Lovely Rita

Walking into the private area where George was staying in the hospital (not because of arrogant-famous-person syndrome, simply as privacy for himself and his family) had us greeted with Ringo, who took Olivia, Dhani and finally me into a tight hug. He greeted Paul with what I described as a ‘man hug’; this included the obligatory pat on the back from each party. Of course there were photographers outside of the hospital, waiting for the moment his former band-mates Paul and Ringo would visit Mr Harrison, for their big scoop on a dying man. Dhani had mentioned that there was a ‘£250,000 bounty on a photo of my Dad dying of cancer’. I tried not to be negative, but the media really made me sick with their vulgarity sometimes. The nurses and doctors had done a wonderful job keeping them out though, it must be said.
The room between the main hospital and George’s private room had asylum-like undertones to it, though with more jovial Magnolia walls instead of pure, piercing white. A few comfortable chairs were scattered around for when George had a few visitors at a time, like now, and the light was dimmed to a warm glow so as not to irritate George if he fell asleep.

“Has he said anything?” Olivia asked Ringo, hoping she had picked the right time for everyone to visit given the exhaustion George faced because of the illness.

“I went in there just now – you guys can have your turn. I must warn you though, you’ll get a shock.” Ringo replied – the last part mainly to Paul and I. Olivia nodded, understanding exactly what Ringo meant. It must be so strange to see your husband deteriorate in front of your eyes, to not be able to hold him when that’s really all you want to do (of course, I knew how painful that was, but Olivia physically couldn’t due to the immense pain it would cause George).

“What did he talk to you about?” Dhani asked his uncle Ringo.

“I told him that I had to come and see him today, because my daughter is in Boston with a brain tumour and I have to leave tomorrow. He asked if I wanted him to come with me...” Ringo trailed off, hugging Paul and quietly sobbing into his old friend’s shoulder. Paul hooked an arm around him and whispered reassurances in his ear.

Olivia tapped my shoulder, as I was vacantly standing and staring at the door that led to my wonderful, terminally ill friend. I stopped chewing on my nail to turn to look at her eyes, needing just a little warmth to radiate from them into me.

“You can go first if you like. It looks like Paul is a little indisposed at the moment,” gesturing to my housemate and his ex-bandmate.
“Go on. He wants to see you – he’s been asking for visitors.” Olivia said, walking the short distance to the door with me, hand on my shoulder. I touched the door handle, and quickly glanced up at her sadly expectant face. She was stricken with worry – it was obvious. I swallowed hard and pushed the heavy door open.

“George?” my voice was a barely audible whisper, as I waited until the door had fully closed behind me. The younger man’s face turned to me slowly, smiling the brightest he could muster. It lit up the whole room (which, as private as it was, was still a hospital room and still dreary).

“Rita!” His little croaky voice replied, still heavily inflected with that thick Scouse accent.

“Can I... Can I hug you?” I asked, just wanting to embrace the man that had always given off such a lovely, sagely aura and calmed me in times of trouble. The amount of people I knew who had been affected by knowing or meeting George just goes to prove how special he really is. He coughed, before lifting an arm very slightly and very carefully. He winced, before I slotted myself in and laid my head on his chest, listening to his slow, relaxed heartbeat try and keep up with his ever-ticking body clock. I blinked back tears at that last thought as his chin rested on my crown.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Oh, George.

“Am I okay? What about you!” I blurted out from my place on his chest, and he laughed a croaked, wheezy chuckle; a shadow of his former self.
“George, I’m just going to get the speech out of the way, because I might not see you again for weeks.” I said. The hand he had draped over me was fiddling with the rat tails I called hair.

