Yesterday (McLennon)

Chapter Eleven: 1969

I create another mini print and take it out into the light.  It looks pretty good to me, but I want to get it perfect, so I bring it in to show Linda, and she adjusts the timing just slightly and then prints off another test, which looks even better, so I print off a full print, this time leaving it in each chemical for the full duration so it’ll be permanent.  In the time it’s taken me to develop one photo, Linda’s made a total of six prints, two each of three photos, writing the contrast and timing on the back of each.  I do the same and then develop two more prints, one to give to John.  I love this photo, and I love spending time with Linda doing what she loves when she’s so willing to help me with my music, and even with my relationship with John.

The next day I bring the photo in to John, give him a print, and he grins at it, and everything feels right with the world.  And then we slip our instruments on over our heads and work on music, and the session goes so well it’s like we’ve gone back in time, back to Rubber Soul instead of the awful way we were fighting last time.  

But something has changed: George this time has something to show us, a song he’s been working on, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever written before.  John and I have noticed that his songwriting has gotten better, but I watch him get totally blown away as George plays us this new song, a love song that astounds me.

“Wow,” John says, and I nearly see a barrier drop in his eyes as he is sucked into the song.  

George smiles at us, and John grins back, and we tell him it was amazing.  We get to work on it right away, on harmonies and a bass part, and on putting the whole thing together.  And for some reason, I feel like now, more than ever, John and I are on the same level, since we’re both slaves to this song.  All we can do it put in suggestions, but really, George owns it.  So we just shoot each other glances as we put together our parts, grin at each other.

It’s a particularly good day, so much so that John and I even go out alone together for lunch.  It’s a pretty low profile day; John puts in contacts in place of his glasses, and we change into jeans and a T-shirt in hopes of having a slimmer chance of being recognized.  John suggests going to his house instead, but I’d prefer it to be just us . . . No Yoko.  So I suggest that we get food to go and then go sit somewhere to eat it.  We sit down for lunch, and then, once we’re served, get the food boxed up, pay for it and pay a tip, and leave, since it’s not supposed to be a takeout restaurant.  Then we quickly find ourselves going to the hill John first played In My Life to me on.

Four years later, it hasn’t changed much.  It’s still relatively secluded, and few people come by.  But today, there’s a warm breeze blowing over the hill, and it feels wonderful.  John and I spread our boxes out on a bench in between us and eat the food with plastic utensils we stole from a nearby fast food restaurant.  We eat in relative silence, until John starts talking animatedly about something, and I sit back and just listen to him, getting lost in his words, even if I might not be as passionate about the topic.  He smiles at me like he used to smile, and it’s infectious.  His words are like a fever spreading through me, and I feel warm inside just listening to them.

Shit, I can’t still be in love with Lennon.

Because I know the spell is going to break again.  We have wives that we love.  Is it even possible to truly love more than one person at a time?  I’m not sure.  Most people would say no.  But I know for certain that I love Linda from the deepest regions of my heart, that she helped mend me when no one else could, but when I look at John, even now, I get butterflies in my stomach.  Maybe he just makes me nervous because he’s not as gentle with me as he used to be, not as forgiving.  But then again, why should I care if I don’t love him?

I look away, back down at my food and keep eating.  This is going to haunt me forever.  The type of love I felt for him isn’t just something that fades so easily.  It was something we had to force away, because it was something that could never be public.  Maybe that’s what John was doing.  Trying to distance me from him.  But in the end, I don’t know how long it will work.  In the end, when it boils down to it, I will always love John, to some extent.  I wish that wasn’t the conclusion I have to come to, because it’s going to hurt me forever to think of what could have been.  

Even now, staring at John, I would give anything to run my hand through his hair, to reach out and touch him, to kiss him like I used to.  And John looks up at me, with a little flash in his eyes, and I can see an unreadable expression pass over his face.  

“You’re beautiful,” I say quietly.  “I just thought you should know.  Even though you can be a sodding ass sometimes.  I love you anyway.”

There is a long pause, and then John looks up at me sadly.  “I love you, too, Paul.  I know things have been rough between us lately.”  He swallows and shakes his head.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.  I know.  It shouldn’t have ended the way it did.  But I mean, what were we supposed to do?  I couldn’t deal with us keeping such a secret.  Not being able to be open about our love.”

“And I couldn’t deal with the LSD use,” I say, responding to his accusatory tone.  But I shake my head again.  I don’t want this to turn into another fight.  

“Look,” he says, but then doesn’t say anything else.  He just looks down at his food.  

I look down too; I can feel a lump form in my throat, and I can’t force down anymore of the food.  But then I feel cold fingers around my face, and John looks me in the eyes, and I can see that they’re slightly red, like he’s been crying, even though I know he hasn’t.  He pulls me in one last time, tasting my lips reverently, softly, passionately.  Against my will, tears start to drip silently from my eyes, until I can taste them in the kiss.  Instead of making John pull away, it just makes him pull me in closer, until we’re practically sitting on top of each other on the bench, his warmth comforting me.  I feel weak in this moment.

I know what I’m doing is wrong; I have Linda now, and John has Yoko, but I know we both know this isn’t something that anyone will ever find out about.  So I allow myself to melt into him and run my fingers through his soft hair once again, breathing his skin in deeply, loving every inch of contact.  Then we pull apart, and he looks into my eyes for the longest time, like he used to do when he thought I wasn’t looking.  And sometimes, I wasn’t, but the cameras were, and there are pictures of him staring at me like I’m going to vanish tomorrow.

“I love you, Paul McCartney.  I shouldn’t, but I do.”

And then he gets up and starts down the hill and walks back towards the car, leaving me to wonder what just happened, and whether that was his true goodbye.