August 12, 1961
I didn't go out much or even talk to anyone until about Thursday that week. John came by every day and George and Paul came with him occasionally. I was to return to school on Monday.
Friday afternoon, John, Paul, and George came over time inform me that they had a rehearsal that afternoon and I was welcome to join if I felt ready enough. I agreed, naturally and went to change before they took me away. Honestly, missing your second week of school isn't exactly ideal, but at least I got to stay in bed all day.
"We'll meet you at my house in a bit," said George as they left.
"See you," I replied, closing the door behind them. I returned to my room to change and, though my window was closed, I could hear yelling coming from John and Emily. They'd been yelling a lot lately. I peeked out my curtains to see what was happening. John had his fingers on the bridge of his nose, his other wrapped around his stomach. Obviously, Emily wasn't happy about John being with me so much. Every day for thirty minutes was too much for her.
I knew I shouldn't have an opinion, but it seemed like John was caught in a stream of her jealousy. She seemed to go over the top to make sure that he wouldn't leave her, like she couldn't live without him. Didn't seem like a healthy relationship to me. But, what do I know? I hadn't dated anyone in three years. Maybe John just couldn't be trusted.
"John, I feel like you're slipping away from me, and it's all because of her." She spat my name like it was sour gum. My hands began to shake with anger and I knew I should stop listening.
"Emily, look." John put his hands on her shoulders and she looked scared. "Can you stop thinking so highly about yourself for one moment? She didn't do anything. She didn't choose to be my neighbor, she didn't choose to be dragged into my life by Paul and George. However, she did choose to be my friend-." He drug out the word two miles. "And you chose to take it like I was going out with her or whatever. Maybe it was your fault all this is happening. I looked at her and you got mad. Stop blaming others for your stupidity."
Emily looked at John threateningly. "You're wrong," was all she said and John got the last word in.
"It's over. Don't ever come back here. This was all you."
She looked appalled before she turned curtly, her curls tossing over her shoulder and left, stuck-up and sour.
I was left, stunned momentarily. John leaned back against the wall of his house, his head in his hands. I chose to look away then.
I'd already ruined something. Go figure.
With a sigh, I continued to get ready, leaving thirty minutes later, still shaky. John was still outside, sitting in a chair on the porch, contemplating on something hard.
"Hey," I said.
When he saw me, he smiled. "You ready to jam?" he asked.
I nodded.
He looked at me. "You heard Emily and I, didn'tcha?"
I nodded and looked at my feet. "I'm sorry."
He clicked his tongue. "It wasn't you."
"She got upset because of me. It was my fault."
He sighed. "No, it wasn't. She overreacted. It wasn't your fault in the slightest."
"All I do is ruin things. I'm sorry."
Whoops, that one slipped out.
He ran his hands through his hair, sighing again. "Don't say that."
"Sorry, I just—." He looked at me. "Everything gets screwed up around me. I just don't understand why. I don't know where I went wrong. I don't know why the world's so against me." I was too emotional to be saying these things out loud. Poor John. He stood up and came over to me, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on the top of my head.
"Oh, love," he said and I heard his voice quaver slightly before mending itself. "I ask myself that every single day. He pulled away and looked me right in the eyes. "Why do you think it's against you?"
I was ready to launch into story when we heard Paul and George coming up the road, laughing loudly. John stepped away from me, saying, "You can tell me later," and turning back towards the road.
"Hey, John, hey, Donna!" called Paul as he rounded onto John's driveway.
I waved and John went down to walk up with them.
"You two look upset," George noted. John shook his head, daring him to say anything else. He got the hint.
"So, Mimi came home last minute, so if it's okay, we may need to rehearse out here."
Paul shrugged, but I had another idea.
"Why don't you do it at my house? B-uh-my dad won't be home 'til later." I clenched my hands into fists.
John shrugged, nodding. "If that's okay," he responded.
"Yeah, of course, it is," I replied.
Maybe thirty minutes later, they were seated in my living room with Stu and Pete working on a new song they'd come up with called "Love Me Do." I was seated on the floor in front of John listening to them chatter about how to play it or whatever else I could occupy myself with.
"John, how are you going to play that harmonica while you sing? That just doesn't make any sense," said Stuart curtly.
John looked at him a moment, perhaps thinking about it. "How about-." He trailed off. "How about you sing it, Paul?" Paul looked up quickly, perhaps not paying attention.
"Pardon?" he asked, confirming my "not paying attention" suspicions.
"You're gonna sing that love me do, oh, love me do, part."
Paul nodded.
"Try it," said John demandingly and put his harmonica to his mouth to play the part.
When they did it this time, Paul sang the part, but it still didn't quite fit. Now they were stuck. It seemed no one knew what to do.
"What if," I spoke up tentatively. "What if instead of making your voice go up, make it go lower. Y'know, like, love me do, or something like that?" Everyone was looking at me and it made me nervous.
John nodded. "That may work. Try that, Paul."
When they tested that, John thought about it a long, silent moment. Then, he contorted his mouth and nodded. "That sounds better. Good thinking, Donna," he said, smiling at me.
I nodded. "Anytime."
I felt helpful, and it was a good feeling.