“I have all day.” He said, smiling. I moved away from him gently and sat on the chair next to his hospital bed, which was laden with white sheets and pillows to comfort George. The table behind the bed, that the nurses and doctors obviously used, was laid out with all kinds of scary looking medications, the names of which I couldn’t even pronounce in my head.
I took his hand from the seat I sat in and felt how thin he was, scarily so. I swallowed back tears and looked him in the eyes properly. They still had that beautiful, astonishing glimmer of hope and faith that had followed him throughout his life. His skin was dull and tired looking, and he seemed completely exhausted – even through that brave face. The hair that had once been in abundance was now short from his therapy and completely grey. I missed him already and he was right in front of me, still alive and smiling.

“George... I mean,” I started. Having not prepared anything, I was having difficulty formulating what I wanted to say to a man that meant so much. “We met by complete chance. Who else can say that they collapsed in 2012 and woke up in 1966, drove home with Paul McCartney and became best friends with all of The Beatles? Not many. You’ve always been my rock, along with John. You’ve guided me and helped me through my troubles with Paul and I will be eternally grateful for everything you have taught me in the time that I’ve known you.” I blurted out as fast as I could to ensure no tears would fall down. I didn’t want to make today a dampener for George.
He had tears in his eyes when I looked back at him, and in that moment I felt utterly connected to that spiritual man in the hospital bed.

“Thank you, Rita. Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” He croaked meekly.

“I guess I’ve just never found the right time... I was so wrapped up in Paul, and then after Linda I was so wrapped up in myself I suppose, that I couldn’t even think of the words to express how much I love you. You’re like a brother, a best friend and father embroiled into one. I do love you George.” I said, holding onto his hand and mirroring his smile.

“Why didn’t you come to both me and John that night?” He said, raising his eyebrows in a moment of seriousness. I felt so guilty about that – there I was, just drinking away my life until I decided to consciously attempt to end it, when George here couldn’t help but be on his deathbed. I lowered my head; I felt so ashamed.

“John was so nearby, and as he’s always been the one I confided in I didn’t think twice. I should have listened to his advice, or at least gone on to talk to you too, but I wasn’t thinking. I guess I was just feeling a red kind of confusion over the whole situation and my feelings for Paul. I just wanted to love him, but I couldn’t.” I lamented, clutching George’s hand like it was a bracelet of prayer beads and I was confessing.

“Rita, you don’t need to explain anything about love to me. I completely understand what it’s like to want to be with someone all of the time, to hold them, to see them... and then you end up in a hospital bed, reliant on nurses day and night, unable to hug or hold that person. I totally understand, baby,” George said, unexpectedly. My eyes widened in awe at his honest openness.
“Don’t ever fret, because Paul loves you to the moon and back, always has. Don’t let yourself forget that there are people who adore you.” George finished, smiling at me weakly. I nodded and kissed his hand and forehead, before feeling the undeniable need to leave. The atmosphere in that room was so overwhelming due to that man’s spirit in spite of things that it was difficult to be in there.

“Rita?” George called as I turned away from him and started out of the room. I turned to him, trying to see the George I remembered instead of the stricken, ill man laying in that hospital bed, completely vulnerable and weak.

“Just love and don’t regret any of it. No love in existence is wrong; if it’s honest and meaningful, it always leads to the good, no matter what path it takes on its way to your vision of perfection.” He said, looking me dead in the eye as if he knew exactly who I was thinking of when he said those things.

“George Harrison,” I whispered, tears running down my cheeks shamelessly as I rushed back over to kiss his forehead one last time. My face lingered near his briefly, as I whispered to him:
“Thank you for everything, you brave, wonderful man. You deserve the world and more.” I said, smiling through the tears George continued to create.

“Sorry, ma’am, I’m taken.” He quietly said. I giggled at his quip; I couldn’t even imagine joking around if I were in his place...

I left the room crying my eyes out, running straight into Paul who was waiting for his turn. He pulled me in tight and told me that everything was okay, to cry everything out and stay strong for Dhani and Olivia. I asked him if he wanted me to go into the room with him; he said no, that he would be fine. That was understandable. I sat down on the cream seats next to Olivia and waited.