July

Twelve

            “John likes me?” Paul repeated, without thinking how stupid and weird that would sound.

            “Thinks you’re a fucking musical genius,” Pete snorted.

            “I am a musical genius, wanker,” Paul said, but with a small grin that showed Pete that things were mostly forgiven.

            “Where are you headed?” Pete asked, settling into one of the empty seats.

            “Nowhere, really,” Paul answered.

            “I’m going with John and some mates to an Exis pub. Want to come along?”

            “Yeah,” Paul said, nodding enthusiastically. “I’d like that.”

            Then he remembered yesterday’s revelation, and remembered that the sight of John would probably reduce him to a puddle of nerves, and he bit his lip. There was no way to un-invite himself now.

            “We’ll be there in a few,” Pete said cheerfully.

*   *   *

            The place was crowded and the first thing that Paul noticed was a tall bloke with swept-back hair. Paul narrowed his eyes at him, because he was dangerously close to John. They were both laughing wildly, but in the general noise of the place, everything got lost.

            Seconds ago he’d been outside where it was sunny and quiet, and now it seemed he’d entered a distorted reality inside the pub. It was night in there, everything dark and muffled, and the crowds of people smelled of desperation. Under the haze of cigarette smoke were throngs of college students who didn’t know what to do with themselves during the summer, and gathered to throw around bullshit existentialist theories they half-understood and repeated from books, everyone trying to seem like they knew more than the other. Paul caught bits of what they were saying, they talked about everything from art to society, and how no one understood their particular sensibilities.

            Everything about the place made Paul’s skin crawl, and he badly wanted to leave. He wondered what John was doing here, but he remembered he was going to the Liverpool College of Art after the summer was over, so these must be the people he’d be going to class with.

            They reached John and the stranger, and Pete went off to say hello to someone, and Paul was left stranded. He’d almost have preferred to follow Pete, but he’d been swallowed by the crowd already. He turned away from the spot where he’d last seen Pete to see John. Lennon’s eyebrows shot up in recognition, and he waved the remnants of the conversation away to push forward, towards Paul.

            “What are you doin’ here?” John shouted. “Not an Exi, are you?”

            “No,” Paul said. “I came here with Pete, he—“ Paul trailed off, looking again for Pete as proof. Suddenly Paul felt John grab his arm, and he could feel his breath stinking of alcohol, inches from his own face.

            Paul swallowed thickly, frozen in that spot. The things that ran through his head in that moment filled up his entire consciousness, a flow of panicked thoughts that covered the moment he’d met John until now, all the things that could’ve gone differently and didn’t that made him get to this point, all injected with fear and a vague sadness, that nothing could ever be the same, that things wouldn’t be simple between them anymore.

            “Hey,” Paul managed, his throat feeling very dry.

            John let go of him, obviously too drunk to form words properly. Paul sighed slightly, and turned to John’s friend with the elaborately styled black hair. His face was completely sprinkled with freckles, and his eyes squinted in a way that made it look like he was either unhappy or in deep thought.

            “I’m Paul,” he said, somewhat defiantly, feeling the need to impose himself.

            “Stuart,” the other one said, accompanied by a wistful sigh. Paul’s eyebrows knit together slightly. He must be one of the Exis, who sat around thinking about the meaning of life in these shithole pubs.

            “See you around, Stuart,” Paul said, stepping away from him and beginning to push his way through the crowd. He didn’t care that he was leaving without telling anyone, though usually he was always considerate like that. He felt too heavy inside at the thought of seeing John again and being reminded of his face, and suddenly the prospect of a date with Judy seemed almost repulsive.

            He reached the door and opened it, letting light and fresh air filter into the inside of the pub, before closing it, leaving the dark room behind him.