Missing You...

Chapter Twenty

Tuesday, 9th December 1980

It was very early in the morning. The sun hadn't yet come into view so the sky was still inky black, unfriendly and melancholy. It had been almost four hours since the time of the shooting but John could still hear the terrible sound of gunfire ringing in his ears. It made him shudder to think of what could have happened if the gunman hadn't been such a rotten shot.

John was lying in a hospital bed, feeling tired, sore and miserable. He had tubes of all sorts running in and out of him, and his poor wounded body was wrapped in endless lengths of gauze. John cautiously lifted his arm and fingered at the bandages placed on his shoulder. His hand came away slightly stained with blood. He wiped it quickly on the hospital gown he was wearing, feeling alone and dejected but too exhausted to cry. The last four hours had been a real muddle so he hadn't really taken any of it in. Only one face shone clearly through his memories, and that face belonged to...

"Paul," John muttered, small tears forming on his eyelashes.

John wondered if Paul was out in the hallway, waiting anxiously for news about how he was getting on, but it didn't seem very likely. Paul had probably left for the airport so he could start his infamous world tour. John tried to pretend he didn't care, but secretly he did - he cared an awful lot. The time he spent with Paul had made him feel so much happier than he had been during his entire career. It pained John to think that his happiness could be taken away so abruptly. He knew he had to face reality. Paul was gone, but he was still hoping to hear from him.

John lay back on the bed, staring up at the dingy ceiling, wondering what his friend was doing right now. Probably halfway to England, flying high above the ocean in an airplane. John sighed. Paul was going to be making more money and be famous as ever when his tour got underway. John himself would stay hidden away in his apartment, drinking tumbler after tumbler of vodka, feeling sorry for himself.

"What a life, " John thought.

The door suddenly swung open. A doctor and a nurse stood in the doorway, talking in hushed voices. It sounded like they were arguing with someone but John wasn't sure who. After about two minutes the doctor seemed to have won the debate and sent the third person on his way. John heard the pat-pat-pat of two sets of feet walking down the corridor. He glanced up and saw the pretty young nurse was still standing in the doorway, a large envelope clutched in her hands.

"Hello, Mr Lennon," she cooed. "Feeling better?"

"Kind of," John mumbled, deciding not to complain about his sore shoulder or his throbbing headache. He was more interested in the envelope. "What's that?"

The nurse smiled at him. "You'll never guess what, dear. Someone dropped off a letter for you."

"Who?"

"I'm not allowed to say," the nurse replied sadly. She strolled over to the bed and placed the letter on John's lap. "Would you like me to read it to you, or would you rather do it yourself?"

"I'll be fine," John said, grinning gratefully at her. The nurse nodded politely at him then sidled out of the room, shutting the door behind her. John was left all alone in the hospital room. He glanced down at the envelope that was now sitting in his lap. Gingerly, he picked it up, broke the seal, and shook out all of the contents. There were three things in total.

The first item was John's slightly battered Buddy Holly glasses. The frames had snapped in two but had been carefully glued back together. There was a note attached to the front. John pulled it off of the glasses, slipped them on his nose, blinking as everything suddenly muddled into focus, and read the message. 

Thought you might need these. - P

John chuckled and sifted through the other items. There was another note, a rather long one. John stroked the soft, creamy white paper and traced the bright green handwriting with his finger, then he began to read.

Dearest John,

Thank you so much for your lovely letter. I thought I might write you one as well.

By the time you read this I probably will be on my way to the airport to catch my flight back to England. I'm looking forward to playing concerts and going on tour again, but it won't be as much fun without someone to keep me company. Being a solo artist is a very lonely business. I feel that being in a band was so much more enjoyable - being in a band with you, John, was probably the greatest experience of my life.

There just aren't words to describe how I feel. 

I am so thankful to have such a wonderful friend in my life with whom I can share all my thoughts with; share the good and bad things of life. You are the one with whom I can open my heart out to and talk with without fear of being laughed at or mocked. I can share every aspect of my life with you. You have been there with me in my happiness and sorrows and ups and downs of life. I hope our friendship grows even stronger with each passing day.

Not to sound like a silly love song or anything but I really do love you, John. Ever so much. You're closer than a brother to me. I always feel that you are the only one who accepts the way I am and can be true to you. You don't expect me to change, unlike others. You are so understanding and patient that even when I'm wrong you never get angry with me; you just give me a hug and call me a silly old wanker. (You never were the best with sweet, encouraging words, were you?)

How I long for those happy days to come again soon.

Remember I'm your number one fan, John. I always have been. I love you to this day and I always did love you. Even when we argued the love never stopped, and it never will.

You have been always there to support me, even in hard times like these. It's very difficult to gain a friend like you and I hope you feel the same about me. We are both so different, but we understand each other so well. I certainly hope our friendship remains this way - unconditional. As I leave, I'm leaving with you a piece of my heart, a part of my soul, a chunk of my mind and all of my happiness. 

Goodbye, Johnny. We will be thousands of miles apart but all I want you to remember is that I am not just your friend – I am a man whose only dream is that yours come true. 

This isn't so much a goodbye as a farewell. Don't be too sad about it.

I'll always be there for you. Just call me and I'll always answer.

All the love in my heart,

Paul McCartney xxxx

P.S: As a wonderful man once said, "Love is the answer, and you know that for sure; Love is a flower, you've got to let it grow". We did just that, Johnny. We let our love grow once again.

John put the letter down, tears brimming in his eyes. It didn't matter that Paul wasn't right at his bedside, clutching his hand and sobbing. He knew Paul really did care about him, and he wasn't shy about showing it either. John sighed and picked up the third item.

It was another piece of paper, carefully folded in half.

John opened it up. There were only four short words written on it.

I love you, John.

John couldn't hold back his tears this time. He clutched the note to his chest and wept, wondering what he possibly did to deserve such a wonderful friend. 

His best friend. 

Paul.

"I love you too, Paul, ever so much," John sobbed. "And I'm going to make sure that someday, somehow we'll be together. Always and forever."