Little Talks

The room was warm as always, the sun shinning through the french windows onto the bed where she lay. For a Saturday the home was quiet. She watched few cars pull into the visitors' parking area below her window. Being such a nice day, she understood why no one would want to come inside.

She heard the old door open before the voice carried into the room. The way someone opened a door was a giveaway to their purpose in the room in which they were entering.

"Your granddaughter and her friend are just coming up the stairs. Do you want them to wait while you come out?"

As always, the implication in the woman's voice was demanding. It was the same tone she would've used years ago to wake up her daughter in the mornings before school.

She quickly shacked her head and sat up in the bed, propping the pillows up neatly.

"In here will be just fine thank you." Her voice was delicate but persistent. It was beautiful in her room; why should she leave.

Within a few minutes there was another knock on the door. This time, quieter and the door opened immediately.

"You should wait for permission to come in a closed room," the elderly woman chidded.

The young girl laughed and walked over to the bed. The morning sun created vibrant reflections off her sandy hair. Her smile and bright blue eyes reminded the old woman of her daughter, and how she often gave her the same expression as a teenager.

The granddaughter sat down on the bed beside her grandmother. She fluffed a pillow and leaved her back against the wall.

"It's beautiful outside," the girl sighed. "You really should go outside to the gardens. Sit around in the sun and listen to the birds or something."

The old woman grinned and shook her head.

"It's warm enough in here Lindsey. Besides, it's hard enough to get down there now and it's always so busy in the gardens. The noise of them all!"

Lindsey gazed out the window from her seat on the bed. Her grandmother was right. The gardens were crowded with visitors and residences, all bathing in the glorious July sunlight.

The grandmother looked at Lindsey, her hair and makeup perfect, wearing a loose t-shirt and jean shorts.

With a cheeky smile the grandmother asked, "where are you headed tonight?"

The young girl tossed her head back and laughed for a minute. Funny her grandmother had noticed within the few minutes of her coming.

"Going to the festival tonight with a couple of me friends. Paul McCartney's headlining tonight."

"Should be a good concert then. He always would a charmer on and off the stage."

Suddenly the girl leaned forward, her eyes lit up like lanterns.

"Have you ever seen him Grandmother?" She questioned. "Live I mean."

Grandmother nodded. She settled back into the bed and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath she said, "when they were the Beatles. All four of them I saw. Lived with them for a while actually."

She opened her grey eyes quickly and sat up in the bed.

"There's a book around here somewhere."

With a hitch in her walk, she stumbled out of bed and began moving about the small room. She opened cupboards, searched closets and moved furniture.

Following a loud "aha!" she took out a small leather bound book from under the bed. It was scratched and worn, the strap keeping it closed looked like it had been undone a million times.

As soon as the book was in her hands, she dropped her stiff composure completely. Suddenly she was smiling and laughing. Her eyes were full of spark, giving the allusion that she was twenty years younger.

Sitting back on the bed with her book, Grandmother took off her glasses and put them on the bedside table.

She was about to open the book but stopped.

"I haven't opened it for almost 50 years." Her voice was quieter now, almost afraid to open the memories that were now in her hand. "It was so special, and I haven't picked it up for so long. I tried to forget for a time. It's not something that was important for a long."

Lindsey moved across the bed so she was leaning against her grandmother. The old lady no longer felt frail but as if building a wall to defend herself from whatever was in the book.

"Can you tell me a story?" Lindsey begged. "I want to hear all about you and your adventures with The Beatles."

With a strong smile, the woman untied the leather strap and opened the cover. On the inside was her name, scrawled in messy ink. Alanna Wesson.

The old woman chided "are you ready dear?"

The granddaughter nodded happily, getting comfortable in the bed.

The grandmother took a deep breath.

"April 1965. Villefrache-Sur-Mer, France.."