"I would meet the boys even earlier than expected."
I like train rides. They're peaceful, somewhat quiet. It's easy to fall asleep on a train-which I had.
I had the compartment to myself for now, but it wouldn't last long. Brian and the backups (sounds like a mow town group, doesn't it?) had gotten onto the train before I could and had stolen the seats that Neil was holding up for us, leaving me seatless. The one spot left was for the Beatles road manager Mal Evans. So where would I be sitting? Oh just down the hall a little ways. With the Beatles, when they arrived. This was a blessing in disguise, according to Brian. Now I would meet the boys even earlier than expected!
I nodded my head and mumbled a 'great' to Brian, just to humor him. I was too tired to do anything else. Except sleep.
So, there I was, snoozing away in my empty compartment with my forehead pressed against the window. I was having a wonderful dream too. It was another one about Mum. She was singing to me in this one; some soft, tender tune from my childhood. It made me feel light and warm on the inside. It was like I was six years old again. I had no worries, no troubles. My life was perfect.
Ah, memories.
Like most good things in my life, my dream came to an end.
Ugh, memories.
It was a single cough that woke me. A single, unrecognizable cough. I did my normal wake-up routine: A sigh, a sit upright, an eye rub, and finally-
A blink. But this time I didn't find myself in my large bed with white satin sheets and designer pillows. This time, I found myself across from the most beautiful man I had ever seen.
He was sitting, gorgeous fair-skinned head in gorgeous fair-skinned hand, with remarkable brown crescent eyes gazing out the window. His strong pointed nose was set above a pair of thin, bow shaped lips. His shaggy hair, cut just above his eyebrows, was a lovely shade of chestnut brown. He had one booted foot over his black suited knee, and the tie he had on made him look like an office worker.
A very sexy office worker.
He turned from the window and caught me staring. And that my dear friends, was the point when I was doomed. Do you know why? Probably not, unless you are rereading the chapter. I was doomed because I looked into those magical eyes. Anytime before then I could've gotten up and left, jumped off the train, and lived the rest of my life in normal domestic splendor. It's funny, but stupid old me couldn't think of that stuff until much later, when it was far too late.
So the moment those hypnotizing brown orbs locked with mine, a crazy feeling swept through me. The inside of my stomach felt warm, while my neck and back were decorated with chills. A tingly sensation went up and down my arms and legs, and my mouth was suddenly as dry as the Gobi Desert. Once I gazed into those eyes, I realized that living without seeing them ever again would be impossible. They were too incredible to resist. And that, is why I was doomed. I didn't have a chance from then on.
Oblivious to the antics that I was enduring, the mysterious man parted his peach lips and spoke."Sorry. D'I wake you up?"
His accent was the best type of Scouse: lower middle class, but not so far down that it could become annoying. It had a soothingly gentle quality to it, like honey.
It took me a second to answer. My mind was a bit foggy. Did he wake me up? What was 'wake up' anyway?
"Erm....No," I finally managed to say, shaking my head to get myself out of the trance I was in. "No. I have t' get up anyway. I've got t' meet-"
At that moment I noticed three other men in the same get up as the first. They were all asleep, and were leaning against each other like office worker dominoes. The man on the right had black hair, the one in the middle had mahogany locks, and the lad at the bottom of the pile up had very light hair, lighter than the looker in front of me.
Oh yeah. I was supposed to be talking to him, wasn't I? Especially now, since I knew who he was.
"I've got to meet you," I finished, extending a hand in his direction. "I'm Rachel Brown."
He shook my hand. His fingers were callused (an obvious hint that he was a guitar player) but they were soft too, which I found fascinating.
"John Lennon," he introduced himself. His fingers lingered on mine for an extra moment as we pulled away, which got my heart thumping at an insane rate.
"Ah, the Smart Beatle. Am I right?"
John nodded. "That's what they tell me." He gave a little smile. Gorgeous.
"Hmm..." I said without thinking. "Could've sworn you were Paul."
He looked at me like I was mentally unstable, but then pinched his eyebrows together in curiosity. "Why d'you say that, luv?"
Oh shit. I was always doing this; saying things I didn't mean. Now I would have to tell John that I thought he was..amazing.
"Well um..." I began. "I-Isn't Paul suppose to be the cute one?"
A smirk pulled at the corner of John's lips. He knew where this was going. (He was the smart one after all.) He leaned towards me. "Aye."
I felt my ears go hot. John was a little too close for my liking. Or perhaps I like him being close....
I almost flushed completely when I felt his worn fingers tickle me under my chin. "Come 'ead, Miss Brown," he urged. "Tell us. D'you think I'm cute, then?"
It was a struggle for my mouth to make words. "Erm..uh," I cleared my throat. "You're very... uh.." I found the courage to peek up at him. He immediately pulled this hysterical face where he stuck his tongue under his bottom lip and made his eyes bulge out. I burst out laughing, but quickly covered my mouth and watched the other three guys, to make sure I hadn't woken them up.
