Yesterday.

It had been 11 days. 11 days. Every day I’d nervously glance out the window at Paul’s house, just to see if anyone was home. Twice I’d seen his brother, Michael, who was two years younger than he was, walk into the house. His father, Jim, once walked out of the house, but after that I’d stopped paying attention long enough to see if he’d returned.

I felt ashamed for this. I felt like an obsessive fan of his, stalking his every move. I heard people talking about them releasing their first single in about a week, but, since I hadn’t seen or heard from them, I couldn’t confirm or deny this. Why was I so anxious now? I lived without Paul and George for almost a year, why could I hardly survive this one stretch of time? Was it even Paul or George that I was so… weird about? I was so confused.

It was a very nice Sunday morning, and the sun had finally broken through the thick clouds. I, as usual on these kind of days, was sitting on the flat part of my roof, a paint easel set up next to me, and a pallet of colors marked a round white plate. My small brush would mix them, and then gently stroke the color onto the paper. The colors of the trees, the sky, the road, and the mud. Everything was just another color to be discovered, and portrayed in my portraits. I tried, but it still bothered me that they weren’t perfect. I still wished I could figure out every color, and name it. But it seemed everyone had already named every single shade of every single color. It wasn’t fair, that I spent hours trying to discover the new ones. I sighed, and started on a new part of my lonely street, Paul’s house. It sat, empty and lonely, on the other side of the street. I suddenly had a nagging urge to be 8 years old again, just so I could run over there, and knock on the small, brown door and ask if I could watch Bambi with Paul and Mike. I bit my lip, and started marking the exact details of the house. I looked down for a very long time to draw every single different colored line in the wooden window seals, which I took five minutes to memorize. When I glanced back up, something was different. The van was parked outside the front of it, and three guys were climbing out. I gasped, and wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to hide on a roof.

Instead I stayed perfectly still, praying that they would walk inside and not notice me. please, please, please, please. Damn. His big eyes flashed up and narrowed as a smile built on his face. I looked back down at the half done painting.

“Oi! Kingston!”

I looked up quickly, and smirked.

“Hey McCartney!” I yelled back, waving.

“Why don’t you come down here and hang out?”

I bit my lip, but my smile stayed on. I’d been waiting for that question for a while now. In my sleep, too, sadly.

“Um, sure, gimme a sec.” I crawled back down through my window, and set everything down. I looked in the mirror, and quickly brushed through my long hair, which had become knotted from the wind. My make-up was still good, so I slipped into a red jacket, and ran down stairs and out the front door. When I walked over they were all leaning against the wall on the side of #20 (his house). The Ringo guy wasn’t there, but it was just George, Paul, and John, the one that slightly confused me. I’d been having dreams about him. About the look he gave me when we first met.

*
That look was the first look he ever gave me, and the last look he ever gave me.

*

I walked over and smiled.

“So, what are you guys doin’ out ‘ere?”

George shrugged.

“Leading very boring lives at the moment, I’m afraid. What were you doin’ on your roof?”

“Painting.” I replied.

“You always did like art class.” He smirked, putting his arm around me, “I need to talk to you.”

I gave him a confused look, and glanced over at the other two. Paul was smiling sweetly from below his thick hair, and John was staring at the wet concrete.

“Alright?”

Right as I finished the word, George dragged me over to Paul’s backyard, which was very poorly tended for, and looked like a jungle.

“Yes, George?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Pardon?”

He sighed, and took my hand.

“For being such a jerk our junior year. It bugged me ever since. You were like, one of my best friends. And I was such a pull off to you. Sorry.”

I smiled warmly and rubbed his arm.

“You know I couldn’t stay mad at you. That was the past, I know. We’re definitely cool.”

He smiled, and gave me a quick one arm hug, before walking back out.

It felt like a gargantuan weight was just lifted off of my back, and I could breath again. George was always my truest friend, I remembered, and I missed that. That must have been why I was so hurt when he told me that.

When we walked back, both Paul and John jumped a little when they realized we were there. They both blushed slightly pink, but Paul covered it up with an adorable smirk.

“So, we all okay now?”

We both nodded at the same time, and grinned at each other.

“Good. So, what shall we do today?”