Lonely People

Starr Child

Our building had a wall of mailboxes in a room right next to the lobby. They were nothing more than small, metal, lockers packed into a wall with the numbers of their respected flats painted on the front. Each one smelled like steamed broccoli, which was both disgusting and slightly alarming. Every time I had to get the mail, I quickly opened the box and grabbed the letters before slamming it shut as quickly as possible.

Shuffling through the papers, I saw mostly bills. Nobody had found our address yet, so we didn't receive any fan mail. We did, however, receive a small package from Molly's uncle. I held that in my hand and carried the letters under my arm.

Our building was large. It was neither luxurious nor shabby, it was somewhere in between. The lady in the lobby was always smiling, though I was sure her teeth were fake. The lights in the halls never went out and the lift always smelled like fresh strawberries. The neighbors weren't rowdy, and the neighborhood itself was rather secluded. Sometimes the carpet had weird stains in it and most of the windows saw nothing but brick walls, but that was a small price to pay for the seclusion of it all. 

The entire building could smell like wet cat and I wouldn't care, all that mattered was the fans had yet to find us. They never thought to look in a middle class neighborhood for some of the biggest stars of the time. That meant we had privacy for the first time in what felt like forever.

As I waited for the lift, I hummed to myself and tapped my foot. The medley was nothing in particular, but it fell into the rhythm of the lift's alert system. As it climbed down the floors, it beeped, loudly.

The lift doors opened. I expected an empty elevator, but I was met with the exact opposite. The first thing I saw was Ringo's panicking face. His skin had gone blood red as his eyes were wide and bloodshot. He was bouncing in every direction, doing his best to hold up his shouting wife.

Maureen looked like she was dying. She had gone decisively pale, and her very hair seemed to stand up. Every muscle in her face was stiff, her eyes were clenched so tightly, I thought they might fall out. She was gripping her bulging belly and crying out. Right between her legs, a dark spot was developing, quickly spreading along her jeans. The package I was holding hit the floor as I jumped in shock.

"What the bloody fuck?!" I exclaimed.

"Mo's in labour," Ringo hurriedly replied, "I-I've got to get her into the car."

He was having difficulty helping her move. She swayed too far to the left, and Ringo could only hold her on the right. Without hesitation, I shoved the mail and the package into my rucksack and hurried to Maureen's other side. Ringo and I each supported her on the way to the car.

Ringo's beige car was parked behind the building in a row of other cars. The two of us worked together to lay Maureen in the back. She was practically screaming now, gripping her stomach and shouting curse words I never thought I'd hear her say. Ringo looked on the verge of a total breakdown.

"You drive, I'll watch her," I told him.

He nodded and hurried to the driver's seat. I sat next to Maureen and put her head in my lap. She screamed so loudly, my ear drums threatened to burst.

"Mo, listen, it's going to be alright," I told her, "Ringo's drivin' us to the hospital right now."

"Fucking hell! I'm gonna bloody explode, fuck!" Maureen screamed.

Ringo squeezed his fingers around the wheel tighter as he weaved through traffic. I'm not sure who I was more worried about; Maureen or Ringo. Maureen was the obvious choice, she looked like she was actually dying. I half-expected her to explode right then and there. Ringo looked like he was going to faint, but, miraculously, he remained steady. I ran my fingers through Maureen's hair in an effort to comfort her.