𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞, john lennon

chapter three. "the little tsunamis."

"please? it'll be fun!" pattie boyd prodded at her best friend through the telephone rested in between her ear and shoulder, twirling around the wire. "and don't you have to do your article interview? john's the leader of the beatles y'know?"

"no, there is no way in hell i am going to speak to him. ever." fran retorted, crossing her arms. the idea of associating with such an arse made her want to kick him in the gut. "anyway, we kind of fought the last time we saw each other so this isn't a very bright idea."

"maybe its time you both reconciled."

"why do you even want to go so much? the cavern club is putrid. the place smells like batshit. it's a real hellhole alright, a cesspit if you will."

"it's 'cuz i met this guy from physics—" pattie began to say as fran mentally sighed and braced herself for another one of these long stories about her meeting some random guy from school.

"—his name's george. i thought he was shy at first, but turns out he's the sweetest! he played me a song during break and invited me to watch his band perform at the cavern tomorrow. i know it sounds like i'm doing it for myself, but i think that you being there would make it a lot more fun!"

"oh alright." fran sang, dropping her shoulders. after all, she thought she should get out more often and meet people from different schools and areas of the city instead of glueing herself to the student council in the library like she always did.

just like every other night that they were playing at the cavern club, john found himself following the same routine each time. rehearse a couple of times with the boys, down some beers if he was feeling nervous, and then smoke a pack of cigs on the way home—not that he got bored of it. during each of those days, there would always be something happening which made it distinct. on one occasion, george fell off the stage when he sat on an amplifier, and it tipped over with him on it. and on another, the cavern club ran out of beers so toby, the manager, sent some baristas to buy loads of coffees from the neighboring cabash club a few blocks away, and every single person in the cavern had been provided the drink—the audiences and the band groups. he pondered what other strange things could be bound to happen on this day.

john propped up his elbows on the bar table, watching toby clean out a beer glass while relaying various orders to one of the bartenders. he shifted his gaze to john after he noticed his figure approach the table. "yes, john? what do you need?"

"you know, toby, i think i would really like to hear that one story about how jesus- i mean toby, fed the one hundred that night." his fingers fiddled with the pennies on the table left by a previous customer, he assumed, on the worn out, scratched up wooden surface. he then slid them into his pocket. toby didn't seem to mind.

toby rolled up the white sleeve of his right arm, revealing a watch strapped around his wrist in brown leather. he tapped on the glass which hovered above the arms of the small silver clock arms. "haven't got all day, maybe some other time. to feed dozens of poor hungry fellows in the crowd, or to tell john lennon a story i've told him a thousand times? must i need some time to contemplate on my decision?"

"well, it is a very hard decision." john slid his arms off the table and straightened his posture. "but i think, the messiah needs to attend to his heavenly duties now. and before i go, i must ask ... will johnny and the beatles or rory storm and the hurricane be performing first?"

"whoever comes the earliest, my friend."

john turns around and looks for stuart, who is standing in the corner with a drink in hand and making small talk with a couple of giggling girls. "hey stu! have rory and his little tsunamis arrived yet?" he yells, startling the girls.

stuart does a double take left and right and shakes his hand, signaling that the second band had not yet shown up.

"what'd i say? we own this place! no one cares for the second act—the spotlight is always the first performance!" john always took notice of how the audience usually died down after the first band performance, tired from all the shouting and singing, now in their seats, and chatting amongst themselves.

john's eyes caught george sitting by the steps of the stage, still tuning his guitar. he approaches the younger boy as he's been at it for twenty minutes now, so there must be something wrong.

"george, any trouble?" he sat down beside george on the steps and examined the strings of the guitar intently, everything looked to be in place, but something was bothering george.

"no- i just wanted to make sure my guitar sounded perfect 'cause i asked out this girl to come tonight and she's gonna watch me play."

"does the bird have a name?"

"patricia. pattie." george looked up, recalling. his eyes moved towards the doorway opposite to them. "there she is."

john followed his eyes to the direction george's was looking in and sighted a bubbly, bright, blonde girl in a light pink mini dress. behind her, with her hands shoved into a gray cotton cardigan on top of a rouge mini-skirt, and looking very out of place, was the girl whose lawn he was just standing on the day previous.

francine claire bloody davis.