witchy woman | george harrison

1. | Second Sight

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October 1st, 1961

In the cramped upstairs bedroom of her grandmother's row house on Middlefield Road in Liverpool, Sloane Lewis lay dreaming.

She tossed in her bed. Deep in sleep, vivid imagery flashed under her eyelids: girls, screaming, collapsing. Being pushed through a crowd like a leaf in a river.

Then, blinding lights. Her feet firmly planted on a scuffed wooden stage, sweating. Burning. Hundreds of faces, screaming.

She quickly sat up and searched her room in the moonlight. The covers she'd kicked off lay crumpled on the floor. Her heart beat against her chest.

She was confused to find herself here, as if she were just shaken out of a second reality. Quietly, she padded downstairs for a glass of water.

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Maude, Sloane's nan, was a mysterious but charming woman. She still looked adorable for all her wrinkles and grey hair, never wearing more makeup than a pat of coral lipstick. She always wore long skirts, sometimes floral dresses too; always scrunched bobby socks and worn-out shoes.

"Good morning, rosebud!" she crooned over her cup of tea when Sloane padded into the kitchen that morning. Maude had set out a vase of roses as red as wine, a plate piled high with toast, butter, jam.

"How do we feel today?"

"Tired," Sloane yawned.

"Ah, well cheer up. You're a woman now, as they say."

"I don't feel like one. I feel the same as ever."

Maude smiled, swirling her spoon around her cup. "You'll feel that way your whole life."

As she enjoyed her morning toast, Sloane was strangely quiet. Maude's black cat, Mr. Darcy, hopped onto the table to have a sniff.

"Not for you! Silly boy," She waved him away, watching her granddaughter for a moment as the girl chewed in silence. It was a sorry sight.

"Lovely, don't forget! Do tell some of your classmates to come over tonight. Anyone you like. We can play some records, put out some snacks! Maybe your old nan will even slip some wine in the punch," Maude winked.

Sloane smiled half-heartedly. "Thanks, Nanna. I just don't know who I'd ask."

"Don't be daft!" Maude huffed. "The brand new girl in class, and as pretty as you! I'm sure those art school boys would just die with delight."

Sloane's heart sank. "Sure, we'll see. I'll ask around today."

She knew she wouldn't; she'd only been at the College of Art for a month.

She hardly knew a soul, except for the outrageous troublemaker who sat in the back of all her classes. Was it John? John Something. Everybody knew him.

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As Sloane walked through the hallways later that day, everything felt different.

She certainly didn't look any different; most of the girls in school sported the new styles. Shorter skirts, tighter sweaters. Tights and low heels. Some even wore pants.