Lucy In The Sky

September In The Rain

LUCY'S P.O.V

An abundance of black umbrellas formed a shield from the rain as we all stood staring sorrowfully into the deep hole in the ground. Tears brimmed my eyes as I took my turn to throw earth onto the coffin.

-

It was an early Monday morning, August was coming to a close and September was on it's way, John and I were sat in my kitchen sipping at a mug of warm tea after he had slept the night at mine. The sun was rising and rays of light crept through the blinds, illuminating the room, I smiled at John as he read the latest issue of Mersey Beat. The morning was happy and ordinary... until my mother came rushing through to the kitchen with devastating news.

She ran through the kitchen door, her eyes were bloodshot and suddenly she froze. "Mum, what's wrong?" I yelled, getting up to comfort her.

"It's Stu." she said. John got to his feet and slammed his tea on the table, looking worried and speechless. "V-Vicky just called, to tell me." she paused, "He- he's passed away. I'm so sorry."

-

John hasn't been the same since. He's been quiet and has locked himself away in his house, I've been to visit him several times and we have tried to avoid the subject of Stu. He seems emotionless, he hasn't showed grief or sadness, and of course there's no signs of happiness, he's locked up all of his emotions and it makes me heartbroken to see him this way. Just as things seemed to get better, life took a turn for the worse; almost like the calm before the storm.

John hadn't seen Stu for quite some time before his passing away, they were slowly growing apart as they both continued to take their own path in life; paint and be in a band. Yet I always knew John had a soft spot for Stu, no matter how long they were apart, when they were reunited they'd be the best of friends again. It was unbearable to see the man you love in so much pain. First was the loss of his mother, then his child and then his brother.

Naturally, Vicky was extremely depressed. I'd only called her once since the incident, I thought I'd give her space. Yesterday I discovered she went to Birmingham to stay with her family for a while, I was upset she never told me but I could not complain and understood her reasons to suddenly disappear and get away from Liverpool and all the memories it contained.

-

It's been three weeks since his passing. Things have started to become a little better, John came out more, he smiled and made jokes again. I could see he was still hurt, we all still felt like there was a missing piece of the jigsaw, and that nothing would be complete again without Stu, but John hurt most. It gave me the most terrible feeling, knowing there was no possible way to cheer him up. All I could do was send all my love his direction and comfort him. 

Eventually, the boys began band practise again, they were working harder than ever. I actually became fairly worried, they'd spend continuous hours writing songs and playing guitar without any breaks. I'd come to visit them and their fingers would be bleeding and they'd be trying not to fall asleep. During school time they'd practise in the music room between lessons and after school until they get kicked out, and once they'd get kicked out they'd retire to one of their houses, usually Paul's, and continue working. They were pushing their skills to the limit, but at least it took their minds off things. Plus they were dramatically improving.

The Beatles had cancelled their previous four gigs at The Cavern Club after Stu's death, and the following Friday night they were to make their return. I was excited for them to begin playing again, they had so much brilliant new material that I was certain everybody would love. 

It was a Tuesday afternoon when I decided to make a spontaneous trip to the hair dressers, I thought it would be a fabulous idea to get a haircut to impress John, cheer him up, and also look impressive when I attend The Cavern Club the following Friday. Of course, that was the most terrible spontaneous idea I could ever have thought of. 

Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe had been my idols for as long as I could remember, I admired everything about them; their talent, their success, their looks and most importantly: their hair. I always adored their little curly bob they had, it always appeared so elegant and tasteful, for years I always wished I had the right looks to pull it off, or the guts to chop all my hair off. But on this particular Tuesday morning I thought it would be the most amazing idea to lob my luscious locks straight off and sport a short Elizabeth/Marilyn hair-do. The worst decision of my life.

I sat in a black chair that seemed to swallow me at Ellie Digby's Hair and Beauty Boutique, I told the hair dresser, Ellie, exactly what I wanted. I watched as inches of my hair plummeted to the floor with vigorous snips of the scissors. I had a feeling of exhilaration, I rarely did spontaneous things. Although, when I saw myself afterwards I understood why I was not a spontaneous person and stayed safe all the time. Ellie had just finished curling my hair, and gave me a hand mirror to see how I liked my new style. I gasped at the sight and ran straight to the large mirror hanging on the wall, my stomach churned. The long, silky locks I once adored were gone. Instead a puffy, curly mess sat on my head and brought out my chubby cheeks. I paid Ellie as soon as possible, made a quick exit, caught the next bus home and cried. If John saw this he'd definitely break up with me, I looked nothing like Elizabeth or Marilyn. I looked like a drag, a well known drag.

It was the morning after I had my haircut and I was still terribly upset, I wore a red floral scarf on my head to hide my atrocious hair, I had never been more embarrassed in my life. Yet things got worse; John was visiting that day.

Three loud knocks came from the front door and echoed throughout the room, then a I heard a slow creaking of a turning handle. John was there. I stayed curled up on the sofa, trying to act casual and pray to God that he doesn't notice. He strolled through, I watched as his small smile turned into a confused frown. I slumped myself further into the seat.

"Lucy. What have you done to your hair?" John asked, confused as to why there was a scarf on my head.

"Oh, nothing really. Just a, urm, little trim." I blatantly lied, voice quivering, stroking my head scarf.

"Lucy." John repeated, coming to sit next to me on the sofa, his voice becoming angry. I scrunched up my face in order to hold back my tears as he ripped the scarf straight off my head. I put my hands on my hair, attempting to cover it, tears now streaming down my face. "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YE DONE TO YOUR HAIR?" John screamed as he stood up. As I sobbed, still curled up in a tight ball in the corner of the sofa, wildly wailing like a strange creature you'd see in the wild, John stormed out of the house in rage.

Again, I spent the rest of the night crying and wondering how stupid I could possibly be. I locked myself in my room and lay on my bed, paralysed. I had ran out of tears to cry and I was surprised I had any fluid left in my body at all. It was stupid and unfair of me to cut my hair, I knew John would not be happy with it, he wanted a Bardot replica, and I was far from that. One of his closest friends had just passed away, the last thing John would want is drastic change, especially from me; the only person he can rely on to always be there for him.