Lonely People

Advice From Eppy

"Are you sure it's not all in your head?" Molly asked.

"Of course I'm sure. I can't make stuff like this up."

The two of us were walking side by side down the streets of jolly old Liverpool. We had heard of a record store on the south side, and we intended to visit it. The only problem was the long walk, nearly an hour and a half. We could easily have taken a bus, but Molly's mother thought walking would be good for us.

I told her about the apprehension I had been met with at the shows. She was the first one I've talked to who didn't dance around the subject, she actually indulged me. Even if she argued, insisting what I thought I knew couldn't be true, she didn't change the subject. 

"I've been to many of your shows," Molly rubbed her chin, "I've never noticed any mean glares or sexist conversations."

I shrugged, "I didn't notice it either until I overheard one conversation the other day. Now I have to question whether it's always been there, or if I'm just being paranoid."

"Why don't you ask Paul? Or John? Or George?"

"I tried," I replied, "Paul avoids the subject, John tells me to ignore them, and George says I shouldn't care what other people think. I've tried not caring, but I just can't help it."

Molly placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled, "I know, things like this are hard to ignore."

"It's not just hurting me either," I explained, "I can handle a few wankers, but too many of them can begin to hurt the band too."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if all of the men, and some of the women, who come to our shows are against me and begin to dislike the band because of me, that's over half our audience. Because I'm the drummer, I'll hold the entire band back."

"That's not true, the band wouldn't be complete without you."

I shook my head, "I dunno, Mols, I think they might be better off without me."

"Don't talk like that."

I've been thinking about this whole situation for a few weeks by then. It began to become clearer to me what I had to do. There were two paths ahead of me, one was staying with the band and holding them back and the other was quitting.

This band meant the world to me, it's one of the only things I look forward to, quitting would be devastating. Yet, there was something deep down in my heart that told me The Beatles were going to become something. They were going to be great, but you can't be great without some sacrifices. Call it a premonition, call it a teenage dream, but I felt those lads were meant to be something special and they couldn't do it with me.

We came upon the record store just as the sun reached the middle of the sky. The store was small, but it was the nicest record store I've seen to date. The windows were spotless, the records were neatly arranged, and the employees all smiled at us as we walked in. Even the carpet had ornamental designs one would usually find in a prestigious concert hall. 

It was mostly filled with teenagers just like us. A few middle-aged people went through the older records. The entire building was filled with soft music and loud voices. When we walked in, a perky lady greeted us. Her ginger hair bounced in neat Shirley Temple curls around her head and her smile seemed to be painted on, but her eyes held more life than that store could contain. Molly and I waved at her before wandering deeper into the store. 

"This place is nice," Molly commented, "I can't believe we didn't know about this."

"Been to every record shop in Liverpool, except this one. Madness."