Lonely People

Moments I Remember All My Life

Two days later, Paul got a call from John. The two of them agreed to meet at John's place with the rest of the group and go over a few numbers. Right then, I knew, Paul was in the group. John had all but told him he was in. I knew it would be official, and soon. Paul was too overwhelmed with his excitement to think of anything else.

"I get to write with someone else!" Paul exclaimed, "I've always wanted to write a collaboration."

I pouted, "Does writing with me not count?"

"You're a poet, Lia, not a musician. There's a difference."

"Technically not. Songs are just poetry put to music," our friend, George Harrison, explained.

We had known George for going on a year then. I had met him on the bus one morning and introduced Paul to him the next day. George was my age, but we were all in the same year.

You can't put a label on a fellow like George Harrison. He was many things all shoved into one person. He was emotional yet solemn, cheeky yet serious, loving yet angry. He was many things all at once. Most of all, he was friendly. He had his moments where he was angry at everything, but even then it was impossible not to like him. Even strangers liked George. He was always there to help his mates and always ready to smile when you felt like frowning. 

I used to think of Paul and me as The Dynamic Duo. We were The Batman and Robin of Liverpool, The Bonnie and Clyde of our neighborhood, and we had been since we were kids. When we met George, we became the Terrific Threesome. The Three Musketeers in a town in desperate need of a pick-me-up. 

George, like most lads in that time period, had the teddy boy style. His dark brown, nearly black, hair was slicked back and up, almost as if the wind had done his hair for him. It was huge, almost bigger than his head, and reminded me of Elvis' hairstyle. He always had intense dark eyes, even when he was fourteen. George and Paul went around with the same leather jackets and slicked up hair. The two boys looked so similar to each other, people thought they were the siblings rather than Paul and me. 

"Thank you," I told him, "And, I can play instruments."

Paul huffed, "Fine, I finally get to write a song with someone that isn't my sister."

"That's better."

Paul grinned. George and I exchanged looks and sighed. Paul often got over excited, he and Michael were similar in that way. Even at that moment, I was legitimately worried he would do something daft.

"Just don't embarrass yourself," George said.

Paul glanced at him, "How would I do that?"

"I don't think there's time for me to list it," I replied, "Don't freak out like you're doing now. He's a person, not a celebrity."

"And don't trip," George added.

"I don't trip."

"You do."

Paul frowned. He glanced at his watch and his face instantly became brighter, "It's time!"

He leaped up and hurried into the house. We had been sitting on the front steps of our house, watching the world go by. George was supposed to be over for a few hours to hang out with us, but Paul had other plans.

When he came out, he had his guitar and a notebook of songs. Papers stuck out in every which direction, and some of them even threatened to fall out. He grinned at us and said, "See you later, fellas."

"Don't be late for dinner!" our Dad called.

I jumped a little. I didn't realize he was directly behind George and I. Michael was just behind him, a book in his hands. More often than not, you could find my brother inside reading a book rather than playing outside with his friends. It wasn't a surprise to see him hanging back behind Dad.