And I Love Her

John Falls in Love

It was a dreary English morning as John Lennon sauntered into his first class at Liverpool Art College. What he noticed first wasn't the horrible paint color choice, or the rickety single person desks. He noticed a girl perched on the edge of her chair, her glasses forgotten on the edge of her desk as she sat hunched over scribbling something onto a sheet of paper. Her hair fell loosely around her arm and John couldn't help but to admire her. Roughly running his fingers through his hair, he made his way over to where the girl was sitting.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me if this is the right lettering class?" He asked pointing to his schedule. Lifting her head, John's breath caught in his throat. Her hands gripped her glasses in her palm as she set them on her nose. Looking down, one red polished nail scraped the paper as her hands ventured closer to the top. Landing on his first class she looked up and he was once again met with her beautiful eyes, and a smile that matched.

"You are!" She said as she pulled her hand away from the scrap of paper in his palm. The class started, but John hadn't time to catch her name. He gently nudged the girl's arm and asked for a pen quietly. She smiled and produced a pen from her bag. He whispered a quick "Thanks" before scrawling something on a spare piece of paper that he had asked for from the person on the other side of him.

What's your name? John scrawled and handed the paper to the girl

Cynthia Powell and yours? She smiled one of her blinding smiles again before handing the piece of paper back to John.

Lennon, John Lennon. The name he had written had started to curve upward on the paper. He was right handed but he wrote at the angle of someone who was left-handed. He quietly handed the paper back to her and he didn't get it back during that class period.

"It was nice meeting you John" Cynthia smiled as she took her pen back from John's outstretched hand and put it into her bag. John was still mesmerized by her eyes and how, if she dyed her hair, she could look like Brigitte Bardot. John knew this was the one bird that could rein him in from his Teddy Boy front, and expose the softer side of John Lennon.

Later that afternoon as he was walking along the street to his friend Stu's house, he heard someone come up behind him. He turned; silently hoping that it was Cynthia, but it wasn't it was one of his other friends, Stuart Sutcliffe. Stu smiled as he regaled the tale of meeting this gorgeous bird named Cynthia or something like that. He couldn't remember. John smiled, but inside he was boiling with anger, Cynthia was HIS. She wasn't just some groupie that Stu could paw. The twosome carried on idle conversation until they reached Stu's flat, a good 2 and a half blocks from the Art College.

Stu gravitated towards his bass that he had been learning how to play over the years at the hands of John and George. John picked up his guitar from where it was resting on the wall in the same position it had been left in yesterday. He began absently plucking the strings; his mind wouldn't leave the thought of Cynthia alone. He kept thinking about those sparkling brown eyes and her hair. He didn't even notice when George rushed through the door 10 minutes late, and folded his lanky form down next to John, guitar in hand.

"Oi, what's got John?" George asked turning to Stu who was emerging from the kitchen, a cup of tea and a sandwich in hand. Stu turned to the man in question who was hunched over his guitar in the corner, his fingers strumming the strings on his guitar with no real purpose.

Stu just shrugged and took a sip of tea. When he set the cup down on the table, a small drop of tea sloshed out of the cup and onto the dark wood surface. Picking up his bass, he followed in John's footsteps and began to absently pluck the strings; Colin Hanton was the last to arrive at Stu's flat, accompanied by Paul. Colin pulled his drumsticks out of his bag, and Paul pulled forth his guitar from its case.

"Oi, what's botherin' Lennon?" Paul asked George as he gestured towards the form of John in the corner who had now given up completely on playing his guitar all together.

"Dunno." George shrugged, as he eyed John carefully searching for any physical reason as to why he had taken George's place as the quiet one today.

"Alright, everyone's here. Let's play" Stu smiled as he stood up and gestured for the others to follow suit.

"Stu, I think I'm gonna head home, I don't feel so good" John said, speaking for the first time since he had arrived at Stu's flat. He shoved his hand into the pocket of his leather jacket and produced a carton of cigarettes, taking one out; he lit it and turned towards the door.

"John, I'm here if you need" Stu said placing a solid hand on his friend's shoulder as a cloud of white smoke floated out of John's mouth. Turning back to Stu, John muttered a quick thanks to him and opened the door.

The street was quiet, it wasn't a terribly busy street to begin with, and so John was left alone with only his thoughts. It was about a half an hour's walk to his Aunt Mimi's house. He passed the record shop he had frequented in years past, Quarry Bank high school where the band John was in was started, and the street on which his mother had been hit by that car. He loathed that driver with everything he had inside of him. Turning onto the sidewalk of 251 Menlove Lane, John fished in his jean pockets for the key to open the door.

"Mimi I'm home, I'll be in my room," John called as he shouldered his way through the door. Taking in his ragged appearance in the hallway mirror, he cursed under his breath. His nose was red from the cold air, and his hair was no longer styled in its usual Teddy Boy style. No wonder he felt like shit, he looked like it too. The effects of falling for a girl the first day, were definitely taking a physical toll on bad-boy Lennon.

He turned away from his weathered appearance and started up the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached his room. The back corner of the house, the one place where he was left alone to do as he pleased. Mimi had given up on him back in his last year at Quarry Bank when he had been a handful, and a discipline case at school. He cracked the window and took another cigarette out of his pocket. Standing by the window he lit it and let the smoke waft out into the street. He knew it would be a long year at the Art College. But, he was determined to get that girl Cynthia to agree to be his.

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A/N: Well, that was my first shot at writing Historical Fiction, tell me what you think! and as per usual, I obviously don't own John, Cyn, or anyone real who was mentioned in this story!(: