Six - George Harrison

Six

History of single chapter very short;

It's not exactly a romance, but I can not stop anyone from imagine things beyond that;

"Why are six so strange? WTF.";

Well, I translated using Google, forgive me if something is wrong or strange;

George is so cute. 😞

First of all, this story is from my own, based on an excerpt from "My Alcoholic Friends". It was written in Portuguese, but the Beatles fandom in Brazil is considerable small, so I decided to post in English so that more people could read it.

"I'm taking back the number of the beast
'Cause six is not a pretty number
Eight or three are definitely better"

⭐

George always thought about how strange the number six sounded. Not that it was a bad number, far from it. However, of course, it was always associated with negative things.

What made him think about this was that, during his train trips from London to his homeland, Liverpool, he was picking himself watching the huge sign of a famous fashion net that contained, in specific, a huge "6" well highlighted in red lights to the surroundings. Although not a big thing, he began to imagine a thousand theories because of that damn number. First, why a six? It could be any other number, but it was just that.

Everything worsened when, on a night, a boy arises in his wagon. he did not look younger, but not so old. George kicked about 2 years older than him. Looking good and that air of superiority, while there seemed to be too good kind, Harrison didn't know why.

They hadn't spoken during the entire journey until then, but George found himself constantly looking at his carriage companion, who, by an ironic twist of fate, had the "6" engraved on his black coat. And again, the six stood out. In white, completely contrary to the rest of the black outfit, it was what caught the most attention. So much so that George ended up asking:

"Why a six?"

The boy looked up at the younger man, muttering a "hmm?". George soon realized that he had said it too loudly, enough for the guy to hear, so he would have to continue.

"The thing on your coat,", he pointed to the number. "why a six?"

He looked at his own attire, looking for what the young man was talking about, and when he found it, he smiled. "Oh, it's my lucky number."

Lucky number? George thought. He had never met anyone who said that six was a good number, much less that it would bring any luck in life. To tell the truth, every time he heard someone talk about him, it was either to say how horrible or how useless he was.

"Why?", He asked.

"Why what?", replied the boy, not understanding what George was getting at.

"Why do you say it's your lucky number?" He couldn't understand why anyone would think that way. Six wasn't so... Well, bad, but it didn't make any sense.

"Well, whenever something good happens to me, six is ​​there.", the stranger shrugged. That wasn't exactly what George wanted, but he wasn't going to insist.

A week or so passed when George found him again. Even though it was getting dark and the city was often cold, on that day in particular Liverpool seemed warmer. So much so that his new carriage companion appeared wearing a thin dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the forearm, along with equally dress pants. That made George imagine that his colleague was someone really important.

Then, again, his mind was filled with questions about the boy's lucky number.

"Hm... What do you think about people saying that six is ​​a cursed number?", he asked, breaking the silence between them. The other looked at him.

"Why are you so interested about this?" George didn't know whether or not that was supposed to be a mocking tone, but judging by the young man's small smile, he knew it wasn't something pejorative in tone.

"I don't know. Six is ​​a strange number.”

The man raised his eyebrow at the answer. "Strange?"

"Yeah. You know, everyone says it brings bad luck, that it’s the number of the antichrist… blah blah…”

That made him laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, I don’t think so.”

George ended up laughing too, scratching the back of his head. He didn't imagine that his first conversation with the guy in the train car would be about a “cursed” number.

“George.”, he said suddenly, and the boy looked at him.

"What?"

"My name. George Harrison."

“Oh… of course.” He laughed again, running a hand through his hair. “I'm Paul McCartney. Is a pleasure."

George smiled.

The days passed, quickly or not, but George Harrison felt that his Sunday afternoons were more pleasant with the conversations he had with Paul, even more so when he made a point of remembering how they met. Like it or not, six was still a number, and it was everywhere, but something in Harrison seemed to have finally realized: six isn't so bad after all.

And Paul was proof of that.