He's Leaving Home

Chapter 3

It wasn't until a week later on his way back from his summer job that he saw him. Paul worked at the local tutoring center downtown. He helped kids study for their college entrance exams and also helped them with their college essays. He also led a community book reading as an outreach program to teach people to read and to give them a chance to hear both Shakespeare and Patterson. Paul half-hoped that John would show up, since Mike told him John might be homeless. Paul had parked a little farther down from the tutoring center than normal since his normal parking at the small university was full. Something on his right caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks to get a better look.

John scrounged through the trash hunting for anything he could eat. He hadn't eaten anything proper in about three years since he graduated art school and failed to find a job. Nobody seemed to want someone with a degree in art. It's the way it worked. He'd certainly gotten skinnier, losing all the love handles and extra pudge on his stomach. John was happy about that, but he didn't look a healthy skinny either. His eyes sunk into his head and his body felt weak. The hair on his face and head wound in disgusting knots laced with food and other stuff from the armpits of mother nature. John scared people off and he liked it that way.

"J...John?"

No, John thought, it can't be. He turned around and came face to face with Paul McCartney holding a coffee and a bag. John couldn't believe it. He knew he recognized that voice. Paul was there. He suddenly felt all the anger and the hurt and the longing creep into his thoughts. He looked good. The laugh lines prominent on his eyes stood out to John. Paul even had those when they were fifteen. Part of John wanted to run to him and never let go and another part wanted to kick him in the balls.

Paul spoke again, his voice small, "I, uh, here. I haven't drunk or eaten it." He held out his bagel and tea from the shop on Third Street. He couldn't believe the condition John was in. He looked so tired and dirty. Paul wondered how long he'd been living on the streets. He blamed himself for this.

"You." John's voice was rugged and angry. "You think I want your help, you bastard? I don't need your fucking charity. Fuck off, McCartney. Go back to your comfy silver spoon and leave me alone."

"John, please, it's..." Paul pleaded in vain.

"No. Fuck you, Paul. You can take your piss and your shit and shove it up your ass." John turned back to the trash can, rummaging through it. He almost turned around and apologized. Almost. He had to stand his ground against Paul. John didn't realize the power Paul still had over him.

Paul sat the tea and bagel down on the ground. "Fine." Paul stalked off, leaving a disheveled John gripping onto the rim of the trashcan. John heard a car start from a distance. Of course Paul was well-kempt. It wouldn't be Paul otherwise. He wanted to believe Paul had a reason for running away without so much as a goodbye or an explanation. But he also knew that everyone leaves. John decided to seek out advice on whether to let Paul explain or just leave it and he knew exactly who to go to.

~~~~

Paul slammed the door and kicked the wall out of frustration. He watched the cat take off in fear down the hallway. He started to chase after her when a noise came from the kitchen.

Mike appeared around the corner, munching on a cookie from Paul's stash. "I take it work was crap today?"

"No...wasn't work." Paul mumbled. His eyes shifted down to the cookie in Mike's hand. "Is that one of my cookies?"

"Yeah. You really should hide them better." Mike jested, trying to cheer Paul up. He had a feeling he knew what was wrong.

"Go get the whole jar. I'm just going to eat them all." Paul fell onto the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head throbbed with a mixture of guilt and self-hatred.