Lonely People

Oh! Darling

Years later, I don't remember how it felt to lie in my childhood bed. I can't tell you the feel of my first dog's fur. I can tell you what it was like to hug my mother or roll in the mud with my brothers. I can tell you what it felt like to fall down the school stairs and into Molly Mackenzie's life. I can't tell you how it smelled, how it tasted, or even how it looked, but I can tell you exactly what it felt like.

I can perfectly describe the feeling of playing on stage. The coarse jacket that brushed against my cheek every time I hugged my brother. The guitar strings tearing at my skin during a show at The Cavern or watching The Quarrymen for the first time back in 1957. I can tell you exactly how my heart dropped and my head began to spin when I looked at Molly for what seemed like the millionth time.

I remember strongly every moment that meant the world to me. From the first time I heard Michael laugh to the exact moment I realized what Molly Mackenzie meant to me. These memories, these feelings, are what I hold on to. Not how it smelled, not how it tasted, not even how it looked as we spun around the dance floor. None of those matters; what matters is the tingles that ran down my spine or the feeling that the world had come to a stop whenever she looked at me.

One of my biggest, brightest, greatest, and most terrifying memories happened in Germany, during the world tour. I remember sitting in the hotel room. The wind was lashing outside, it seemed like the beginnings of a hurricane. Lights swayed on the ceilings, and the couch beneath me trembled. I was sure the lights would go out, given time.

"So much for a show," Molly commented.

I glanced up at her. She stood at the window, gazing out of it, watching the wind whip the trees. It was just the two of us. Janice had gone to talk to Ellen and Peter, but mostly Peter. Molly and I were alone for the first time since we left London.

"I'm good for a night off," I replied.

Molly rolled her eyes, "We don't get paid for nights off."

"There's still loads of tour dates, Mols, we'll get paid plenty."

Molly didn't reply. We both knew this was more than money, this was more than a job. It was a passion, a movement, a feeling spread over thousands of people. Money was just a bonus.

"Wonder if we can get food," I said.

Molly shrugged, "I'm sure the kitchen has something. We could order room service."

"Yeah, how about-"

I was interrupted by a sudden clap of thunder. Lightning struck just outside our window, and the lights blinked out. Darkness washed over us. The only light came from occasional lightning strikes through the wooden blinds.

"Well, so much for that," I stated, going to stand by Molly.

She sighed deeply, "The lift won't work now."

"And I can't ask them to bring food up sixteen flights of stairs, in the dark."

"Guess we'll just starve."

I laughed. The room was getting colder without the heat, but I didn't notice. Molly and I were so close, I could feel the heat radiating off her body. It penetrated my skin, sending waves of warmth down my bones.

We both looked out the window and used our fingers to push the blinds apart. We were so close, I could have wrapped my arm around her shoulders. I had to resist the urge to do so.

Another clap of thunder came, followed by another lightning strike. The entire hotel shook with its force. Molly yelped and, before she realized what she was doing, latched onto me.