you really got a hold on me | john lennon

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

October 1st, 1959

I glance back and forth at the scribbled note and then back at the wall of guitars on display. There was no way to express how genuinely confused I was when looking at all these guitars. No matter how many times I looked at them, it was so difficult to actually differentiate them apart. If I still did those guitar lessons from years ago, it would've been so helpful in this situation.

"Why do all these damn guitars look the same..." I rub my head in frustration and try looking at my note as if it was going to help me.

"Well, this one is a 1957 model and that one is a—"

In between every word that came out of his mouth, I felt a bit of whatever he was munching on come with it. Most of it landed on my face, which I had to wipe off with my hands. Felt like I was babysitting a toddler. And the fact that he was chewing extremely loud wasn't helping his matter at all.

"How loud do you possibly need to chew? The whole damn world can probably hear you at the rate you're going at. And for fuck's sake Geo, close your mouth."

"What's my chewing doing to you?"

"I'm not the only one," I gesture to the owner of the shop who was sitting at the register, glaring at us and the messy trail George had made on the floor. "You see that bloke over there? He looks like he's going to bite off our heads any moment now. Do you want that to happen?"

George frowned before putting his sandwich away in the brown paper bag that it came from. "Fine. Why'd you have to bring me anyways?"

"You forgot that quickly?" I start browsing again, examining each guitar even though I know that whatever information I was receiving was going in one ear and leaving through the other.

"There's always Ken."

I roll my eyes at him before thrusting the small scribbled note I had into his chest. He scans it quickly before pointing at the one directly in front of me. Grabbing at it with both my hands, I try with all my might to get it off of the high display. But even if I went on my tip-toes, no amount of effort on my part could get it.

Sighing, I back away from it and turn to George for help once again. He was looking down at his feet and pressing his lips together — looking like it was taking all of him not to laugh at my situation.

George reaches for the guitar with ease and hands it over to me, and I was surprised a bit at how heavy it was. Carrying it over to the register, I lay it down gently in front of the owner who still had a scowl on his face. Safe to assume that he probably wasn't too happy with either of us, most especially George, because of all the crumbs in the store.

All while keeping an eye on us, I could hear him muttering under his breath. "Youth these days...never cleaning up after themselves. Back in my day none of this would be alright. How times have changed." Not like I haven't heard any of that before. Almost every time the boys had booked a gig somewhere around town, there was always someone who opposed them.

Those boys are a bad influence on our kids.

Their actions shouldn't be encouraged!

What happened to the good ol' days?

Honestly if I hadn't known any better, I would be going around saying the same. The boys were far from perfect, most likely the complete opposite of it. Besides the fact that they were all massive flirts — yes, George included — all four of them drank as long as there was something to be drunk, and cursed like sailors. So, no, I don't blame any of them for thinking this way.

The owner examined the guitar before reaching out his hand. "That'll be twelve pounds."

My mouth opened wide at how pricey it was. There was no way I would've expected it to cost this much. I looked in my wallet, which had exactly the money that was needed for the guitar, but that would leave George and I no money for the cab home.

Placing the money in his hand reluctantly, he snatches it and immediately puts it into his register. The owner hands the guitar to me without another word.

"Uh, thank you." I force one out of me along with a smile to try and ensure we leave here alive, but the man only groans in return.

George and I exit the small shop as fast as we could, and he looks at me with a curious stare as we walk right past the place to get a cab.

"Nat, we're supposed to go over there, remember?"

"Ran out of cash."

"We're gonna walk home?! Nat, it's gonna be such a ruddy long walk back."

"Nothing we can do about it now, can we? Just hurry and walk faster."

. . .

"How do you even use this?" George lifted up a roll of wrapping paper, only for him to make a mess all around my room. We had been here for hours trying to wrap a single guitar, only to wrap and then rip it off again numerous times because we weren't satisfied. George gave up and leaned his back on the door, small pieces of wrapping paper all over him.

"We're never gonna get this done." I push a loose strand of my hair back with my hand in frustration.

"Anyways, what made you want to get a guitar so suddenly? And a fuckin' expensive one at that."

"John." His name rolled out of my mouth with a bit of hesitation.

"Don't think that's the best idea, Nat." George looked at me with a sad yet serious look on his face.

"Why not?" I continue trying to figure out a way to wrap the guitar, because I partly wanted to get this done, but mostly because I was trying to avoid looking in George's eyes. I wasn't used to seeing him like this, so serious and unlike himself.

"Can I give you some advice without getting one of those judgy looks you do?" I flick my eyes up at him and nod. "Well, I just don't think you should be playing with his feelings like tha' is all. John's chasing after you every chance he gets, only to get rejected for how many times?"

"Are you saying I don't care about him?" I spat out, coming off much too bitter than I would've liked.

"No, 'course not. I'm just saying you need to sort out your feelings before you drag them into it."

Of course, George was right. He almost always was, which I admit is why I dread getting any type of advice from him. Because it always just reminded me of how bad I screwed up. And I know what you're probably thinking, what a sensitive ego I must have.

I don't know what my face looked like at that moment, but George put his hand on my shoulder and immediately started apologizing.

"Nat, I'm so sorry if I offended you."

"Why would you? You were right." I give him a slight smile to assure him that I wasn't mad nor offended by what he said. Picking up another roll of wrapping paper, I handed it over to George because we had wasted so much doing trial and error. "Let's get this lame wrapping over with yeah?"

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a/n: sorry for the inconsistent updates! hopefully, i can get myself to prewrite after this lol. hope you all enjoyed this chapter and see you at the next update! ❤️