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/\ June 4, 1961 /\
/\ Saturday, 7:10 pm /\
Song: Turn! Turn! Turn!
By: The Byrds

"Johnny slow down!"

I trailed behind John, breathlessly shouting for him to let us stop and take a brief break. We'd been running around our cloudy town for what seemed like ages, and it was reaching the bridge of pointlessness.

Keep in mind that a petite person like me keeping up with a towering John Lennon isn't the best pairing. My teeny legs couldn't maintain the same pace with John's lanky ones. At least not for long.

This meant he was basically dragging me along to wherever our destination was.

After another handful of minutes, John unexpectedly stopped, causing my body to abruptly smack into his.

I massaged my head in displeasure, attempting to sooth my now pulsing headache.

"We're here."

I jerked up to find humongous letters spelling the words, "Cavern Club" above the deteriorated buildings entrance.

"Recognize it?"

John twinkled, the expression on his face stating he's the most clever person in the world.

He wrested his spindly elbow on top of my head, snickering at his mischievous action. I was shrewd enough to know the meaning behind his simple yet maddening gesture, rolling my eyes at the boy who was getting quite the kick out of it.

Because of his infuriating yet hushed taunt about my height, I decided to provoke him too.

"I believe I've met someone here, but I've forgotten who."

He let out a shrunken laugh, adding on a hmmm in response.

The arm that was previously on my head collided with his side, the other gesturing me to head in.

The inside was like any other club. The sent of sweat and smoke overtook the room, along with music and intensely aroused men, fastening themselves to once innocent, unimpeachable birds. One even tried to woo me, but John saved the day by insisting for him to bug off, claiming he was my father.

The man shockingly believed him, immediately loosing the electricity in his face and lower half. He scurried off, jolting into every chair and loose floorboard in the process.

John led me backstage, us two giggling at the incident that had just occurred. His voice then roared for a lad named Pete. A bloke began to race toward us, approaching us with a glistening forehead and narrow furrowed eyebrows.

"Pete this is Jordyn, the bird I've been telling ye' about. Jordyn, this is me mate Pete."

I beamed at him, waving my thin fingers in his direction.

"Hello Pete."

He smiled, leveling his hand in front of me. I gracefully took it, shaking it gently. Then the bloke dashed off in a hurrying manner.

We wondered around searching for the rest of John's band mates. After a couple of minutes, I felt a solid grasp on my shoulder, followed by a rugged shake.

I glanced at John to see him pointing at a slender lad in the corner. He seemed to be stuffing biscuits in his mouth, counting how many he could fit all at once.

We ambled up to him inquisitively, John patting his shoulder to gain his attention. The boy struck around, his cheeks full of food. He stuck out his pointer finger, a silent way to ask for a moment.

Once he guzzled down the biscuits, he grinned at us both with crumbs intertwined in his fangs.

"How many this time George?"

"Well I wasn't done, but 18."

John slapped his back two or three times, his way of saying "Well done."

George nodded, then turned his attention over to me.

"You got yourself a bird John?"

I lightly cackled, amused by his extremely blunt question. John jabbed George's shoulder as his response, causing George to let out a faint oww as he tenderly kneaded his already forming bruise.

"Tha's a no then."

We both chuckled, approving George's assumption. John then cleared his throat, reminding George and I we haven't formally met yet.

"Well Jordyn, this is Georgie the biscuit man."

"Ello Georgie the biscuit man, pleasure meetin' ye."

George bobbed his head, cheekily smiling in agreement.

"Pleasures all mine."

John reached over to George, plucking a biscuit from his slim bony fingers.

"John you git! Give it back!"

But all John did was plop the delectable treat in his mouth, emphasizing the deafening crunch it made when crushed in between his teeth.

George unmercifully thumped John's head, irritated that he had the audacity to steal his precious food.

As John tenderly stroked the pounding area George had flicked, his eyes set on a vacant figure in the distance.

As the darkness that swallowed the shadow deteriorated away, the figures outline became more visible. John then perceived who the mysterious physique was, determining the instrument slung behind its back.

George and I where indulged in a meaningless conversation about biscuits, not paying John any mind. As he hollered at the shadowy figure, George heeded his attention to whoever it was John was calling for.

As I was about to advert my attention to what I assumed to be another member of John's group, a voice echoed through my ears. It captivated my mind, the lightness of it draining every muscle in my now stiffened body. The lustful voice drowned in passion, almost hidden by the exhausted but curious tone it obtained.

Who's the comely bird?"

I whirled around to find a view the doctors sympathetically declared I'd never see. A sight that I'd upsettingly accepted was impossible with my vision, thinking I'd never be able to see what most people underestimate each and every day.

A pair of hazel eyes.

Colorblind <> Paul McCartneyWhere stories live. Discover now