Hey Jude

How long? he wondered to himself. Maybe it was since he met the guy. Maybe when they moved to New York together. Maybe when they went on Dr. Robert’s crazy ass trip to the middle of nowhere. All he knew was that something was missing in his life. And that thing was Jude.

Max went down to the bar to drown his sorrows in liquor, like he knew most guys did. His first glass came and went. Second went just as fast. Not one hour later, he had five and a half glasses of beer. More than he usually had.

“Hey, you think you’ve had enough, kid?” the bartender asked, staring at the college dropout. “Last call.”

Max sighed, and started at the remainder of his alcohol as the bartender walked away. Picking up the glass, he swirled it around, watching the foam collect around the glass before dripping back down onto the amber liquid. Even separated, the foamy top knew where it belonged, and went back to its rightful place.

“Shit, not again with the relations,” he muttered to himself, just as his mind erased the thought. It was right though. The two separated. And he knew which one of them belonged where.

He fixed the sepia knit taxi driver hat he wore on his head before sitting up to stare at the mirror in front of him. He started intently at it, studying his features: cold eyes replaced his once shining cerulean eyes, his facial hair, long, dark shaggy hair took place of his old straight, jaw-length blond hairstyle that his mother never understood. He changed since the war; grew up and lost his innocence since his university days.

But there was still one thing that was missing. And he’d be damned if he let it go that easily.

Maybe it was the beer, or his screwed up head, but the longer he stared at the mirror, the more the picture on it changed. It wasn’t himself anymore. Instead, an image of a man sitting in a bar with his head down slowly appeared. Still studying the image, he saw it was him.

The shaggy brown hair, his brown eyes, now dulled, just barely seen below the shade his forehead, the lips that would used to curve up to make the smile of his now turned upside-down.

It was Jude.

I really gotta lay off the beer, man, Max thought to himself, blinking over and over again to see if the image would change. Not to his surprise, it wouldn’t. But he didn’t care. Whether or not Jude could see himself, he could see him.

Then he remembered.

“The bomb,” he whispered to himself. That’s why his once joyful self was as depressed as his mother would’ve been, reading the same news and knowing well that her daughter was in that organization. Jude must’ve heard about it; it made world news and practically struck the war cause, and possibly the President, in the face.

He couldn’t bare to see him like this. He thought his Lucy was gone, but she wasn’t.

But how the hell do I tell him that?

He rested his arms on the counter, leaning onto it to try and get closer to the mystic mirror.

“Hey, Jude, don’t make it bad,” he sang. People were probably staring at him for singing at a mirror, but he didn’t care. If it would get to Jude, it was worth it. “Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.”

The Brit seemed to have heard somehow, because his head moved up a little, to look through the mirror in front of Max. Content, he continued to sing.

“Hey, Jude, don’t be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better.”

Jude was now staring straight in front of him, as if he could see him too. Just as well, Max began to sing with more confidence and strength, trying to get to his friend any way he could.

“And any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain. Don’t carry the world upon your shoulder. For well, you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.”

As he vocalized, Jude looked back down at the counter, before taking his pint of beer and taking a sip. His head was probably full of thoughts, just as his own was. Please get it, Jude, he pleaded silently.

And with that, he stood up, turning away from the counter and walking to the door with his hands in his pockets. Max watched sadly, still with a tinge of hope in him that he got the message. The message he wanted him to get anyway. His own message…well, he’d have to wait until he could tell Jude about that one.

“Hey, Jude, don’t let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better…” He repeated the last word multiple times and crescendoed into an almost yelling voice before he realized how loud he was and stopped.

He downed the last of his glass and dropped his payment onto the counter before leaving the stuffy bar into the cold night air. How long had he been in there? Despite it, he walked down the street to his apartment, singing softly to himself.

“Na, na na, na nana na, na nana na, hey Jude…”