era: 1972 (post beatles)
name: hallie
the building was suddenly in front of me. i had no recollection of how or when i got there. i was just... there. it must've been sometime after dark. maybe eight or nine. i felt a small pull toward the building as it stood there. 105 bank street, greenwich village.
then i remembered why i came.
john lennon invited me.
"hallie! there 'ye are!" i heard a voice come from above me. i tilted my head up and saw a figure hanging out of a window, waving at me like a maniac. "come up!"
with slight hesitation, i slowly walked toward the front entrance. the dim lights faintly lit up the sidewalk, so i made sure i was careful walking up the steps. i wore a black dress and a furry cardigan with some boots. comfortable as usual.
as i hiked all the way into the building, into the elevator and up the way, i felt my heart begin to race. for the second time, i would be meeting john lennon. playing his piano. maybe playing other of his instruments. who knew.
i finally met his floor. my feet touched the ground and i felt warmth spread throughout me. the temperature was nice and warm compared to the cool spring nature outside. remembering his room number—28–i adventures further down the hall until i reached it. i just stood there for a moment before doing anything else.
what would come of this visit? more visits? would yoko be there? of course, she would, but what if she wasn't? would john try to make a move? what if he did? why would he, anyways?
finally, after what must've been a minute or two, i briefly knocked on the door. instantly, it swung open and i was greeted by the giddy face of john lennon.
"you made it, hallie, darlin'" he grinned eagerly. "right this way, madam."
he led me back into his apartment with the slam of his door. and, alas, yoko wasn't there. "nice place you got here," i looked around, looking at the red-painted walls, marble countertops, wooden floors and a giant chandelier.
"thanks," he said, leaning his back against a cabinet. "we moved in here a few months ago."
i slowly ran my hands over the smooth surface of the paintings on the walls as i followed to where he was down the hall. "where's yoko?"
"i told her to leave for the night," he said, oh so nonchalantly. "she doesn't like visitors much, especially not other ladies." john called from the other room.
i stopped right in front of the door, presumably leading to a bedroom. i felt someone come behind me as i carefully dwindled toward the door.
"that's the music room, darling. would you like a peek?"
i chuckled slightly before nodding nervously and taking a deep breath. john reached around me and twisted the doorknob, opening the door to a room full of numerous instruments.
"wow," i marvelled at all the guitars, harmonicas, keyboards and bass'. there was even a small sitar leaned next to one of john's famous epiphones. "may i?" i crouched down next to one of his guitars—i couldn't distinguish which—and raised my eyebrows at him.
"please, do,"
i shortly grinned and took it into my hands with ease. i strummed the imperfect strings after wrapping the damaged strap around my torso. i made a c chord with my lanky fingers.
slowly, i began playing the intro chords into a day in the life. john smiled as i saw the recognition process in his face.
before i knew it, he was singing along to the tune! my favourite musician was standing right before me, singing one of the greatest songs ever made.
"about a lucky man who made the grade..."
my smile went from ear to ear, muscles straining of happiness. as he continued singing, i gave a small chuckle as i messed up the b minor.
"sorry," i apologized. "i'm not very good at this..."
"you must be joking," he said softly. "you're amazing, love," i felt myself blush. putting the guitar safely back where it belonged, i still could feel john breathing over me. "how about that piano? you know any good ones?"
"not any you'd like,"
"what's that supposed to mean?"
"old granny songs, as you've said."
he realized what i was referring to in one of his interviews he'd had saying he didn't like paul's songs. i knew almost every one of them, when i'm sixty-four, honey pie, martha my dear, maxwell's silver hammer, ob-la-di, ob-la-da.
"fuck it. i want 'tuh hear you play!"
i sauntered toward the bench to the piano and sat down. "if you say so," i stretched my fingers and placed them over the white and black keys.
playing the beginning chords to a song that wasn't a granny one. instead, it was the one i promised. julia. i was just eighteen when i learned the song when the white album came out. along with learning julia, i learned at least half of the songs on the album.
i played it as fluently as the day i learned it all the way through for the first time. i couldn't exactly look at john until the most familiar part of the song came up. then, when i knew what would happen fully, i glanced at him leaning over the side of the piano, tears in eyes.
i forced myself to hold back tears as i slowly made the song fade out because my hands began getting shaky and sweaty. i was getting emotional, he was getting emotional. it was a mess. i finally ended the song with a small ending chord of f. using the pedal to make it fade, i carefully eased off it.
i thought i did okay. not my best, but okay.
"that was..." john wiped a tear from his eye and covered his face. "beautiful. i... just beautiful..."
i crinkled my eyebrows and—once again—forced tears back. "you really think so?"
he nodded with a sense of somberness to it. "i wrote that song about my mother... and you made it even more beautiful than i ever could. you composed that?"
"i-i did," i stuttered, wiping my hands on my dress. "it took me two weeks."
"the whole song? you did that in two weeks? ah, shit," john's hands fell to his sides with a smack. he put them above his head once he finished his sentence. "i suppose i've finally found someone better than me."
i nearly died. mid-laughter, i shook my head and blew a raspberry of disbelief. "trust me, john lennon," i began. "no one is better than you."
"not true, but thanks anyway."
✰
a long conversation and many songs later, john and i found ourselves in the living room on the couch with a bottle of wine at nearly one in the morning, laughing away at stupid, pathetic jokes.
"let's just say... i told the git where he could shove it, i'll tell 'ya that!" he erupted in another fit of laughter.
i took an itty bitty sip of wine once i finished laughing. i didn't want to get totally drunk, especially not with john lennon. "this has been... an experience, i must say," i put my hand in my hair, slowly letting the glass onto the table in front of me.
"well, 'ye can't go yet! it isn't even..." he hurriedly checked his watch before grimacing. "two 'o clock!"
i smiled and closed my eyes, relieving the burning sensation from being awake for so long. "i had a lot of fun, honestly,"
"new york is fun, isn't it?" i nodded. "i wish you didn't have to go so soon, my dear,"
what is it with all these pet names? i thought curiously. he was so sweet. "gotta feed the cats," i mumbled as he scooted closer to me on the couch.
"i like cats," he acknowledged. "maybe you could show me them... one day." again, he inched closer.
i nervously chuckled, grabbing my jacket from behind his head and putting it on. "i'd love to," i told him truthfully.
"good. next week work for you?"
i sighed, thinking about what was on my calendar. absolutely nothing. "perfect. call me?"
"you got it, babe."