Jump: A Beatles Fan-Fiction

Chapter 2: December 5th, 1963, 10:30AM || London, England

"I--I um. Sorry." I stammered. I stared at him for a second. He was the young Paul McCartney from the posters on my wall. Clean shaven, dark hair, a sweater over his tie and shirt, and a snappy sport coat over that to compliment his dress pants and shoes.

    "Don't worry about it," the tall man assured me as he bent down to pick up his papers. I looked at the papers. They were pages of sheet music.

    I held one in my hand titled "If I Fell". I stared at it. Paul noticed, and I quickly handed it back to him. "Sorry I just really love that song,"

    "Excuse me?" he seemed incredibly confused.

    "Oh, I just saw the sheet music you dropped, I like music too." I sounded like an idiot. 

    "Well I should think so as we're in Abbey Road Studios," he smiled.

    Without thinking I say, "We're in Abbey Road? Isn't that in London? How? What?" I stop myself from rambling any further, because my panic seems to have made Paul look a little worried.

He started to back away, "Oh, yes... well alright, it was very nice meeting you, er..."

"Penny, Penny Parks," I answered.

"Yes, it was very nice meeting you miss Penny Parks," he took my hand and shook it briefly, which was about the time that I started screaming internally. "I'm Paul, but I really must be going now," he said hurriedly.

He started to walk away. I couldn't just let him walk off. I had no idea how to navigate London, or what I was doing, I needed help, and Paul was the only familiar face. It sounded crazy but Paul was the only person I could really trust not to be a serial killer.

I quickly made up a lie (I'm sort of a compulsive liar) and I stopped him, "Uh, Mr. Paul, Sir, I don't know if you've really noticed, but I'm a bit confused, do you think you could help me? If you can? I'm feeling... down," I mumble. I stifle a smile, trying not to laugh at my own joke about a song that, probably, hasn't even come out yet.

"You mean like one of those head illnesses? Amnesia? Have you taken a bump to the head?" he inquires.

"Yes, something like that," I lied. "You see, I can't remember how I got here, or anything about myself, only my name. And some songs I guess," I continued.

"Well... are you sure you don't know anything? You don't know who I am? I guess that you didn't scream and faint when you saw me, which many girls do nowadays..." he started to ramble, trying to decide whether or not I was a deranged fan. I guess I am a deranged fan, but maybe in a different sense than the usual Beatlemaniacs.

He seemed to decide that I was, in fact, sane, "I guess that you're American by the sound of your accent. Your clothes are quite odd, look you have holes in your pants and coat!" He said, grabbing a hold of the shoulder of my jacket.

I straightened up, Paul McCartney was touching me. Again.

"I really have to get to the recording room," he hesitated, "I guess you can come with me, and after the recording session we'll figure something out. Come along," he pulled me by my jacket, and turned me around the corner.

It was all I could do to keep walking along with him. I started to attempt coherent speech as we walked, "What do you mean we?"

He seemed to realize that I "have amnesia", "Oh! See, I forgot to mention that I have a band of sorts, we're recording some songs for a film,"

"Ah," I try to remain calm on the outside, but on the inside I start to realize that The Beatles were in this building, and judging from the music I saw Paul drop, they were starting to record A Hard Day's Night.