Behind That Locked Door (A Beatles/George Harrison Fanfiction)

Lessons

I smile.

"Call me George." I tell her, and her nose crinkles up as she laughs. The man playing the banjos stops and thanks his crowd, his dreadlocks in a ponytail behind his face. Among us listeners are a few others, the blonde who wanted me to go to the backroom with her, an older lady with a crown of flowers, a man with tears in his eyes for whatever reason. But for some reason the banjo player particularly notices us.

"Ey, want me to play a song for the couple?" He asks, his accent thick and Jamaican as he sort of whispers to me and Moonbeam.

"Oh, no no. We're not a couple." I say and Moonbeam shakes her head beside me.

"C'mon, you don't have to deny it. All of us here feel your love. And believe me, I double as a fortune teller." He says. I shake my head. Their's no use in continuing to argue.

"Do you know any Buddy Holly?"

.....................................................

"So, you see, you'll put your fingers here to play this chord and then you strum with your others." I tell Moonbeam, the ukulele in her hands as we sit in the field.

"But the chords sound better when you play them. Here," she hands me the instrument, "I'm not any good."

"Love, you're not any good cause you just need a little practice. Next thing you know you'll be on the next Beatles album with us." I say, causing her to giggle. All this time I've been wondering why she isn't going ballistic over me being a Beatle. But I'll take it either way. It's been about 6 or so years since a girl hasn't gone crazy over me just because I have a moptop and an accent.

"What other instruments do you play?" She asks.

"Well I play the guitar, the sitar, the one-finger piano, the ukulele, and a bunch of other stuff." I say.

"Do you think I could get lessons? I don't have a bunch of money but I'll pay you what I get each week for working at Frank's." Moonbeam says. I used to go to Frank's all the time. It's a local fish and chip shop, and quite tasty at that.

"I don't need any money. Just let me drop by at Frank's sometime and be my waitress." I tell her with a toothy grin.

"Are you sure? I mean I get a paycheck every-"

"Love, I really don't need the money." I say and she nods. Generous thing, she is. We play with the patch of grass sitting before us and weave things with it. But just in the moment she goes to show me a grass bracelet, I realize why they call her Moonbeam.

"Wow," I gasp, in awe, "Your eyes, the reflection of the moon, I-Is that why they call you Moonbeam?"

"Yes." She smiles.

"You're beautiful. I mean, your eyes." I say, a little embarrassed.

"Thanks. Here," she places her grass bracelet around my wrist, "Their you go."

Silently I place my bracelet around her wrist. But then I feel something a bit strange on the back of her wrist. I gently run my fingers over it and then turn her hand over. Oh, no.

"Moonbeam, why have you been cutting yourself?" I ask, my thumb running over the scars to soothe her. She flinches at my touch and eases her body back, scared.

"Love, I didn't mean to scare you. But please don't hurt yourself." I say. She continues to ease back until my hand leaves her grip. She looks at me in a frightened way.

"I'm not going to hurt you." I say. With this she eases forward. Her eyes are still afraid.

"I'll leave my number with Paul. Let's do lessons every Tuesday." She says, kisses my cheek, and at an instant, is gone.