 1961

After a while, perhaps an hour, John seemed to stop acting like he had some awful secret to hide, and they all packed up to leave. John took his ukulele back and left.

I followed behind, splitting with George at the end of Paul's driveway. I followed behind John until I was sure he was trying to find out where I lived or something.

Suddenly, he turned.

"Are you trying to follow me now?" he asked.

I stopped and blushed, looking down. "No, I'm just going home." I willed myself to look in his eyes.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, why don't you come up here and talk to me? You don't have to stay back there. I don't bite." He gestured for me to join him and I did, more out of fear than wanting.

"Well," he said. "What'd ye think of the rehearsal?"

I felt smaller than I ever have in my life. Why did he look so intimidating?

"It—uh—i-it was...cool," I stammered.

"Ye like to st-st-stutter?" He smiled.

"No? It just comes out that way."

"Ah," he breathed. "Why's that?"

"I—well—I've got anxiety? When I get nervous I get shaky and I can't breathe and that happens too. It's just always been like that, I suppose."

He looked at me sympathetically. "Well, I'm sorry."

"It doesn't happen often anymore...only when attention is all on me...or when something unexpected or...impulsive happens." I shrugged.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I—uh—don't tell anyone, please. I keep that to myself."

He nodded and looked at his feet.

We stepped up to my house and I stopped.

"Is this your house?"

"Yes, yes it is."

"Ah, fun. I live just over there." He pointed to the house next to mine.

Of course he did.

"Ah, cool. Well, I'm gonna go?"

"I hope to see ye around, Donna." He smiled.

"And I you," I replied and scuttled off to my front door quickly as I could, my heart racing slightly.

"Hey, Donna," I heard Brian say as soon as I walked in.

I turned. "Hello."

"Where've you been off to?"

"George and Paul invited me to come to their band rehearsal today. It was pretty cool."

"Oh?" he asked. "Who's Paul and George?"

"School friends," I replied shortly.

"Ah," he drew the word out long and slow. "They've got a band?"

"Yeah, just a group of their friends. They invited me to sit in and listen." I shrugged.

"What do they play?"

Perplexed as to why he was so keen on knowing so much, I thought a moment. "George and Paul play guitar, and they've got another guitarist, John," my voice nearly cracked on his name. "And a drummer named Pete and a bassist named Stuart."

I sat next to him. "Why are you so curious?"

He shrugged. "You said band and it got my attention."