Nineteen Sixty-Four // Starrison

Chapter 8

“John?”

The man turned back in a tight, crowded cloakroom for the Ministry workers.

“Listen... “ George kept his voice low, but he felt comfortable in a crowd and an omnipresent noise with a small possibility that someone was eavesdropping him. “I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have said that… you were partially right.”

Lennon looked at him, wondering if he should forgive him and finally smiled and patted Harrison’s back. “It’s alright, lad.”

George smiled — truly. He really wanted his friend’s forgiveness. Maybe John was annoying, but they’ve known each other since forever, and he didn’t want to lose their friendship.

And he met Ringo thanks to him.

One point for you, Lennon.

There was no doubt, not even a little — he was head over heels in love. The blue-eyed man couldn't leave his mind and George wondered when could they meet again.

His lover.

They were together.

The love was an unfamiliar concept to Harrison; he knew it only from Shakespeare’s books, translated into the newspeak and some old stories he’s heard here and there from people. But he wasn’t really aware of its power — until it hit him and knocked him down. The most powerful feeling, now he knew. That’s why the Party killed it, tore it apart and left to disappear from this world.

“Can we meet with my friend, with a bottle of Gin? You know him, Starkey, you were the one to introduce him to me,” George said casually, but John quickly caught an allusion.

“You can come to me. I need help with my renovations anyway.” The answer was also casual.

“Alright. Tomorrow, after work?”

“Yeah.”

“Goodbye then.”

Harrison came back home and finished the paperwork, thinking about Richard. He watched the telescreen and smoked a cigarette, thinking about Richard. He fell asleep into dreams where Richard’s eyes dispersed the darkness.

The man woke up, happy and excited for a meeting like a preschooler for a candy.

Everything was like a blur — his work, telling Ringo news about the meeting, watching slow clock’s arms.

A few hours later they finally met at John’s and went to the place George knew so well for so many years. Lennon had to truly trust Starkey, for he told him about the Brotherhood and invited the man to his hidden place. It wasn’t a secret that John had a good nose for people though.

John sat in the middle of an attic, George against the wall. Richard stood up for a while, watching around and then gasped in amazement.

“Oh… you’ve got a guitar.”

Lennon nodded. “You have no idea how much it cost me to buy it.”

“Can I play on it? Try at least.”

“Of course.”

For the first, George felt a twinge of jealousy because the man had never let HIM play, but then remembered he’d always refused to even hold it, and he felt like an idiot.

The oldest one held the instrument carefully, like the most precious artifact that could break down into ashes by the gentlest touch. Finally, he hit the strings shyly, making a gentle sound. Ringo had no experience in playing the guitar, but he tried and it ended up very well. Like if he was meant to use this instrument, to turn every chord into beauty.