John's face went back to normal as he looked over at his band mates. "Don't worry," he said, reading my mind. "Not even a fuckin' foghorn could wake that lot up."
We both chuckled. "So you're the light sleeper of the group?" I guessed.
" Ha. No I'm worse than they are."
There was a bit of an awkward silence after that. I was a little confused. How had we gone from basically flirting with each other, to laughing about John's sleep habits. This guy was so intriguing! I didn't want our little conversation to end, so I thought up another stupid topic.
"Hey John?"
He looked over.
I pointed to the other three. "Could you please tell me who's who? I'm terrible with names."
"Yeah." He leaned over again to see his band. "Alright. Y' see the one in the middle? The taller one? That's Ringo."
"OK." Ringo, I noted mentally.
"An' the one with the fuckin' queer eyebrows," he snickered, as if remembering an inside joke, "is George."
"Yup and who's the last one?" I asked, trying to get a better look at George's eyebrows.
"Oh, y'mean the one with the nose? That's Paul."
I gave John my most entrancing and flirtatious smile. " Thank you so much. I'd hate to look like an idiot in front of-"
Just then the fellow called Paul let out a loud and deep snore, startling the tall Ringo awake. I remembered the foghorn crack from before, and gave John a look. "'Ey I said a foghorn couldn't wake 'em up. Paul's snoring is somethin' different."
Ringo sat up suddenly, his lids droopy, and looked next to him on both sides. "Arrgh!" He exclaimed when he saw the George guy leaning on him. He scooted away as best he could and wiped the drool off his shoulder.
"Aww fer Chrissake," I heard him mumble. "'S a brand new suit.."
"'Ey." John addressed him, and nodded towards me.
Ringo turned and gave me a happy, yet embarrassed smile. He wasn't a bad looking guy. He had dark eyes, thickish eyebrows, and an almost mischievous grin.
The guy to his left snored again, but this time a little quieter. Ringo gave him a funny glance and told me to "'Ang on a minute" before he knocked one elbow into the ribs of the guy on his right, and the other into the snorer. Both men sat up with a start. I laughed.
"Good morning Beatles," I greeted cheerily. "Rise and shine."
The George one squinted at me for a moment, then his eyes grew wide. "'EY!" He announced. "You're...You're YOU!"
"I'm me?" I mocked.
"Yeah!" Said the one with the nose. "You are!"
"I are!" I giggled. "And you are-"
"We're them." John finally spoke after his personal exile from the conversation.
"You're them?!"
"We're them?" Paul asked, turning to his friends.
"WE ARE," the rest of them chorused.
"I'm George," the tall one piped up. The rest of his clan laughed. I was confused.
"Wait, aren't you Ringo?" I wondered.
"RINGO?!" They all said in unison.
"Me?" Asked the one with the nose.
"Oh don't start this again," the 'queer eyebrows' guy murmured.
The one I had originally thought was Ringo chuckled. "I'm George. George Harrison."
"I'm Paul," said the eyebrow guy, giving me a tiny wave.
"I'M sick of playin' this game." That was Ringo, with the nose.
(If you hadn't figured this out before the Beatles were awakened, I suggest you go back into the story and reread so that you can picture the right Beatle saying the right thing. Just remember: Ringo is really George, Paul is really Ringo, George is really Paul and John...well he's still John. And if you're too lazy to do that then please read on. 'K bye.)
"What made y' think I was Ringo?" George asked, his thick brow furrowed. The other two seemed as equally curious.
"Well John told me that-" I stopped there. John. My head snapped to my right. There he was. A devilish twinkle in his eye, a wide grin on his face.
"You little bastard!" I half-laughed, giving his leg a kick. he yelped and held his knee to his chest. His cronies cackled with laughter.
"That's a new record, mate!" Paul joyfully noted. "Five minutes int' the tour an' she's already bashin' yer legs in."
"Aye. An' quite a good kick she 'as too," John reported in an extremely high and pained voice. I was nervous that I had actually hurt him, but he gave me a silly wink of reassurance, like he had read my mind again.
"'S alright," he said. "She thinks I'm cute." He bit his lip and waggled his eyebrows, making me feel uneasy once more. I was happy the others dismissed his comment with mumbles of 'yeah' and 'don't be soft' because they helped me push aside my own thoughts. I wasn't attracted to John. Oh no no. I just appreciated his high quality in the looks department. That was all. Yup...
But I loved his laugh too. And I was fascinated by the way I could flirt with him, joke with him, discuss things with him, scold him, and flirt with him again all in the same conversation. I had never been able to do that with any other person-ever. And after that day I never could.
Yes, I never forgave myself for getting on the train that day. But I never truly thanked myself enough.
And that, was the first time I met John Lennon.
