Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Fifty-Seven

I knew the feeling of a father who showed little affection.  But John was nothing compared to Mr. Sullivan.

Throughout his entire life, John always seemed like, inside, he was never truly safe and sound.  He never found inner peace like George had.  And even now, I couldn't make that turmoil go away.  

John let go of me, and looked down at the bedspread for what seemed like hours.  Then he said, almost whispering, "I was...I am...a bad father."  I was sure if he was asking a question, but if he was, I was not certain on how I would answer.  

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After a show in New Orleans, it started down-pouring.  There was a strange mix-up at the hotel we were staying at where Brian and I got separate rooms from the lads, but they were directly across from each other.  However, that area between the rooms was open air, so if you didn't take the passage-ways around the rooms to get to the other side, you were in for a free shower.  

I wasn't expecting the lads to be home so early, for they were doing a quick and quiet interview after their concert.  But when I heard a knock and I opened my door to find a soaked John.  "Just a little rain," he quipped, but his heart didn't seem into it.  I ushered him inside, and fetched him two towels from the bathroom: one to wipe off in and one to sit on.  

"There's a robe in the closet, if you want it," I offered, but he shook his head.  

"Why were you out?" I asked.

John took off his cap, and the water inside it dripped onto the carpet.  "The lads don't want me near them.  Paul's mad as hell.  I said something stupid at the interview and now all of us are going to have to pay for it.  Why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut!" He cried out.  John avoided my eyes.  "You're the only one who isn't mad at me right now.  At least, I don't think you are."

After another minute of listening to the rain on the roof in silence, he said, "I'm stupid, rude and not a good person.  I'm not a good person, not a good father.  You're right for not agreeing to go with me, Elle, for I'm probably a just as bad husband." 

"John, you're depressed.  You don't know what you're saying-"

He almost laughed.  "I'm depressed...I'm depressed!  Congratulations, Elle!  I just can't believe that out of everyone, it would be you to figure it out."  John chuckled, which made my heart drop.  "People have been putting a bit too much pressure on us for my liking.  I'm tired of being treated like a circus act.  I feel caged.  I've been eating and drinking too much.  A reporter called me the 'Fat and Cynical Beatle' once.  I certainly can see it."  The way he truly thought of himself was breaking my heart.  

"Look at me," I whispered pleadingly.  He did, his eyes incredibly dark and sad.  "First, you are not overweight, and even if you were, that wouldn't change my opinion on you.  You can be a bit snarky sometimes, but that's alright."  I took his hands, begging him to understand.  "You are a good man.  Everyone makes mistakes in their lifetime, but hopefully you will make a few less now.  But you are a good man.  You have a good life ahead of you." My voice nearly broke on that sentence, for over half of his life was over already.  

But I wasn't supposed to think that way.  I had to remember my promise, the reason I was there.  

John stood up and paced for a minute, but then he turned back to me.  "Am I...am I going to be happy?"  He spoke slowly, as if he was speaking a foreign language.  

I thought of Yoko and Sean.  Julian.  Give Peace A Chance.  Imagine.  

I stood up to meet him.  "Yes, John.  You will."

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The third time I fainted was during one of the lads' interviews, but luckily no one saw except Brian.  He panicked, however he caught me.  Unfortunately that meant he had to drop all of his precious papers.  

I woke up shaking, and only a few moments later did Paul come into the room.  "Are you alright?"  I nodded, though he didn't seem convinced.  

"How many times...?" He inquired.  I held up three fingers.  Brian noticed, of course.  

He, after looking through his files, asked Paul if he could speak to him.  They left, and John, George and Ringo sat next to me.  John held one hand and Ringo held the other, an effort to keep me from shaking too badly.  George just stared at the door.  

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" John asked me quietly.  

I shook my head.  "I'm not sick.  I don't know what's happening.  But besides that, I feel fine.  It...it only happens every few days or so.  I'll be alright.  I can live with it."  I was certain that John didn't believe a word I was saying, though he wanted to.  That night, he offered me to stay with him, even though we were still just friends.  I declined his offer, but thanked him anyway.  It wasn't as if it was possible for someone to faint in their sleep.  And it rarely seemed to happen in the morning; it was always in the afternoon or at night.  

However, I did ask him if he wanted to stay up and chat with me in my room.  We looked through all of the photographs and the postcards I had gathered.  I asked John if he wanted any of the pictures, and he refused many times.  Except I did find one that caught his eye.  It was one of the two of us, sitting on a plane, and he was watching me as I laughed at something someone said off-camera.  The look he gave me was one of...infatuation.  Devotion.  

Love.

 John asked me for that one, and I gave it to him.  However, when I turned to hand it to him, he kissed me quickly and pocketed the picture.  "John!" I scolded.  

"I'm not sorry, so don't try to make me feel bad.  I needed it, Elle."

"It may be the last time I'll ever kiss my first love."

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A few hours later I went to see if Brian needed any last minute help before we left for the next city, but he said that he was fine.  We were leaving in only five hours, but I barely unpacked anything from my bag, so I had no worries on forgetting anything.  All I had to do was wait for awhile.  

While I was returning to my room, I saw George leave his room, but he wasn't alone.  A girl followed him out, giggling quietly.  He whispered something to her, and they hurried down the hall to the elevator.  I knew George had seen me, but that certainly hadn't stopped him.  As soon as I caught his gaze I had to turn away.  I wasn't crying, but the feeling of seeing him with another girl hurt.  

But that was what I had been doing to him all along.  

I deserved it.  

Getting over him was harder than I expected it to be.