Grab some tea and a biscuit y'all, this is a longish chapter! I hope you enjoy!
I felt like Pattie Boyd.
Yes, and Danny was George Harrison, and we were driving in his Toyota to school. It was the last day before summer term ended and we students had scored a free dress day—I had chosen to don a vintage dress over a turtleneck with sheer stockings and knee high boots. I felt awkward when I tugged on the outfit I had been planing for a while and looked into the mirror, but when Danny came to pick me up the look in his eyes when he saw me told me I was all right. I grabbed my satchel from the counter and hit him gently with it as he whistled, taking in my sixties inspired outfit. Danny was growing his hair out. It reached the top of his ears now and I liked it.
"It's the trend, you know," I told him.
"I'm doing it for you, you know," he told me back with a cheeky smile, brushing his hair back with his hand, doing an awful mock impersonation of Harry Styles.
Back in the car, which smelled like cinnamon due to his air freshener, we blasted a Cream CD and Danny seemed nervous, which he never seemed, his left hand on the wheel, not looking at me. I brushed it off, looking at London going by outside. In her own mad mind she's in love with you... with you, Clapton sang. Now whatcha gonna do? Danny drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
"You all right, Dan?" I asked him, curious, as we pulled into the school parking lot.
"Cora, I need to talk to you," he suddenly said, looking straight at me, his brown eyes serious.
"What is it?" I asked, a prickle of warning rising up my spine. I tugged at the sleeves of my turtleneck, the car seeming to be hotter than normal. Strange brew, Clapton sang on. Kill what's inside of you.
Danny turned down the volume. "Listen, Cora, d'ya remember that football match with the lads I went to yesterday—"
There was a rattle of the door. I turned around—June.
"One moment," I signaled to her. "Go on," I told Danny as I turned around.
"Listen to me, Cora, the lad's a cheat and a liar!" she yelled through the window, her knuckles brushing away the snow on the car window as she fought for my attention. I froze for a moment, looking between her and Danny. "Is this true, Danny?" I asked him quietly.
"I was just going to tell you when she interrupted—"
"Don't listen to him! He'll think up some excuse—"
Danny rolled down the window and tossed out an insult. "Fuck off, June!"
There was a silence, punctuated only by Clapton's voice, now singing Layla. Danny snapped off the whole device with shaking hands and looked at me. "Please, hear me out. Please. Better to hear it from me than someone else," he pleaded in a low voice.
I turned towards June. "Let me hear him out."
Someone walking to her car yelled, "Don't blame June for trying, love, after you hear what he's done." Danny rolled up the window, nearly taking my nose off. "Explain, Danny," I said quietly, my fingers twisting in my lap, feeling dread rise up in me like bile. "Now."
And so he did, he explained how they got drunk at one of the parties after his football match Sunday night and the boys were all talking and laughing and he had had five beers and a couple of shots and they got him to talk about that night when we went to the party and we left and yes, we did go to a hotel. They were all round him like a king, waiting to hear the next part of the story, because where else did an overnight stay at a hotel lead? Clarke was practically bowing before him, yelling about how he was getting a shag and the drinks spoke for him and at that point in the car with me Danny looked so, so ashamed he didn't want to speak. I sat there, barely feeling the car under me, barely feeling my hands, so still, only looking at Danny in his striped shirt he was so excited to wear today. He went on. Yes, he told them he shagged me. But I didn't want to, he said, suddenly leaning his head against the dashboard. Oh, god, it was the beers.
I didn't speak. I couldn't. He looked at me, a frantic look and he said, I'm going to continue. There's more? I wanted to ask, feeling nauseous but I couldn't speak. There was a girl, he went on and my hand trembled. I closed my eyes and let his words wash over me. There was a girl there, several girls but they said I was so close to reaching a godlike level—listen, I don't care about the goddamn bloody thing now—and they said I had to shag her. I don't even remember her name. But listen, listen I didn't shag her, but they said you're so close and all I had to do was kiss her, just a small kiss—Danny was practically whimpering by now, his breath coming in shaky patterns. Oh, god, what have I done, I kissed her but that was it, and then I realized what I did and I got out of there, Cora love—
"Don't call me love," I said, feeling a strong urge to get out of the car. I reached for the door handle but he grabbed my arm. "Please—"
"Get off me!" I yelled and stumbled out of his Toyota, the cinnamon air freshener choking me. His face crumpled like a piece of paper and he turned away from me, hiding himself in his hands. "I'm sorry."
"We're—we're done," I told him, feeling numb as something inside me plummeted to its death among skyscraper dreams. I walked towards the school on autopilot, people staring and me hating my outfit choice that day, it added onto the humiliation. I barely felt June's arm round my shoulders, barely heard her whisper in my ear, "Let's go," and we were in her car headed towards the nearest tea shop.
***
John, not John Lennon as so many people repeat when one says "John?" But to most of my friends and acquaintances when I said "John" they knew who I meant. I wanted to talk to him, I needed to talk to him, about what I wasn't sure of yet, but I wanted to talk to him or just be held by him, to be reassured that it was all right, that I was all right.
