Lonely People

Marvelous Misadventures of The Drummers

London had bad memories for me. I had only ever been there once, and the memories of that trip spoiled the entire city. All I could think was the feeling of arguing with Markus Beckham and how he made Molly cry. I wanted to find him and punch him, but I knew that would only make matters worse.

Ringo and I wandered down the streets, stopping every so often to take pictures. In order to start the photo album, we had to have pictures to go inside. Ringo stopped to take a picture of me jumping next to a pole, smiling like an idiot.

"Bet we look like a couple of tossers with cameras," I commented.

Ringo chuckled, "Artistic tossers."

"Aren't all artists tossers?"

Ringo laughed loudly. We turned the corner and came upon Buckingham Palace. The guards stood out front like red tin soldiers, never moving, and never blinking. As if scripted, Ringo and I both took pictures of the scene.

We walked along the fence, stopping every so often to tease a guard. We didn't even get so much as a sigh let alone a laugh. They were trained not to react, and that is what they did.

"Bloody good at their jobs, they are," I commented.

Ringo nodded, "Bet their feet get tired."

"Their entire bodies must feel like jelly at the end of the day."

After Buckingham Palace, we made our way towards Big Ben. I wanted to go up inside and look at the inner workings of the clock. Clocks had always fascinated me. I loved how they looked as well as how they worked. Every birthday and Christmas since I was fifteen, someone had gotten me a pocket watch or a clock. Every time, I was grateful.

"What should we call our book?" I asked.

Ringo lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"Our photo album," I replied, "You lads are going to be famous, and we're, hopefully, not far behind. It's bound to get published one day, and we need a name."

"Could just call it Our Photo Album."

I shook my head, "That's lame. We need a name that's totally gear! Something that speaks to people. Something that means us."

Ringo furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. The two of us were deep in thought for a few minutes. I went over name after name, each one worse than the last. Finally, it was Ringo that came up with the title.

"How about 'The Marvelous Misadventures of The Drummers'?" Ringo asked, "Since it's about our bands, and we're both drummers."

I snapped my fingers, "Ringo, you're a bleeding genius."

Ringo beamed. I pulled a notepad out of my bag and wrote it down as Ringo looked over my shoulder. I quickly pulled his hat over his eyes, causing him to laugh.

We continued through London. This city held many bad memories for me, but I was beginning to replace them with memories better than any others. My time with Ringo was spent smiling and laughing. The two of us made memories we would always have to look back on whenever times became dark.

"Did ya tell Paul we were coming here?" Ringo asked.

I shook my head, "Nah. I'm sure he's around here somewhere, but I'm not going to go looking for him."

"No?"

"I see the wanker enough," I chuckled, "Love him, I do, but I get sick of him all the same."

Ringo laughed, "Yeah, me too. Eppy's got us together almost every day."

"Did you tell him?" I asked.

"I didn't tell anybody," Ringo scratched his chin, "Probably should have at least told Eppy."

I laughed, "He's going to be bloody pissed whenever we get back."

"Maybe I should call him."

Ringo looked genuinely worried. He was still such a fresh face in the band, his worries had yet to vanish. He had seen how quickly they gave Pete the boot and he knew they would give him the same just as quickly. What he didn't know was how much John, Paul, and George liked him. I could see it in the way they played together, even in the way they talked to each other. There was no way they would get rid of Ringo. I shook my head, "When's your next show?"

"Three nights from now," Ringo replied, "We took a bit of a break."

"There you go. He won't need you until then."

Ringo looked unconvinced but nodded anyway. I stopped to snap a photo of a pigeon resting on a lamp post. Ringo watched me, "Did you tell anyone?"

"I told Molly I was leaving the house," I replied, "Not that I was leaving Liverpool."

Ringo shoved his hands in his pockets, "Didja say you were coming to stay with me?"

"Yeah. She seemed right pissed off, but I can't figure out why."

A small smirk crossed Ringo's lips. He tried to hide it with an obvious fake cough, but I caught it all the same. I crossed my arms and glared at him, "Are ya going to tell me or do I have to pull it out of ya?"

"Can't imagine why she'd be angry," Ringo commented.

I furrowed my eyebrows, "You're lyin', I can smell it."

"I'm not lyin', Melly."

"You are. Spill it before I make you."

Ringo shook his head, "I just don't think she was angry, exactly."

"What'd you think she is, then?"

"Jealous," Ringo looked me dead in the eye.

For a moment, I wasn't sure what to say. He kept eye contact with me for a solid three minutes. Finally, I scoffed, "Why would she be jealous? It's not like I'm replacing her."

"Course not, and she knows that," a small smile played across Ringo's lips, "Just, there's no reason for her to be angry, she's not your Mum. There's only more explanation."

"Bloody hell, she was jealous," I muttered.

The look on her face was exactly the same one I had whenever she and John were dating. She was jealous, but she didn't know why, neither of us did. Perhaps she did think I was replacing her with Ringo. She was my best friend, and I could slowly feel Ringo taking that spot, but Molly was far from replaced. If anything, she moved on to become something even more special than a best friend. She took a place I never thought anyone would ever stand in. Molly Mackenzie was a lot of things, and replaceable was not one of them.

"You alright, Melly?" Ringo asked.

I ran a hand through her hair, "Why was she jealous? I'm not replacing her! She's special, and I can't replace her ever, she knows that."

"Maybe," Ringo replied, "You can't choose when to be jealous, it just, happens."

I had the sudden urge to call her, but I knew that was a bad idea. If she really were jealous, it could quickly turn to anger. It was best for me to take a few steps away for a while.

Even if I did call her, I wasn't sure what I would tell her. The fact that she was jealous just like I had been had to mean something, and that something could be a huge problem.

Molly and I had been together for five years. Five years of friendship. We spent nearly every day together for the majority of those five years. One of two things are bound to occur when that happens; you either grow to hate them feverishly or love them dearly. Sometimes, being with them so much makes you become blinded to the feelings you have. You feel them every day, and they don't seem out of the ordinary. The tiniest little buzz can go unnoticed when you feel it every single day.

"Bloody hell," I whispered. 

(Photo- Amelia, 1963. Taken by Ringo Starr.)