He's Leaving Home

Chapter 11

Ringo ushered John inside, worried just the same. It was unlike Paul to just up and leave in the middle of the night. He made some tea for the both of them, mostly to calm John down a bit.

The tea was taken with a shaky hand. "Do you have any idea where he might be, Ritch?"

Ringo shook his head. "You know...hey, John, do you remember what Paul used to get angry with you about?"

John thought for a moment. "Being late?"

"No."

"Uh, not picking up my dirty clothes?"

"No..."

"Not showering for three days?"

"Ew, John, that's disgusting...but, no."

"Okay, Starkey. I give up."

"You never used to listen to him."

"Oh, that. Yeah." John had forgotten about how he used to tune Paul out when they were first together. Paul could ramble on and on about things, just dragging them out to unnecessary lengths. Now, though, John found it an adorable trait, more or less because he missed it, meaning he listened now.

"Well, when you didn't listen, I did. We need to go to the cemetery."

"His mother..." John grabbed Ringo by the arm, dragging him out the door despite Ringo's protests and name-calling. He didn't think about Mary at all, but it only seemed logical that Paul would go to her. Part of him felt like slapping himself for not listening to stuff like that.

The drive was long and stress levels were high, Ringo hoped Paul would be there. Paul told him about his mother's grave when they were waiting for John to start band practice. He estimated it was about a year before Paul disappeared. Regardless, Paul had said he spent most of the day talking to her headstone. Ringo didn't understand then, finding it strange. An answer couldn't be given from the dead and it, he supposed, would just make someone look crazy.

After Ringo had lost a close friend in the war, he knew why Paul did it. He would sit on the grass, among the flowers left by anonymous grievers and talk. Somehow, they could hear him, Ringo was sure. The wind would sometimes blow or a cloud would cover the sun at the right moment in conversation. Either way, Ringo felt better, and maybe, that's what Paul wanted to feel, too. A light snow began to fall, lending hope to Ringo that Paul got his answer.

"We're here..." John spoke quiet, unsure of whether to go in or not. Julia was in there, a place John never had the courage to visit, not without Paul anyway.

The two friends tiptoed their way through the small cemetery, careful not to scare Paul. It was a good thing Ringo was with him. John didn't quite remember where Mary's grave lay.

"I laid flowers there for Paul when he left," Ringo whispered.

"You did?" John responded.

"Yeah, and there were always some there, though. That's how I knew Paul was alright all these years. Those flowers were from him. I just knew it."

John smiled at the smaller man, realizing how kind and thoughtful he was and that out of the friendships John's had, Ringo's is the one he'd taken for granted. They all had.

"Hey, Rings. Me 'n' Paul...we love you. You know that, right?"

"Are you daft? Of course I know it."

"I just wanted to say it-."

"John."

"-nd we've always taken y-."

"John."

"-ted. I know it's odd-."

"JOHN!"

"What? Christ, Ritch."