I tried to steady my breathing on the bus after pushing change into the slot next to the driver with fumbling fingers, sitting next to an elderly lady with her graying dark hair pinned neatly into a cap. She was sitting with perfect posture, her feet tucked underneath her chair. She reminded me of Dot. Dot! The pregnancy! Still shaken, I pressed my forehead against the glass of the bus window and watched Liverpool roll lazily by. I saw the Cavern Club, the route we took to Paul's house. The cafe where I had lunch with Danny and then he had disappeared on me. He too had said something similarly to Michael. Something about how I changed. But had I not two hours ago looked into the mirror and told myself change was good?
My stop came and I excused myself to my seat mate not before detangling my sundress, part of which had gotten caught in the bus seat, and walked out. Everything seemed to bend into a haze as I took the route to John's house. Mendips slowly came into view while I strode farther up the drive, and then I heard yelling, voice shooting out of an open window.
"Mimi, what the fuck I do isn't your business!"
"John Winston Lennon, you've lived under my roof for more than fifteen years, so you can't tell me what you do is and isn't my business. How dare you."
I stopped in the road as if someone had stuck out a hand and prevented me from walking. To my surprise another female voice could be heard softly, saying something in murmuring, reassuring tones, and then John's voice lowered. I decided knocking wasn't the best choice in actions and stood tersely, debating on what to do.
"'M going out, Harrie," I heard John mumble, opening the front door, the sunlight illuminating the glass panes in the door and giving him a rainbow on his face for a second as he turned his cheek to address his other aunt.
"You tell me when you're going out—" I heard Mimi say. The door slammed, and then again from the window, "Harrie, what am I going to do with that stubborn lad?"
The stubborn lad walked up his drive, hands in the pockets of a pair of dark wash jeans and an old red checked shirt back from the '50s I had never seen before. "John," I struggled to say, for he had reached me so quickly and hadn't noticed me in his determination.
"Cora," he said, his brown eyes wide with surprise. He took his hands out of his pockets. "What are—you didn't tell me you were coming."
"I... I know. I needed to talk to you, or just be with you." My cheeks colored. "A lot of things happened. I don't know. Maybe it's just my hyperactive mind, also I found out about Dot. Her birth. God! I didn't know McCartney had to go through that!"
"Shh, it's okay," John said, dropping his troubles while he took me and my thoughts in his arms, closing his eyes and drawing me close to him, my body pressed against the warmth of his chest, the smell of the red checked shirt wafting through my nostrils; it smelled like Mimi's detergent and his guitar, it smelled like John. I leaned my face against his chest, feeling a release of pain, and willed him to keep holding me. We stood there outside his door for a few minutes until we both jumped when we heard someone inside say in a clipped tone, "John, if you said you're going to leave, might as well do it now!"
His voice unexpectedly dipped low and sweet into my ear: "Come on, love, let's run." The grip of his hand in mine, both of us kicking our heels up running, flying, soaring into Strawberry Field like birds, the red gate winking at us in the sunlight. "Come on," and I was over the fence. Once we were inside, he automatically reached for my hand and I looked down: mine had done the same thing.
"Come on," I said softly, repeating. The winds were still. We walked to our usual area, my bare legs feeling the rustling of the tall grass and I suddenly said, "Not here. Let's go somewhere else."
—I don't know if it was different today but it certainly felt like it. She was glowing. Maybe it was the freedom I was giving her. I still didn't like it, but I was getting used to it.
"John," she calls my name. I can feel a smile rise to my lips, the same feeling when she calls my name that way. It's almost like it has the form of a question, teasing at me. Of course there are times when she says "John," when I forget to take the dishes to the sink and it's an annoyed tone, or those times where she's got a little sadness attracted to my name. Like a cloud hanging over it. Bloody hell—I hate those times.
"Okay, let's go," he responded.
—But now isn't one of those times when we're arguing. Now we're at Strawberry Field and she's wearing a tangerine colored dress and some flat sandals and I'm following her to our usual spot. Except this isn't our usual spot.
"John." That call again, teasing, pulling at my insides.
"Should we stop here, love?" I point to our usual spot.
"Come on!" A little spark of a giggle. I shake my head and sprint after her, feeling like a young man. The things Harrie says to me about my age are false. Here I will never age; how can I? She's standing by a patch of tall grass; the grass is so tall I can barely see her legs through it. "This is good," she comments, and doesn't have to yell; I am right beside her.
I stepped closer to him and wrapped both my arms around his waist, my dress flapping around my knees. "Johnny."
The grass was so tall in the new area; it reached our knees. "It's like the sea," John said softly, looking around the field of yellow and he reached down in a scooping motion almost as if he was at sea. "When I was young I went to the beach with my cousins and we would play by the water. That was back when Julia was still around."
I nodded. He stopped talking. The hand he used to scoop up the thick blades of grass went through my hair, stroking it, tucking it behind my ear. "My little strawberry princess. Tell me what's bothering you."
I was silent for a minute, debating whether to share my fears with him, and he said, "I love you, Cora, you know that."
