Yesterday.

Paul proposed. It was nothing too special, well, in material matter, but it meant the whole world to me. It was one of the moments in time when no one else exists, nothing else matters, and there’s only you, and him, and the ring he’s putting onto your finger while he whispers sweet words of seduction into your ear.

There was only one problem. He was, in fact, recording another record, so therefore his only loves for the next couple of months were his piano, a pen, and some wine. I tried, like a good girlfriend, to stay out of his hair as much as possible, because sometimes when I tried to speak to him, he’d bite my head off. But not in a yelling way, just the way he’d look at me when he was angry made my heart shatter. I hated when he was mad, it scared me more than it should have.

At least they had stopped touring, for good. Or that’s what George promised me. “We just need a good kick in the arse. I’m starting to feel like a zombie doing something I love… no more. Never again.” Or so he said. They’d probably tour again. Paul was all about stadium performances.

It was disgusting sometimes, being a Beatle-girl. Constant threats, and rocks thrown at my window. Mostly, it was just puddlian girls who had found out. I tried to keep it all hushed, not wanting the excess attention. People close to me knew that I hated that. But, the secret slipped when some Beatle magazine posted an article about it. Now I got constant hate mail, and snarls on the street. But what could I do? I was a young, daring lady who was helplessly in love.

The wind was blowing extra hard outside as I tried my best to concentrate on the television. I was alone, once again, waiting for him to come home. It was about 1 in the morning, and every so often my eyes would droop, but I would pry them back open. I tried my best to concentrate on the late night television, while I cuddled more into the woven blanket that George had bought me when he went to Delhi, India. I wanted to go on a vacation, since John and Ringo were also in Spain, but Paul just wanted a restful month or so to get his thoughts sorted before writing.

Suddenly, there was a quiet knock on the door. I cocked my head, and slowly got up, wrapping the blanket around me as I walked over to answer it. Much to my surprise, on the other side was John. He grinned.

“Hey Ann.” He smiled, hugging me.

We had gotten over whatever differences we had long ago, and he remained one of my best friends in the world. Behind all of the romance, I never really took all of his charm, and humor into effect.

“John… where’s Paul?” I glanced behind him, as if hoping to see my bright-eyed fiancé come out of nowhere.
“Well, he told me that he was working later tonight, and to stop by on my way home to tell you that he’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I nodded, slightly disappointed. John, meanwhile, was glancing around the room.

“You really shouldn’t wait up for him, Anna. It’s not good for you to get so little sleep.” He scooted some of his thick brown hair out of his eyes, and stared me down. I looked down sheepishly.

“Yeah…”

“Oh yeah, Macca told me about the wedding. Congrats!”

I smiled, “Thanks, John.”

“No problem.”

And with that, and a quick smile and wink, he turned and danced back to his car. I watched him drive down the dark road, before turning back into my house, my bed almost calling me.