Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Sixty-Eight

"I could only imagine what he must be feeling.  But what about you?  Do you want to die, or return to where you once belonged?"

I thought about my answer long before I responded.  "I've heard people say so many times that if you love someone, you should set them free.  And if it's true love, things will be right in the end.  I've caused the lads so much trouble these two years, but they say they didn't mind.  Paul told me the other night that they would all still love me and remember me when I left them.  This time that they gave me is easily the most amazing thing that's ever happened and will ever happen to me.  I've fallen in love with ever single one of them and they feel the same about me and...I guess that's really this mad time of mine is all about.  Finding love, and realizing it's everywhere."

Sweet tears filled my eyes.  I wiped them away, smiling.  "John called me the 'fifth Beatle' once.  I shook my head, and told him no.  'Brian is the fifth Beatle.  There is no one else like him, and he's got a good heart and mind, which is the exact defintion of 'Beatle.'"  

He smiled too.  "That's nice, Elle, but I think we both know that that defintion applies to you too.  Unique, and with a kind soul."

I looked back down at my papers, grinning inside.  But then Brian asked me one last thing.  "In the future...do people like...me ever get a fair chance?  Do things look better for them?"

I nodded.  

And the young manager smiled.  

It was the last time I ever got the chance to see that. 

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"Damn..." 

"Ow!"

"John, what are you doing..."  

His sleepy mumbles were prompted followed with a 'Whoa!' as he rolled over onto nothing and fell to the floor.  I sat up immediately.  "Paul!"  

"Go back to sleep, darling.  I'm alright," he groaned.  I turned on the light, and ran around to the other side of the bed to help him.  

I helped him up and he said, "Please don't...I'm alright..."  But when he stood in the light, I saw a little cut and bruise on his forehead and cheek.  "Oh, we should clean this."

Leading him into the bathroom, I flicked on the overhead light, which blinded us both temporarily.  After wetting a washcloth, I told him to hold it to his face.  The cut wasn't too deep, but because it was a head wound, it bled quite a bit.  

As I finished cleaning up his little cut, Paul traced a finger down my cheek, holding my face.  I dropped one of my washrags and looked up at him.  As he leaned down to kiss me, I was going to squirm away in protest before he stopped.  

"I'm sorry.  You're not mine.  I shouldn't have..."

I looked down at the ground, saying it was alright.  After all, he didn't actually kiss me, or force me to kiss him.  

After that awkward moment, he said, "I'm wide awake now.  What do you want to do?"  He looked at his calloused hands.  "I'm itching to play something.  My piano's too loud, and left my guitar at the studio."  

Smiling bigger than ever, and probably startling Paul, I said, "Use me as your guitar!"  

"What?"

Ever since I had first watched movie Help!, I had swooned over Paul in the scene where the Beatles play the song Another Girl.  In said scene, the Beatles are playing each other's instruments and Paul is dancing and using a girl as his guitar.  And even though I knew we could never get as romantic as he and that girl were, it would still be fun to try.  

He pondered the thought for a moment, and then said, "I'll make something to drink, and you will show me."  

We hurried downstairs.  I couldn't decide what was so exciting about that evening.  Maybe it was because it was the first night in awhile that we could see the winter moon, or because I hadn't woken up screaming and crying.  Either way, we were both buzzing with an energy that hadn't been there in ages.  

When we had finished our drinks, he had me stand and show him how to "play me." 

I stretched out my right arm and placed my other hand on my waist, creating a sort of left-handed guitar.  He smirked, finding where to place his hands.  "Any requests?" he asked.  

"She's A Woman."

We laughed as he "played" and occasionally it tickled, for he delibrately places his fingers towards my underarms which would make me squeal with laughter.  This continued for an hour or so before I started to get tired.  And he would alwas ask for one more song.  "Please?"

"Fine." 

I eventually fell asleep on the couch, and Paul did too.  And even though I had to run to the bathroom the next morning to choke out the tea I had drank hours before and it was still depressingly overcast out, I knew that that little silly memory would burn in my mind forever with so many others.  

And if I did die in the end, it would have been worth it.