Beatle

Chapter 4 (Beginning)

            Hello everyone! I know it's been a bit since I last updated, but as you may (or may not) know, I've been crazy busy with rehearsals I've been in. Seeing as it ended recently. I'm gonna have more time to write (hopefully). Enjoy this chapter, I hope you all like it!

P.S. Thanks to all of you who have started following me recently and who have left lovely comments for me. You guys are great, I really appreciate your responses. Keep them coming, they make my day! Also, another note: thanks very much to BelongsToSgtPepper for her lovely drawing to accompany my story, and to BritishBeatleMania for just being so awesome. Seriously people go check out this girl she brightens my day every day. Ok, enough babbling, read on!

Chapter 4: When I Get Home

“There we are,” John said, shutting the door with a final-sounding thud and turning to look at me.  “Shall we get going then?"

            “Sure,” I said quietly, not wanting to show how completely terrified I was inside.  The one thing my mother had sent me off to England with was the warning to not get involved with John.  And yet there I was, about to go off on my own with him, having to trust his knowledge of the city completely and hope that we wouldn’t get lost or something awful of the sorts.

            We walked down the path that cut through Mendips’ front yard and through the gate, me trailing slightly behind John as he turned right once past the gate and started heading down Menlove Avenue. I kept my eyes mostly low to the ground, glancing up every now and again at John’s jacket-covered back, my eyes trailing down his dark jeans to rest once again at the pavement where his worn crepe-soled shoes slapped along, one following the other.

            I think it was the pervasive silence that was hanging between us that made John finally state, “Y’know, if we’re gonna be spending the day together, ya gotta talk. Ya didn’t seem to ‘ave any trouble with it yesterday, why not now?"

            Knowing he was referring to my shortness with him yesterday upon my arrival, the last remainder of my previous snippiness remerged and I snapped, “I only talked so much then because you have this wonderful habit of being annoying and I wanted to shut you up. Anyone ever pointed that out to you?”

            For the second time that morning I wanted nothing more than to smack myself for being so flippant.  I was never like that around my friends, I was usually so reserved and quiet, and I wondered desperately what it was about John that brought out the cheek in me; maybe because I constantly felt like I had to defend myself.

            However, I needn’t have worried.  Seemingly like always, my boldness seemed to please John. “There we are, she speaks!” John exclaimed merrily, happy to have gotten a response. “Knew it was in there somewhere didn’t I?”

            “Oh yes you’re so clever,” I muttered under my breath.

            “’eard that,” he quipped, nudging into me with his elbow.

            I sighed, thinking that this was going to be an unbearably long day.  “Where are we going anyways?” I asked wearily.

            “Well we can’t very well walk all the way into Liverpool can we now?” Pointing towards the end of the road, he told me, “We’ll take the bus in and go from there. Yeah?”

            “Sure,” I responded, willing to go along with whatever he said as long as it wasn’t going to make me start shooting off my mouth again.

            The fact that I had that in me to do to a complete stranger, as that was what John was, was rather frightening to me. Why was he making me act so unlike myself? What scared me most though, I think, and what didn’t fully occur to me was, was he actually making me act like my actual self, instead of suffocating me like my friends back home did. Could it be possible that John, who I’d just met, had the power to make me see myself as I actually was?