Photography (A Beatles Fanfiction)

2 / she came in through the...camera lens, perhaps?

I was conscious again...or at least I thought. My head had stopped hurting. But I didn't open my eyes yet, for they were a little achy. My arms brushed against the material beside me. Leather. It was still the sofa, so maybe I had just passed out for a while. It was okay.

"Are you awake now?" I heard an oddly familiar voice say, an accent very prominent. But that didn't sound like my mom or my dad at all, the person sounded European--Scottish or English, maybe.

I finally got the strength to open my eyes. The leather surface was no longer the beige of my living room sofa; it was black. This is not okay, where the hell am I? I tried to flip over a little, but couldn't get far since...a seatbelt was slung over my shoulder? I noticed a raindrop covered window, a cloudy sky projected behind it. I heard light thumping against the roof, and what sounded like windshield wipers moving slowly. Oh my god, was I in...

The driver switched on the light up front, causing my eyes to ache more. "Ah, you're awake. Good."

I turned my head to the side in attempt to see who the driver was. A set of dark brown eyes locked with mine, and mine quickly widened. Who was sitting in front of me was the exact same man I've only fantasized about meeting. And now there I was with him. I was in a car with George Harrison, and he looked exactly how he did in that photograph.

Wait--I was actually in the photograph.

I shook my head quickly and yelped, trying to wake myself up if it were just a dream. I examined myself and yelped again even louder; my school uniform was still on, and my skirt had ridden up to my upper thighs. I hoped no one managed to see anything. Blushing, I quickly sat up and pulled it down, as well as smoothed my hair.

I made eye contact with him again, struggling to spit words out. "You're...you're G-George Harrison. Oh my god. Oh my..." Quickly realizing how much of an obsessive fangirl I probably seemed like, I quickly switched my reaction to a more calm demeanor. I lowered my eyebrows and fixed my posture in attempt to relax a little. "I mean, hi."

"Yes, I'm George," he replied, cracking a small smile. "There's no need to panic, it's okay. How did ya manage to get in here? Did ya want an autograph or something?"

"I...I don't know, I was just looking at a photograph of you in this car, and kind of woke up in it," I explained, trying to seem as cool as possible. God, I really hoped my eyeliner didn't look smudged, or my face oily or my neck chubby. "I mean, an autograph would be nice, but that's just about the least of my concerns right now."

"That's odd. I've only ever had one photograph taken in this car, and that was about twenty minutes ago, or about five minutes before you appeared," George told me. "I almost had a heart attack when I saw ya sound asleep back here. I didn't know what to do with you, so I decided I'd go off to find help. But you're conscious now, so I parked until you were fully awoken. You should have seen yourself, love, you were in such a deep rest where I didn't want to disturb ya."

I could feel myself tingle when George called me "love". I know he's probably said that to hundreds of girls, but it still made me feel really special knowing that it was coming from him.

"I have a few questions," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I was very confused about everything; first of all, did the picture of him being taken twenty minutes ago have to do with anything? Did I fall through some sort of magic camera lens or something? I still looked and felt seventeen and George looked not much older, and I pondered if time still even existed. "What time is it? What year is it?"

"Why, it's 1963. 29th May, 16:34," George replied, as if I had asked what color snow was. So it was just the same day as it was in 2015, only...fifty-two years ago. "We're ye really sleepin' for that long?"

"Oh my, I'm honestly thinking and feeling so many things right now, I don't know what to say," I explained, holding my head in my hands. George just stared at me, a hint of a smirk on his face. He made me so nervous, almost to the point where I'd avoid a question I needed to give him to save my own sanity.

"Can I...touch your face?" I asked softly after a long pause, inching further off of my seat and closer to George. "If you don't mind. I'm sorry, I just want to make sure I'm not just...dreaming or something."

George nodded. I unhooked my seat belt so I wouldn't be restricted. Shocked by how unusually bold I was being (especially around the man of my dreams), I stopped moving closer when our faces were inches apart, and I extended my hand out. Surprisingly, George didn't resist like I'd expect him to do with a fan. His focus was on my face the whole time, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My fingers brushed against his cheekbones and down to his chin, my eyes following their paths. He was real. He was alive.

"How old are you, darling?" George asked, revealing his cute little fangs with his grin.

"I, uh, don't really know how to answer that, considering you said the year is 1963..." I mumbled, placing my hand back onto my lap.

"What's that s'posed to mean? You forget how old you are too now?"

I took a deep breath, wondering how I was going to explain this. George waited patiently for an answer, looking at me with longing eyes. Finally, I said to him, "I'm technically seventeen. My birthday is August 24, 1997. Which means, I'm...well, from the future. 2015, to be exact."

"Oh wow. Interesting," he replied, seeming amused. "Are there hovercrafts and spaceships?"

"No, no," I replied, giggling since that's what I always thought the future would be like, too. "Just the televisions are larger and flatter, and telephones are portable and have touch screens. And there's this thing called the Internet, and uh...that's where I found the photograph of you."

"Still sounds very impressive," George said, shifting his body towards the front. "Uh, do you...have any idea on how you think you could get back?"

My heart sank because I didn't even want to go back yet, and the person who I oh-so-badly wanted to experience the sixties for I could barely even get a chance to talk to. I knew any girl of this time would have been more than happy to exchange as many words as I have with George Harrison, but I didn't want him to leave so quickly.

"I have no clue how I even got here, so no, I don't know my way back," I answered, hoping that my time here wouldn't be long enough for me to end up living on the streets.

"Well," George muttered. "There's a little...extra space in my flat, if you'd like to spend the night there."

"That'd be wonderful, thank you," I replied, silently relieved. I couldn't believe I was going to get to see where George Harrison lived.