I nodded. "Dot is pregnant," I said lamely.
"Did Dot tell ye?"
"Yep. She thought Paul already told all of us about it—which I'm not mad about, to be honest, that he didn't tell me—I'm just nervous on his behalf. Raising an unplanned child especially so early when you've got a career probably wasn't exactly what he had in mind, and giving it up is almost just as hard. And the next part—oh, John, this is something that you haven't heard about in ages really—I've just been hearing voices from this character of sorts I suppose. The man in the pink and blue jacket, Michael." This all fell out from my lips and when I saw what I had done, I decided to keep going. "He said we're not doing well together. He said you had no feelings, which of course I didn't believe, because I've seen you, John Lennon, and like it or not, you have feelings. You just don't show them to everyone you meet."
His fingers were grabbing at my waist but not violently, more of a gentle tug, as he rested his chin on my head and held me. "Cora."
"And then he told me that I was too calculating and selfish and that got me thinking, and I know I shouldn't be thinking this way at all, but I am these things. Why the hell do you love me so much?" I asked quietly. "I'm the worst. I play games with you and I make promises and don't keep them. I'm egotistical and selfish and I get awful when I'm drunk. You could have—"
"I could have you." John suddenly cut in. He put his hands on my shoulders and we were facing each other. I saw his lip quiver and my hand trembled in return, still trying to comprehend what it was that I just said in front o him. "And I want you. Listen, Cora, I'm not even going to go on about how much I don't deserve you, but you know, love, things aren't going to get better if we just sit here and talk about how we don't deserve each other. My journey with you from the start—from the very fuckin' start—do you see how different we are now?" His eyes caught mine for an electrifying second; in the hazel color I saw the two of us at Marty's party, dancing in the Kaiserkeller, falling into the river, streaking along the midnight streets of Hamburg, the both of us at Martin's house. He continued. "We have problems but a lot of them are new and it's a sign we're growing. Do you realize that?"
"Yes," I whispered, the glimmer of a smile passing through the building waves of my fears.
"Still seeing Michael, then?"
I half shook my head. "I—he shows up at unexpected times. Blimey, now you must think I'm mad."
"Alice in Wonderland, she too thought she was mad," he said. "Went straight to another world with all these magical creatures and thought she went stark raving mad. Everything was so foreign to her; she didn't know anyone, but she eventually found her footing, and so did you. I can't blame ye if you still are seeing the occasional Cheshire Cat once in a while, unless he's really bothering you, and then I'll have to knock out all of his teeth." He snorted and I laughed. "Wonder if they're pink and blue like the rest of 'im."
"Of course," I chuckled. "What other color would they be?"
He brought me close again into the comfort of his flannel shirt. "I will never leave you, Cora. Never. That is a promise."
Martin's words from the cafe: When you love someone, truly love them, you lay your heart open to them, you give them something you can't give anyone else. And it's vulnerable.
"John," I whispered. "That's too much of a promise. You don't have to say that."
"I mean it."
"I love you so, so much," I said, coming out a little muffled. "Fuck, I love you. What on earth would I do without you, without your wisecrack jokes that always manage to make me feel better, without your perfect, intuitive timing, your...your love for those around you which I may point out, no one gets to see very much—" I laughed. "Lennon."
Martin again: You're handing them the razor to cut the deepest and to cut the most painfully on your heart and soul. And when they do strike - it's crippling, like having your heart carved out, but you finally understand and embrace the difference.
With some effort, I detangled myself from him and mirrored his actions from a few minutes ago, looking at him square in the eye. His face was slightly tinged red in the flustered way that many Europeans get embarrassed in, his eyes were bright and his mouth was slightly open. I leaned forward and kissed it hard, feeling its shape change beneath my lips, feeling his hands on my waist, the right one trembling slightly before finding its hold in the crevice of my body, the other one almost tentatively (tentatively? John?) touching my hip before descending on it and caressing it. Something shifted like a tilt, and—
—let me take you down, cause I'm going to—
—lying beneath him, surrounded by tall grass, so tall from this angle but what did I care of the grass, he was lying on top of me and something was pressing against my hip, something urgent that I too had felt taking my bath not a couple of hours ago. His mouth moved to my neck, my hands moved to his belt buckle, unclasping it, unchaining him, freeing him—
"Are you sure?" He asked, flustered, pleading, hoping and I said, "Yes—"
—nothing is real—
"—Yes—!"
—and nothing to get hung about—
The grass under my back, my initial quiet, panting breaths, him, him all around, surrounding me like a cloud, like a force, thundering and overpowering yet gentle. My fingers, the friction of them against his back, the checked shirt long gone, tossed somewhere in the field along with my dress. The scene vibrant color: the red of his cheeks (is he nervous?), the sky blue of his t-shirt, his words melting into colors, but most of all the yellow and orangey tones of the afternoon. I feel John, I feel him around me and all over me and it's how can I even begin to describe it? Indescribable. So foreign, so new, so nice. My eyes open. I want to see him. There's a slight curl to his lip, something not unkind. It tastes more wanting.
—Strawberry Fields Forever.