Lonely People

John Returns

John came home a few days after Paul. His Aunt Mimi went to pick him up, meaning Paul and I got to stay home and wait for a good time to visit him. Home being the houses we were staying at. Paul decided to come and visit Molly and me for the day. During that visit, Paul was face first on Molly's bed, moping.

"You're such a sissy," I said.

I sat on the floor, a notepad open in front of me. Molly was at her desk, studying, though she kept getting distracted by Paul and me. Every so often, she would glance over her shoulder and giggle at the scene. Paul had rolled her blankets around himself to where all I saw was his head at the foot of the bed. He lifted his head to glare at me, "You're a sissy."

"Great comeback," I rolled my eyes, "What are you even doing?"

"Wallowing in self-pity."

"Do you have to do it here?"

He frowned, "Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm lonely."

He shoved his face back in the bed and released a loud groan. I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms across my chest. Paul never took things like this gently. He considered it rejection, and an insult to him, and that ripped at his spirit.

He would be like this for days unless I could figure out something to perk him up. If I didn't, not only would he mope constantly, but he wouldn't leave me alone. He would whine to me all day until this passed.

"Want to write a song?" I tried.

Molly glanced back at us, "I'd love to hear you play."

Paul shook his head, "What's the point? It's not like we're going to play it."

"Of course we are," I stood to go and sit next to him, "We still have jobs at The Cavern Club. We'll play there."

"We're posers. Just a bunch of kids with dreams that got fucking deported!"

I shook my head, "That doesn't make us posers, Paulie, it means we had an arse of a boss. We're still a band-we're still friends."

"A band of tossers," Paul grumbled, "Posers! We'll never get anywhere now, our reputation is tarnished."

"Honestly, Paul, you sound like a child."

"I do not."

"You do," Molly added. 

Paul flung his head up to glare at her. She ignored him, which didn't do much for his spirits. He shoved his face back in the bed and groaned.

"You do," I sighed, "Look, nobody knows we got deported. So long as we don't tell anybody, we'll still be seen as the same band we've always been."

Paul lifted his head to look up at me, "That's what I'm afraid of. I don't want to be the same, I want to be better."

Molly and I exchanged glances. He shoved his head back into the mattress and sighed. I patted his back comfortingly, though I knew it would do no good. His spirits could only be lifted by one man, and that man had yet to come back to him. 

The phone began to ring in the living room. Molly set her pencil down and said, "I'll get it."

She left the room, leaving the door cracked open. I rubbed Paul's back in an effort to comfort him, but it did no good. He was too busy drowning in despair to realize that things weren't really that bad. 

"Melly! It's for you and Paul!" Molly exclaimed.

"I'll get it," I told my brother, "You continue wallowing in self-pity like a sissy."