Lonely People

Beatles on The Telly

John and Paul were the main songwriters on The Beatles. The two of them together were an unstoppable team, they were bound to compose hit music. George and I had written a few as well, but they weren't quite as good as John and Paul. That's why, when it came to songwriting, George was kicked out of the room.

"I've written songs before," George sighed.

He and I walked side by side in the park. For the first time that year, it wasn't snowing. There was still snow on the ground, but it had been shoveled off the sidewalks. For the time, we could walk without tiny ice crystals embedding into our skin.

"And they're right good," I said, "It's got nothing to do with you, John and Paul are just a bit particular on how they write. It's not that you can't, it's just that they want to."

George shrugged, "I'll write one day, I know I will. I've got a few back home."

"I'd like to hear them."

"I'll show you tonight."

I nodded. A little girl came barreling towards us with her mother in tow. George and I had to stand on either side of the path as they flew past. When they were gone, we continued our trek.

"What about you? You write alone?" George asked.

I shook my head, "It's a group thing, really. Molly, Janice, and I all get together and work it out. Molly and Janice do it well enough, they don't really need me."

"Come off it, they need you. You're as good a songwriter as they come," George replied.

"So are you," I smiled, "We've got a few of our own stuff written. Mostly we do covers and the like."

Paul told us we could cover a couple of their songs, but I refused. While our bands were associated, and most likely always would be so long as people remembered I was the first Beatles drummer, I didn't want people to begin seeing us as one band. Revolution and The Beatles were two different things entirely, the only connection came about socially, not musically. At least, those were my intentions. 

"Thought of writing one called Society's A Dirty Bastard," I said.

George laughed, "Bloody brilliant. I'd love to see you play that in The Cavern."

I smiled. While The Beatles were back in town, they had returned to The Cavern, putting us out of a job. It was Janice who suggested we apply to several other clubs. So far, six clubs in this section of Liverpool have our applications. All we have to do is wait for word back.

George and I rounded on a statue of Cupid in a frozen fountain. We stopped and stared at it for a moment. The way the ice crystals had formed on the statue's face, it made Cupid seem like he was crying. The symbol of love shed tears whenever winter came along, sounds almost poetic.

"Georgie!" a voice called.

George spun around to meet the caller. I glanced over my shoulder. John and Paul were running up to us, John throwing a paper around ecstatically. George lifted an eyebrow and asked, "What's wrong, lads?"

John replied by grabbing George's hands and spinning him around. Paul grabbed me and did the same. I slid on the ice and would have fallen over if Paul didn't have a good grip on my wrists. He released me and let me spin to the fountain, where I fell to sit on the ledge.

"What the bloody hell?" I asked.

John held up the paper, "We're going to be on the telly!"

"What?"

George snatched the paper from John. He and Paul began to do the waltz across the frozen sidewalk as George read over the paper. Slowly, his eyes brightened, "The Beatles have been invited to act as the background band for a singer in a televised performance in Blackpool."