𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴)

❛❛chapter thirty-six: thin walls❜❜

We all made it onto the twelfth floor and got to pick any room we wanted. So I chose the one closest to the elevator because I didn't like walking down long hallways; it seemed like a waste of time. In the room across from me was Paul, and the one next to me was John. George and Ringo were in separate rooms next to Paul. To me, it seemed a bit silly. Why would they all go over on that side purposely away from me, John, and Cyn? It didn't really matter, now did it? Anyway, I got unpacked and laid my clothes out like I usually did. I had a few new outfits that I was excited to try on because I'd seen them in the Sears catalog. One outfit was a collared floral blouse under a dark red jumper dress, which I planned to wear the next day. I really dug the lighter red floral pattern that mixed nicely with the dark red (and my black Mary Janes too.) It would be a gear outfit.

After appreciating my artistic skills in creating outfits, I looked outside and noticed it was starting to get dark. The sun was going down, creating a beautiful orange color that swirled in the sky. It was like watching a yolk slowly pool out, mixing with the whites of an egg. Or even watching a creamsicle meltdown a little kid's hand. The ground that met the horizon was bumpy with skyscrapers and buildings. It was powerful and sucked me in deep. I'd been so carried away with it all that I ended watching till the sun went down all the way. With no sun in sight to distract me, I finally tore my eyes away from the window. I plopped down on my bed, expecting to bounce at least a little, but I smacked into the hard mattress. It felt like they put a few bricks in my bed and called it a day. I wouldn't be surprised either since this was America.

I flipped over onto my back, but in the process, I crinkled something in my pocket. I remembered then that I still had that letter from John in there. I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out the envelope. My name was written sloppily on the front as if he wrote it in a rush, which was certainly reasonable for John. I traced my fingers over the entrance, debating opening it. I knew nothing good came from being nosy, but my curiosity was getting the better of me. What could he have possibly said that needed to be in a note. I just had to know. I peeled up the flap and found a paper that was marked with lines and creases. Lord, this paper must've been through a lot. I pulled it out and straightened it so I could read it properly. In doing so, another piece fell out that was far nicer looking. At the top, it said 'READ ME FIRST' and a little drawn figure of a man waving his hands. So I did as told.

Dearest Lizzie,
I had recently found that old poem I'd written for you back in... I think it was '61?
Ahh, yes, those were the days— Back way when.
ANYHOW! It wasn't finished and all that, so I decided to give it a go— As I do.
I just thought you'd want to read it, eh?
HOWS ABOUTS ITS!!
Keeping ol' Rigby on her toes!
Loving regards, JOHNNY BOY

Blind
Her smile beams across the water like a million stars,
Her voice rings a lilting tone that heals all my scars.
Her hair flys so peacefully like a freed dove,
Her life is worth everything and all of my love.
Her eyes are like a painting that speak a thousand words,
Yet somehow, I can't paint her.
What is it?
Is it something I can't see?
Could it be that I'm too naive,
To understand this feeling deep inside of me?
It never stops,
It never ends its stay,
So what could I do,
To make it go away?
There's something about her that I can't explain,
But this feeling seems to always remain.

Guilt swam around deep in my gut. I felt super bad about reading the letter, and I felt even worse that I enjoyed the contents. The words were phrased just right, which gave my cheeks a bit of a rosy complexion. Each line made me feel a bit giddy inside. John must've poured quite a lot of himself into this poem if it had been written back then. Speaking of which, the number of years ago it was written didn't bother me because it still meant a lot. It was nice he even thought about giving it to me. I was certain he'd been debating actually giving it to me before fate had other plans. I wondered if he'd been nervous about what I'd think of it or if he'd been sure of himself. Knowing John, he might've been anxious and all, second-guessing. He was quite an insecure person, which he hides well enough. I think it all started with his parents not wanting him. It must've made him feel like there was something wrong with him, which isn't true at all.