What If

Chapter 18

I was lying in John's bed, holding a picture in my hands. He claimed he drew it just a few months ago and was really proud of it. I wasn't that impressed. It was just a bunch of cartoon people with big noses and long hair, standing in line at the grocery store. I turned it all different ways and even held it up to the light. It didn't make it any better.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, sitting at the end of his bed.

The scowl on my face wasn't hidden, more on accident than on purpose. "It's different. I'll give you that," I said, handing it back.

He took a long drag on his cigarette. "That bad, huh?" He stood up to crush the butt in the ashtray and then laid down next to me.

I tensed up, not being comfortable at all, but not wanting to invoke the wrath of John, I pretended I had no problem. Most girls would kill to lie next to John Lennon in his bed, but here I was, stiff as a stone. "It's not bad." His drawing was very bad. "I just think you'll be a better musician than artist."

"Oh yeah?" he asked. "Show me what you can do."

"Well, I can't really do anything if I don't have paper or a pencil. Or something to lean on."

"Hang on," he said. He reached down below his bed and pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil. "Here. Draw in this."

I sighed playfully. I really didn't want to draw for him. I was self-conscious about everything I did. I hated being ridiculed and I was afraid he was going to laugh at my stupid drawing. "Okay," I gave in, taking the pad. "But you can't look till it's done."

"Fine. Deal," he agreed.

I opened the book and flipped through a bunch of drawings John must have done before. Half of them were nothing like that chicken scratch he had given me before. They were halfway decent. "Wow, John," I said, flipping through them all again. "Did you draw all of these?"

He looked at the drawings in the book as I passed through them, almost like he had forgotten he had even drawn them in the first place. "Oh, yeah," he said blandly, lighting up another cigarette.

"Wow, maybe you're better at art than I originally thought, Lennon." I looked at him smugly and smirked.

He did the same back at me and blew out a huge puff of smoke. I went back to the pad and found a blank page and finally brought pencil to paper. He got closer to my ear and said in not quite a whisper "You know, I'm good at other things too."

I wanted to vomit all over the paper now. Just the thought of sex with John Lennon made me want to throw myself out of a window. "I know," I said, being the innocent little girl I was. "You play the guitar really well."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John frown, turning his attention to the ceiling. "Yeah. That."

I smiled to myself. Pissing him off was actually fun. I knew I was dicking with him, but I couldn't tell if he knew it or not. I think he wasn't sure.

About three-fourths of the way into my drawing, I noticed John trying to peek at what it was. I yanked the book away from his eyes and said "Hey! No peeking!"

He threw his hands up in the air in defense and retreated back to his original position. "Alright, alright," he said. He crushed his cigarette again and then flopped on his side, resting his head on his hand, and staring up at me, smiling. "Is it me?" He grinned cheekily, knowing he was being sly.

I smirked again, nearly done with my artwork. "Oh, it's you alright," I said, finishing up. "Okay, done." I turned the pad to him, showing him my finished product.

His face twisted, but he remained smiling. "What the Hell is that?"

I laughed. "It's a cartoon leech," I answered. Leeches are the only thing I'm able to draw well. The way I draw them actually looks almost professional.