Post by dude41 on Jul 8, 2005 21:03:07 GMT -5
Sappy little slash story I wrote. Nothing heavy at all. Sorry to disapoint. But I hope y'all like it anywho...oh and I wrote it on word prosecer so it should all be spelled right
I walk in to the same coffee house that I have been doing for the past five years. It’s still the same. The difference is me. Today just happens to be the five year anniversary of my best mate’s death. I sit down at a table as I tell the waiter that I don’t want anything.
I remember the times I spent with him. As a co-worker, band-mate, best friend, and as a lover. It didn’t hit me until later that there were tears slowly falling from my eyes. I take a napkin to wipe my tears, but find it’s no use, seeing that they keep falling. It’s so hard knowing that some one could take a beautiful soul away. I decide to call up two old mates that probably feel the same as me. They may have not loved the guy the same way I did, but we were all mates, still are, and we all loved each other in one way or another. Funny how a death could bring us closer, for George and I had practically hated each other after the break-up and John’s death brought us closer, when he knew I needed him for support. Ringo and I had always been close after the break-up, but it felt like old days after John’s death. So for the first time in five years, all three of us got together. We laughed, cried, sang, reminisced, got somewhat drunk, and cried some more. I drive home from the coffee place remembering John.
At home, I fall into Linda’s comforting arms. During the end of the Beatles, when John and I were still together, she had found out about us. But she supported and comforted me during the hard times. I loved her as much as I could, but I could never love her the way I loved John. At night I tossed and turned and could not get to sleep. So I finally get out of bed, kissing Linda on her head as I did. I go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea. I think about all my many times with John as I wait for the tea to finish. We didn’t get too many private times, being the Beatles (Seriously, during the 60s if you hadn’t heard of who John, Paul, George, and Ringo were you had to be dead!), but our times together were the best. Despite our privacy (or lack of), John always told me he loved me at least once a day. Even during the end, even when he had Yoko and I had Linda, and even during all that court shit that we all went through, he still would whisper the three single most important words that I’ve longed to hear since that dreaded day on December 8, 1980. The shriek of the kettle woke me up from my trance. I pour myself the cup of tea I came down for and sit on the couch. I slowly sip the hot drink as the tear gates open and spill cold tears down my already red and puffy face.
I think of the last time I talked to John. It was just a week before he died. It was a nice conversation, planning when I would go up to see him next. I had a big tour coming up and he had to finish up his record, but we had come up with a date. A date that never happened. I got my hopes up only to get the worst phone call ever. It was three simple words, but they weren’t the same. They weren’t from John. I never expected Yoko to call me and say those words. “He’s dead, Paul.” was all she got out before I slipped to the floor, drowning in my tears. Over the phone I could tell she was crying too. Soon Linda picked up the phone to see what was going on, for I was in a state of shock that I couldn’t get out a word. Soon she had joined the tear fest too. She quietly put down the phone and held me in her arms. She knew that she had to be the strong one, for me at least. Then Ringo called me and to my surprise, George called too. I didn’t realize how much I missed him, how stupid it was to ignore him all these years when he could have been the one lying dead now.
I loved my Johnny, and trust me, I still do. I’ll put on one of his songs when I want to remember him. I’ll put on a song that the both of us share lead vocals when I want to remember us. I miss him more than ever today. I get up to go put the cup up, but something stops me. I don’t know if I was hallucinating, or a local club was really loud playing a tribute to John, but I think it was actually John playing for me. I sing to myself the lyrics to the song I hear. Yep, I agree that “Imagine” is defiantly one of John’s best works. I set the cup in the sink and put water in it when the song is done. I walk up stairs and actually break a smile for the first time the whole day. I can have a peaceful night of sleep knowing that John, John Lennon, my Johnny, is still there for me when I need him. And I know he always will be.
I walk in to the same coffee house that I have been doing for the past five years. It’s still the same. The difference is me. Today just happens to be the five year anniversary of my best mate’s death. I sit down at a table as I tell the waiter that I don’t want anything.
I remember the times I spent with him. As a co-worker, band-mate, best friend, and as a lover. It didn’t hit me until later that there were tears slowly falling from my eyes. I take a napkin to wipe my tears, but find it’s no use, seeing that they keep falling. It’s so hard knowing that some one could take a beautiful soul away. I decide to call up two old mates that probably feel the same as me. They may have not loved the guy the same way I did, but we were all mates, still are, and we all loved each other in one way or another. Funny how a death could bring us closer, for George and I had practically hated each other after the break-up and John’s death brought us closer, when he knew I needed him for support. Ringo and I had always been close after the break-up, but it felt like old days after John’s death. So for the first time in five years, all three of us got together. We laughed, cried, sang, reminisced, got somewhat drunk, and cried some more. I drive home from the coffee place remembering John.
At home, I fall into Linda’s comforting arms. During the end of the Beatles, when John and I were still together, she had found out about us. But she supported and comforted me during the hard times. I loved her as much as I could, but I could never love her the way I loved John. At night I tossed and turned and could not get to sleep. So I finally get out of bed, kissing Linda on her head as I did. I go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea. I think about all my many times with John as I wait for the tea to finish. We didn’t get too many private times, being the Beatles (Seriously, during the 60s if you hadn’t heard of who John, Paul, George, and Ringo were you had to be dead!), but our times together were the best. Despite our privacy (or lack of), John always told me he loved me at least once a day. Even during the end, even when he had Yoko and I had Linda, and even during all that court shit that we all went through, he still would whisper the three single most important words that I’ve longed to hear since that dreaded day on December 8, 1980. The shriek of the kettle woke me up from my trance. I pour myself the cup of tea I came down for and sit on the couch. I slowly sip the hot drink as the tear gates open and spill cold tears down my already red and puffy face.
I think of the last time I talked to John. It was just a week before he died. It was a nice conversation, planning when I would go up to see him next. I had a big tour coming up and he had to finish up his record, but we had come up with a date. A date that never happened. I got my hopes up only to get the worst phone call ever. It was three simple words, but they weren’t the same. They weren’t from John. I never expected Yoko to call me and say those words. “He’s dead, Paul.” was all she got out before I slipped to the floor, drowning in my tears. Over the phone I could tell she was crying too. Soon Linda picked up the phone to see what was going on, for I was in a state of shock that I couldn’t get out a word. Soon she had joined the tear fest too. She quietly put down the phone and held me in her arms. She knew that she had to be the strong one, for me at least. Then Ringo called me and to my surprise, George called too. I didn’t realize how much I missed him, how stupid it was to ignore him all these years when he could have been the one lying dead now.
I loved my Johnny, and trust me, I still do. I’ll put on one of his songs when I want to remember him. I’ll put on a song that the both of us share lead vocals when I want to remember us. I miss him more than ever today. I get up to go put the cup up, but something stops me. I don’t know if I was hallucinating, or a local club was really loud playing a tribute to John, but I think it was actually John playing for me. I sing to myself the lyrics to the song I hear. Yep, I agree that “Imagine” is defiantly one of John’s best works. I set the cup in the sink and put water in it when the song is done. I walk up stairs and actually break a smile for the first time the whole day. I can have a peaceful night of sleep knowing that John, John Lennon, my Johnny, is still there for me when I need him. And I know he always will be.
