Paul Is Dead

Eleanor Rigby

EMMA'S POV

The next day, we held a private funeral for Paul.

Brian had decided that the Beatles should lay low for a while after the accident, so it was the perfect opportunity for us to host a proper ceremony for the wonderful man that we had lost. It hadn't even been a week since his death, and no one was coping with it very well. Especially John. Him and I hadn't discussed it verbally, but I could tell by the expressions we exchanged that he was having just as many dreams about Paul as I was, if not more. I had dreamed of Paul almost every day since the accident, and each dream felt more real than the last.

John, Ringo, George, Brian, William and I joined together with Paul's brother Micheal and his father Jim on that dreary November morning. I felt bad for William -- or rather, Billy. It was obvious that he wasn't nearly as devastated as the rest of us, and the fact that he looked almost exactly like Paul was honestly just a little bit creepy.

We left Paul's casket closed because his injuries had been so severe that his face wasn't even recognizable. His jaw had been crushed together, causing his teeth on the top of his mouth to roughly collide with the bottom which made his teeth stick out on the sides.

"He looks like a walrus," John had whispered with a hint of humor in his voice when he had first seen him.

I winced at the thought.

We had a beautiful little ceremony set up in the backyard of Paul's old home, where Jim still lived. It was the perfect place to have it, because no one would suspect it. We had Paul's casket decorated with flowers and it was enclosed underneath a beautiful gated archway, which was also strung with flowers as well. The hole was already dug out for the casket, and it rested on a stand right over the six foot hole in the ground. There were chairs set up for everyone and a podium up at the front, next to where the casket was. It was beautiful, really.

It was quiet, and I didn't expect it to be any other way; no one was exactly in the mood for conversation. Everyone got their chance to go up to the casket and say their final words to Paul before we put him in the ground. I tried to casually allow everyone to go before me so that I could be last to go. Finally I had to face the one thing I had been dreading since Paul had died -- I would have to say good bye.

"Hi, Paul," I said softly, kneeling down in front of the casket. I sniffled, trying to hold back my tears long enough to choke out a few final words. 

"I can't believe you're really gone," I mused, running my hands over the smooth exterior of his casket. "Now what am I supposed to do? You're the one I go to when I have a problem, but I can't exactly go to you to talk about your own death." I chuckled bitterly. 

"I really miss you, Paul. We all miss you. I know Brian and everyone else that has something to do with the band just wants us to carry on as if nothing has happened, but things really are never going to be the same without you. You had so much to offer to this band and I have no idea how they're going to pull off this little trick with William. You're irreplaceable, Paul."

I suddenly felt an unnatural warmth on my shoulder, and I gasped quietly in surprise. I turned around to see who it was, but no one was there. The tears in my eyes finally reached their breaking point as they spilled over and ran down my cheeks.

He was there. I knew he was there. I could feel it.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, I rose from my spot on the ground and returned back to my seat. I couldn't stop thinking about the warmth I had felt. Within minutes John came over and sat beside me. He had a distant look in his eye and he looked like he hadn't slept a wink since the accident. He looked at me with wide eyes.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" he asked me in a whisper. I looked at him, but I didn't answer. I didn't have to. He knew.

Someone then cleared their throat loudly, and we all lifted our heads to face Paul's father standing beside his casket, holding a piece of paper in his hands.

"If you all don't mind," he said. "I wrote this little speech when I first heard about...the accident, and I thought I would just be writing the words to a sermon that no one would hear, but now that we're all here and we have this wonderful opportunity to have a proper ceremony for Paul, I think I'd like to share it with all of you."

No one dared to speak, but we all watched on with eager eyes. Mr. McCartney took that as his signal to go.

"Paul was my first son," he said, his voice cracking, "and he was very special to his mother and I. We struggled a lot as a young couple and we were delighted to have a young one in the house."

He took a pause.

"Then not even two years later we had Mike, and the two of them were the best of friends. It was wonderful to watch the two of them grow up together, despite the trouble they got into."

Mike let out a quiet laugh from his seat, reminiscing about better days with his older brother. My heart bled for him.

"Paul didn't even really show an interest in music until he was about fourteen and I bought him a trumpet for his birthday. He enjoyed playing it, but he lost interest when he realized he couldn't play and sing at the same time, and that just couldn't be. Paul had to be the center of attention, you see."

Another pause.

"So he decided to play the guitar instead. He was quite good, especially for a left-handed boy playing a right-handed guitar upside down and backwards." He chuckled, allowing a few tears to escape his eyes. "Then, he met someone that changed his life."

He directed his eyes towards John, who was still sitting next to me. "John, you really did change Paul's life, no matter how bad of an influence his mother thought you were. There was no mistaking that once you two met that you would be anything other than successful."

John was beaming up at him, his eyes glossy with tears. I felt my heart swell with affection just thinking about the beautiful relationship that John and Paul had.

"And Emma," Jim continued, turning his attention towards me. "Paul loved you, he really did. I would have bet that you would have been his wife someday. Paul may be gone now but we will still always consider you a part of our family." 

I smiled up at him, holding one hand over my heart. I didn't know what I was feeling at that moment, but I felt as though I were about to burst. Whether it was with affection, sympathy, or devastation I don't know. 

Jim looked as though he wanted to go on but he buried his face into his hand, indicating to us that there was no way he could say any more.Once we realized he was finished, we gave him a well-deserved round of applause. What he had said was beautiful.

Everyone took their turn saying their own small speech about Paul. Even William said a little something, which was nice of him to do.

By the end of the ceremony, I was emotionally and mentally exhausted. 

We all watched from above, slowly looking down as Jim and Mike carefully lowered Paul's casket into the ground and buried it there, never to be seen again.

That was it, it was official. Paul was dead; he was gone. The man I was madly in love with was now six feet underground in a big box. My heart broke at the thought.

Once that was over with, everyone silently began cleaning up. 

As I turned away to go inside and leave the McCartney residence for what was probably the last time, I took one final look back at where Paul was just buried. Looking closely, I noticed a small flower that looked vaguely like a lily blooming up from the dirt that was directly over Paul's grave. I smiled to myself and directed my eyes up towards the sky.

Paul, you know those are my favorite.