Yesterday.

I didn’t want the plane to touch the ground. Nothing good could possibly follow. Anna, well, she’d kill me. She’d want nothing to do with me, and it was my fault. Paul of course wants nothing to do with me anyway. I’d lose both of them. Ringo and George would follow. They all would. Everyone. It’s a reoccurring cycle in which my life works. Find someone: lose them.

I knew that Paul was mad. He always was. He had the temperament of a five year old. He could be fine one minute, and ready to kill you the next.

Who was I to try and fuck up his life in the first place? He can have her. I already ruined his life just by being in it. He’d be fine. He’d be a smart, rich collage professor. Once he met me, he failed all of the classes that, just weeks before, he was at the top of. I always wanted to be the older, cooler one. The one in which he looks up to, envies. I wanted him to hate me with jealousy. But, in the end, he ended up nothing but my shoulder to cry on, at least for a while there. He’d always try to cheer me up by taking me out to look for birds.

Irony seeped through my veins as I rolled my eyes, and glared down at the approaching ground. I could feel Ringo’s presence next to me as, though I never looked over to check. I’d hear the occasional sigh, or snore, but most of the time he was silent.

A sick feeling formed in my chest as I imagined what Ringo must feel like. He must feel like I’m mad at him or something, but he’s been nothing but loyal. I turned my head slowly and peeked out of the corner of my eye at him. He was staring blankly at the newspaper, reading an article on the new war that the Americans had gotten themselves selfishly into. Something in my stomach went off at the headline ‘War with Vietnam Has Officially Began. Draft Being Considered.’ It made me sick. War was the reason I didn’t have a father. No, he didn’t die in it, but he left. And when he came back, well, he didn’t come back. He didn’t come back until I was 5 years old, and he took me. I knew that I could have had a good life with him. We could have been in New Zealand, and he at least acted like he cared about me. That day was the earliest memory I have. I know I remember it in my own head, and not from stories that Mimi skimmed over when I asked her what happened. I remember him taking me on rides, putting me on his shoulders and carrying me around, laughing, playing…

-1946-
High pitched giggles filled the crisp air as a man spun his 5-year-old son in circles. The small, skinny boy clung tightly to his father’s head, his eyes closed tightly, an amused smile plastered to his face. His cheeks were patched with red, partly from the cold, partly from the excitement. All of the sudden, the dizziness stopped, and so did the giggling. The boy opened his eyes, as if to yell at his dad for quitting, the paused. About 20 feet in front of him was a woman. She had a long, baize skirt, a tan blouse, and a floral head scarf on. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and a frustrated from adorned her mouth.

“Freddie.” Her voice was small, and quiet. Almost pained. The boy’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Julia.” He greeted dully. She bit her lip.

“Don’t take him.” She pleaded, clasping her hands together. Freddie just frowed.

“You never divorced me, Jules. He’s just as much my son, as that wanker is your husband.” He scowled.

“He’s as much my son as he is yours.” She corrected quickly.

He snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s why I had to go to Mimi’s to find ‘em.”

“John.” She now turned her gaze onto the small boy. Instinctively, he tapped on his dad’s head. He obliged, setting him on his small feet. The boy ran over to his mother, she grabbed both of his arms, “John, do you know where you Daddy wants to take you?” She whispered, and he nodded slowly, “John, do you know that if you leave, you’ll never see me, Mimi, Uncle George… any of us, again?” John froze, and his eyes watered with her words.

“Don’t scare ‘em.” Fred said from behind, taking a step forward. She held up her hand, as if to stop him.

“John, it’s up to you. You can chose what you want to do, okay?”

He stayed frozen, but the words struck a chord.

“Daddy.” He answered simply.

Fred walked over and put his arm across John’s chest, claiming him.

“That means you can leave, Julia. You know what he wants, so go.”

Silent tears slid down her face, and she shook her head.

“Is that what you want, John? Is that really what you want?”

“I want to be with Daddy.” He whispered, his lips pursing.

“I love you, Johnny.” She sobbed, standing up from her crouched position slowly. “Remember that.” And with that, she turned and headed back towards the train station. John could feel himself shaking, and his chest pounded. A tear slid down his face as he felt his dad’s hand grasp his and jerk him away. John stepped back forward again.

“No, no MUMMY!” He exploded, sliding his hand out of his father’s, and running as fast as he could the 50 meters distance. She turned sharply, and held out her arms. He slid into them and sobbed onto her shoulder. She did the same, wiping her eyes and looking back towards the place where he came. Fred was gone.

Sometimes I wondered what would have become of me if I went with my Da’. Would I be happier than I was now? Would I be worse? I never saw him since, though I thought about him often. What made my blood boil was the fact that she came back from me, ripped me away from my Da’, then left me anyway. I never had parents. I had an Aunt.

Ringo glanced up and cocked his head.

“What’s with the blank expression, Johnny?” He asked slowly.

“Just thinking.” I shrugged, “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing much.” He shrugged.

“Oh what exciting lives we do live, son.” I smiled, and he grinned back. As long as he thought I was in a good mood, I could wallow in silence.

Suddenly, the sun (which was coming from the windows on the other side of the plane.) was blocked out. I glanced up, expecting Brian or Mal, only to see the person I did not want to see.

“Lennon.” He said softly. I couldn’t hear anger in his voice, which was odd.

“Macca.” I nodded, and he looked at Ringo. Ringo was looking back blankly at Paul, then something swam over his face.

“Oh, that reminds me. I have to… shave.” He leaped up and jogged into the bathroom. Paul didn’t move.

I rolled my eyes, always having to be the icebreaker, “Sit.”

He shrugged and plopped down next to me, staring at the seat in front. I sighed, and did the same.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Paul whispered, twitching one of his lips.

I nodded, “Neither do I. She’s yours, son. I’m happy for you.”

“No your not.” He didn’t sound mad, but he sounded like he just bit down on a lemon.

“Yeah, I am. I need to get over myself, so help me, so I am happy for you.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Okay, okay!” He smiled absently, eyes meeting mine. I smirked back, and patted his arm.

He lunged into me and hugged me tightly, an action I hardly expected. I patted his back slightly, then laughed.

“By the way.” He sat back, “You know how do throw a punch, I’ll give you that.”

“Meh,” I smiled wide, “One of us has to.”

He shoved my arm playfully, and we just went back to how we were, before Anna existed.