Lonely People

Getting Better

The lads had gone to London for the weekend. Brian had managed to get them a recording deal with George Martin, a producer at EMI Studios. They would record a few songs and see how it goes, perhaps they would record more.

That left me in Liverpool. As much as I did want to go to London, I understood the premise of backing off. This was their band, not mine anymore, I can't be there for everything. Besides, I knew I would get a play-by-play from Paul whenever they got back. It would be exactly like I was there. 

I left Molly at home to go and have lunch with Michael. We were supposed to meet at the same sandwich place, and he would introduce me to his new girlfriend. I had to wonder if he had told Dad about her yet.

The day got off to a good start. I woke up in a good mood, a lovely change from my recent bout of depression. I saw the sunshine, heard the birds sing, and smelled the delicious aroma of porridge wafting through the house. Mrs. Mackenzie was an amazing cook, the best I had ever met. Even her porridge was delicious, and I have hated porridge all my life.

Everything seemed beautiful that day. I walked down the streets with a smile on my face, the wind blowing my coat behind me like a cape. It was still early in the year, winter had yet to go away, and the air was frigid. Snow lined the sidewalks and icicles dangled from tree branches.

I thought nothing could spoil my mood. The world's problems had seemingly melted away for a day. Everything was fine and dandy until I heard a voice I had known all my life call out, "Amelia."

I froze in place. Every muscle I had turned to stone. Slowly, I turned around, my eyes landing on the figure of my father standing just a few meters from me.

"Da," I said.

For a moment, we simply stared at each other. There was so much to say, yet neither of us could say anything. I wanted to run away, but my muscles wouldn't cooperate.

It was hard to comprehend the fact that my Father, the man who had raised me, was standing in front of me. We hadn't seen each other for nearly two years despite being in the same city. The last time we had been so close was when he was telling Paul and me to leave and never come back. 

"Michael said you were back," Dad muttered, "He said you didn't want to see me."

I frowned, "You didn't want to see us, first."

"Amelia-"

"Save it," I held up my hand, "I understand, I've had enough time to come to terms with it. You were angry, you made us choose, we chose what you thought was wrong, so you kicked us out for good. I get it."

In reality, I still didn't understand. We were following our dreams. Parents were supposed to support their children as they worked towards the life they wanted, not kick them out as soon as they disobeyed. Never would I fully understand why Dad kicked us out that day. 

Dad shook his head, "I know, and I'm sorry. I should never have kicked you out."

"But you did."

All I wanted to hear was that he regretted it. He may say he should never have kicked us out, but that doesn't mean he regretted it. Dad always had a way to apologize without ever truly apologizing.

"I was angry," Dad said, "And worried. You were sixteen, and you wanted to go to the dirtiest city in the world. I'm your father, I'm supposed to worry."

"You're supposed to support us too. You're the one who raised us on music. You had to have known Paul and I would pursue a career in it," I told him.

Dad sighed, "I did, but I didn't expect this. I was sure you would join an orchestra, maybe Paul would join too. I never expected you to join Lennon's band and run off to bloody Germany!"