Chapter 6: The Works of Yoko Ono, 1933-2001

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The day had started off so well.



    I woke up to a loud thunderclap outside. Someone was holding me tightly.

    "John," I said, and yawned. "What are you doing?" His arms felt nice around the curve of my waist.

    "I'm protecting you from the storm," came a voice from under the covers.

    "More like I'm protecting you from the storm," I rolled my eyes. "How did you climb up here anyway?"

    I had told him last night that no, we were not going to be sleeping in the same bed, at least not yet, anyway. Like I said: I've never had a boyfriend. I don't know what's happening. And so I'd like to take it slow, thank you very much. He looked a little miffed, but had said "okay," and I remember smiling a little nervous smile because wasn't John Lennon known for being unpredictable?

    A Beatles song lyric ran through my head: You like me too much and I like you...

    "The way a normal person climbs into bed," John grinned in response to my last question. "What's for breakfast?"

    "You make it this time."

    "That limits it to... well, bread and butter."

    "So we'll have bread and butter," I smirked.

    "Come on, y/n, cook for me?" he asked me, looking up at me pleadingly.

    "Bread and butter."

    I rolled over and gently detached his arms from my side, and then stood up. "I'm getting dressed. See ya." I grabbed some clothes and ducked into the bathroom. After pulling a red cami and a pair of embroidered jeans on, I gazed at myself in the mirror. I was having a hard time recognizing who this girl was with a boyfriend. It was like getting your head shaved and staring at yourself in the mirror. A new look. Like having a boyfriend.

    Except I probably knew more about the care of having a shaved head rather than having a boyfriend, especially one from 1962 who didn't have the conventionalities of today's modern boyfriend. Also, did I mention he's the founder of the greatest rock band in the world?

    "You can do it," I caught myself whispering to my reflection in the mirror.


    John was downstairs when I walked out of the bathroom. He was wearing his leather pants and black t shirt and had combed his hair upwards to reveal teddy boy like looks.

    In other words, my boyfriend looked tough. He could really have passed as a gang member. But the one thing that differentiated him from a terrifying looking gang member was his smile. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, holding his arms out.

    "Morning, love," he said, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my forehead. I was enveloped in a bunch of leather, but it smelled like him.

    "Hey, you," I said. Securing one last bobby pin in my hair, I heard the toaster pop.

    "Y/n, I present to you... better than bread and butter... toast and butter!"

    "You git," I laughed. "What an upgrade."

    He spread the slices with toast and jam. "What are we doing today? I guess going out with me—" I caught a slight blush spread across his cheeks— "breaks the contract, doesn't it?"

    "What contract?" I asked him, biting into a piece of toast and leaning my hip against the kitchen counter.

    "The one where you said I had to leave after one night."

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