Personal Preference (George Harrison)

Chapter Seven: The Times They Are A-Changin'

As I leave the suite I run smack into Sara Lownds, she's probably come to have a quickie with Bob before he had to come meet me at Shea Stadium. "Oh, I'm sorry-" She starts and stops as if she's trying to figure out my name.

"How hilarious, you don't even know my name," I laugh, sarcastically. "I don't expect you too, but I know your's, Sara."

"I'm sorry," She repeats.

"What for?" I retort. "Is this a tell all?"

Sara opens her mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. "That's fine, I know you're fucking Bob so it doesn't matter, people like you are a dime a dozen and I'm sure he'll cheat on you with a tramp just like he did to me," I smile in a condescending way.

I walk off, arriving at the elevator only seconds later. I hit the down call button and wait for the elevator to climb the floors. Once I get on the elevator I have no idea where I'm going. I end up in the lobby and I hurry towards the doors trying to avoid anyone I may know. I call the driver and instruct him on taking me to Greenwich Village, I wanna be somewhere familiar, I wanna be home. I recall how I met Bob during the car ride, traffic is moving slow, and I know that it's going to take a whole lot longer than I anticipated to get home.

1963

Kennedy had just been killed, and I was a nineteen-year-old without a care in the world and a freshly signed record deal with Columbia Records. Growing up in Greenwich Village, I had been exposed early on to the folk music community. With the passing of time and the migration of people the folk community grew and I came to know many people and performers. During the summer of '62, I came to know a song called Blowin' in the Wind, it was my favorite for quite some time and I really wanted to be able to cover it on mine and Stella's debut album. Consequently, I had heard that the artist of the song, Bob Dylan, lived in the village and I could easily figure out where he was. So, I asked around until I found out about a show he was doing at Washington Square Park. I tried my best to get Stella to go with me, but to no avail, she didn't want anything to do with a folk singer.

However, I did. So I rode my Schwinn bicycle down to the park and waited for the man to surface. Finally, he did and I was star struck, I wanted to know him, be near him, be with him. After he played a couple of songs and a couple of covers, I maneuvered through the crowd and approached him. A smile grew upon my face as I got closer and closer to him, and finally, I was there right in front. He looked down at me with a furrowed brow, most likely trying his best to decipher why this young kid had approached him and now had this obsessive look upon her face.

"I love your songs," I complimented him, a smile grew upon his face and something told me we were going to grow close.

"Thank you, but they're not that good," He laughed.

"Oh, but they are, too."

He didn't say anything but led me over to a bench, where we started a new conversation about political issues, what we wanted from life, and how we managed to get to Greenwich Village. My curfew was the only thing that stopped me from staying longer and he almost didn't catch my name. "What's you're name, doll?" He had asked.

"Johanna Leigh Johnson, you can call me Jo."

Little did I realize that I had forgotten about the song altogether.

1965

Arriving in front of my parents' house, a wave of nausea came over me and I almost had to vomit. However, I briskly stepped out of the black sedan and moved towards the front door. I rung the doorbell, and I could hear loud shuffling from the foyer. My mother swung the door open and looked at me with surprise clearly written all over her face. "Leigh, what're you doing here?" She asked, my mother had always called me Johanna Leigh or just simply Leigh, and I had no relative idea why. Johanna was a great name in my opinion.

"I need someone to talk to, Ma," I answer, moving over the threshold and into the house.

"Is something wrong?" She asked as she led me towards the family room of the home. I entered into the memory filled room and a frown grew on my face once I noticed the large canvas photo of Stella and I that had been taken in the summer of '63, the summer we were given a record deal. I stayed silent, I wasn't brave enough to tell her about my predicament. It bothered me that I even had to tell her at all. My mother was known to be judgmental, so I had no idea how she would react. "Your father and I planned on coming to the show tonight," She continued.

I breathed a deep sigh, "There is no show tonight."

"What on Earth are you talking about, Johanna?" She asked, anger finding a home on her face.

"I'm talking about the fact that Stella is having an affair with a married, Don Everly, she won't speak to me, and I just so happen to be three months pregnant with Bob Dylan's child," I ramble continuously without catching my breath.

Like always she didn't hear what Stella had done wrong, she heard what I had done wrong. I shook my head as she berated me, "Johanna Leigh Johnson, you should be ashamed of yourself. Here you are, freshly twenty years old and pregnant out of wedlock with a folk singer's child, an abortion is your only way out. This is not what I wanted for you, Johanna, I wanted you to have a secure husband who loves you and has no eyes for any other."

"Too late for that," I blurt and she sends a serious glare in my direction.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She demands.

"It means that I felt secure with Bob three months ago when I conceived, but now I think he's having an affair with a model that lives in our hotel," I answer, admitting to my fears.

"Come home," is the only thing she says. I'm flabbergasted, but I'm tempted, too. Coming home wouldn't be the worst thing to do, and it would get me away from Bob and Stella and everyone I really don't want to face at the moment, but then again I can't stop what comes out of my mouth next.

"No," I blurt with relief.

"Johanna, don't be brash," She starts. "You have your entire life ahead of you, don't let one mistake write the course of your life, you'll regret it if you do."