With every sunrise comes a sunset, it is simply the laws of nature. With every birth comes a death, with every light comes a dark, and with every beginning comes an end. All things must come to an end, whether that be now or later, it's going to happen. Even the greatest of the greats come to the finish line somehow.
I was lucky enough to witness it, or unlucky, depending on how you look at it. History was made, and I was there every step of the way. I was there at the beginning, it was only fitting for me to be there at the end.
There was nothing to do during the day anymore. Without a studio to go to or a band to perform with, I was left at home alone with my thoughts. Jane was off filming and Vera was at preschool. All I had was myself and my demons, and neither of us wanted to confront each other. That meant I had to find a distraction, and I knew just the place to go.
Standing across the street from the house on Cavendish Avenue, I watched the few stray fans wander about. Most of the mobs had heard of Paul's farm and thought he moved there. In truth, he split his time between the two destinations. Only the hardcore Beatles fans knew Paul was inside of that house.
Just as I was about to head across the street and knock on the door, the gate opened. Paul appeared. As soon as I saw him, I grinned. His beard had come back even fuller than before. During the Let It Be sessions, I was constantly teasing him that he could take off the fake beard. Now, it looked even more real than before.
Paul waved at the fans, pausing to sign a few autographs and take a few photos. I crossed the street with my hands in my pockets and a smirk across my lips. Coming up behind Paul, I said, "Fancy meetin' you here."
"Bloody hell, Lia!" Paul jumped slightly, "Nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Calm down, McBeardy."
Paul rolled his eyes. As he signed another autograph, he said, "What're you doin' here?"
"Can't I visit the brother whom I love?" I asked, "I was lonely. There's not much to do anymore."
I sighed forlornly. Paul shot me a sympathetic look before busting out in a smile, "Say, I'm heading to the studio, you can join me if you'd like."
"Love too."
"The lads'll be happy," Paul said as he headed down the street towards his car, "They're all strung up."
I cocked my head, "You lads need a vacation."
Paul's eyes became dark. He didn't reply. There was something he wasn't telling me, or something he didn't want to tell himself. When you can sense something terrible coming, you always try to deny it, it was simply human instinct. Paul was doing his best to ignore the fact that his entire life was about to come crumbling down just as mine had.
The two of us slid into his car. I sat in the passenger seat with my arms crossed over my body. Glancing at him, I grinned, "You do look good in a beard."
"Ta," he smirked, "And you said I could never grow one."
"Did not."
"You did. First time I wore the fake beard in '63, remember?" he winked.
I rolled my eyes, "Christ, Paulie, how can you remember something from '63 when you can't even remember your own name half the time."
"I can remember my name. It's James."
"No, it's git."
His laughter shook the entire car. I rolled my eyes, chuckling under my breath and turning my attention to the road. Abbey Road Studios soon came into view with its white walls and stone fence. Paul pulled up to the curb and stepped out with me close in tow.
Paul and I made our way through the studio lobby and into the studio itself. George Martin greeted us from his place in the production studio, his face tight with worry. Paul simply nodded his head paying no heed to George's obvious fear. I, however, noticed straight away. Slowing down, I knitted my eyebrows. He turned to look out the window to the studio with tired eyes.
George and Ringo were already in the studio. They were both on opposite sides and looked like they would rather be anywhere else. Ringo toyed with his drum kit absentmindedly. George was tuning his guitar but I could tell his mind wasn't in it. No matter how many times he tuned the G string, he couldn't get it quite right. George was a whizz at tuning guitars, he could do it when he was sleeping. Something was definitely wrong.
"Morning', laddies," Paul said, doing his best to remain pleasant.
The air was colder than it should be. George nodded a good morning as Ringo said it back. Neither of them actually looked at Paul, nor did they notice me. I furrowed my eyebrows. Usually, the three lads would have already been laughing and talking together. Ringo never frowned, he always waved and smiled at me whenever I visited. Even George would shoot me a grin. Both lads continued to ignore me and barely look at Paul.
It was unnatural for the four lads to be so cold to each other. They were brothers, the closest brothers I had ever seen. Sometimes, I got jealous of their relationship. Something was very wrong.
"What's the matter, fellas? Blue Meanies?" I joked.
I tried to remain cheerful. Even if they didn't want to see the sunlight, I'd bring it in. Sometimes, people just needed someone to show them the light.
"Nothin', Mel," Ringo replied, "Just tired, is all."
I lifted an eyebrow, "I know you, Ringo."
"Just tired."
He was obviously lying, but I didn't press on. Glancing at George, I knew I'd get the same reaction. Paul noticed too. Either he elected to ignore it or this wasn't out of the ordinary. It had been a long time since I visited the lads in the studio, and I didn't expect them to be so cold to each other.
I sat down on the bench next to George and leaned forward. He was hunched over his guitar, doing his best to keep from meeting my eyes. Smiling slightly, I asked, "Georgie?"
He glanced up at me. As soon as his eyes met mine, I shuddered. George had a poker face like no other, but I could sense the anger behind it. It wasn't so much anger as it was a mixture of that and despair. He was angry at the situation, but he was sad that it was close to the end.
I didn't see it. In my mind, I was sure they were just having a bad day. As their mate, it was my job to make it better. Unfortunately, I did it in the worst way possible.
"Aw, a little music'll cheer you right up," I grinned.
George's frown only deepened. I could tell I hit a rough spot, though I didn't know why. Music was their cure. It got them through the toughest times and the smoothest. Music was their life and their lifeline all in one. If they were opposed to playing, then something had to be dreadfully wrong.
Our answer came in the form of John and Yoko. The doors to the studio burst open and the two of them walked in. Both were dressed in all white, and John took the lead. His gaze was steely like he had his sights set on a prize. He barely noticed George, Ringo, or me in his path to Paul.
"Morning, Johnny," Paul grinned, doing his best to hide his anxiety.
John stopped at the side of the piano and stared at his best mate, "I'm done, Paul."
"What?"
"I'm done," John replied, "I want a divorce, McCartney."
(Photo- John, George, Paul, and Ringo, 1969. Taken by Linda McCartney.)