Dreams

80s Paul - Liverpool Institute (Part 1)

Liverpool, 1988.

"I shouldn't be here." 

I'm saying this sentence for the 729364th time. I should be in New York, finishing mixing my album, taking care of my kids while I don't go on tour. But no, I'm here in a hotel room pacing back and forth more and more confused.

Since John is gone, I don't do anything else in my life but take care of my kids (or try to), and make albums, tour, socialize with famous people that I don't even know who they are but they say I'm friends with them, there are some times that being famous is not always a good thing.It's been over half an hour and no one calls me back, I arrived in Liverpool this morning, after an exhausting end of tour. Don't get me wrong, I love to make people happy but they have to remember that I am human too, I have children, bills to pay, I can't make them happy if I am not happy.

I came to Liverpool because I got a call from George Martin, he is involved in a project for children and young people, something about a new arts institution, he wants my support (I tend to have a lot of influence on people when I want to, I am very convincing when it comes to business). I wasn't going to come, but because it's about the future of many children and teenagers, and because George is one of my best friends, I won't let him and the children down.

The problem is that I am very restless today, I don't know why, but my intuition tells me that something more than business is waiting for me in Liverpool. I decide to go out for a bit as soon as I arrive at the hotel, tell the manager to take any errands. I spend the day buying something for the children, now young, they are growing up too fast, I am already 34 years old and still look 18.

I pass by museums, stores, cafeterias, and give autographs, the people are so friendly here, they treat me as if I were their family. Instead of the classic question "when is the new album coming out?" or "who was the friendliest of the Beatles?", I answered questions like "how do you feel coming home?", "how are your children?", "do you want a cup of tea and toast? We can talk!", people are not invasive, I like that. I was last here with John in 1968, we spent hours kissing in the park, good times.

I bought quite a few things, some Beatles albums for Sean (he has his own collection!), and a harmonica for Julian, who is becoming more and more like his father. I decide not to visit Mimi, John's aunt, I am too tired to socialize today. Being in Liverpool has its good and bad sides, many memories, the good is that I am still seen as "a Beatle", but when some people talk to me, I remember someone special, not only by the accent but by the fact that every sentence is followed by a "You know", I remember Paul. 

I miss him. I miss his "y'know", I miss his accent, his smile, those dark brown eyes of a needy dog (at least that's how many fans describe his eyes, I agree with them), that tight, comfortable hug, the smell of cologne and shaving lotion, I don't think he will ever know how much I miss him.

No, I don't want to think about him, I can't think about him, I decide to go back to the hotel, it's almost 4 in the afternoon. The manager tells me that the only person who called was May, she said that my kids are fine and that I could come back a day later than planned (she takes care of my appointments like no one else). I decide to get some sleep, as soon as I lie in bed, the phone rings, I run to answer it, it's George Martin.