Lonely People

Aubergine Studios

Paul sat on my bed, his guitar across his lap just waiting to be played. I sat next to him, my legs crossed, leaning forward in anticipation. He plucked a few strings to make the music bounce off of the walls. All the while, his eyes were hard in concentration. 

He showed up this morning, unannounced, and claimed that he was lonely. All of the lads were busy, or sick of each other, or both. Considering I had nothing better to do, I gratefully let him in. 

He was both a friend and a distraction, one which I desperately needed. Every time I had a moment to think, I was swarmed with thoughts of Molly. I wasn't sure what I was feeling, or even what I was thinking. Deep down, in the pit of my soul, I knew. A tiny part of me always knew, but I refused to acknowledge it. That's why a distraction was gratefully accepted. 

"I wrote one last night," Paul explained, "Still have to take it to John. It's for the new album."

The fact that they made one album was brilliant, but two was above and beyond. Revolution barely even had singles let alone an album. The Beatles, however, were building an empire all their own.

"What's it called?" I asked.

"The song or the album?"

"Both."

"The album's called With The Beatles," Paul explained, "Ringo came up with it. I haven't named the song yet."

I gazed at him patiently. He strummed random notes on the guitar, humming as he did. Finally, I sighed, "Are you gonna show me or not?"

"Alright."

He strummed rapidly. This was far from a slow song, it was classic rock and roll, just as they always did. They were not a slow band. Even the songs they deemed 'slow songs' were fast-paced.

"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you," Paul sang, "Remember I'll always be true. And while I'm away, I'll write home every day, and send all my loving to you."

I smiled and tapped my fingers along to the beat. In my mind's eye, I could see the band playing that song on stage. I could picture John and Paul smiling at each other as they strummed with George just behind them, beaming the entire time. I could even see Ringo flinging his head around as he played the drums. An entire audience was watching, but Paul was only playing to one person. 

"What do you think?" Paul asked as soon as he finished.

I grinned, "Brilliant, as usual. I'm sure the lads will love to play it."

"I just need a title."

He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. After a few seconds of silence, I suggested, "How about All My Loving? You did repeat that line quite a few times."

"Brilliant! Thanks, Lia."

He strummed the first few chords once again. Paul had been writing love songs since we were children, he even wrote them before he experienced love. They were always loose, you could tell he had no idea what he was singing about. Recently, they had begun to grow stronger. His metaphors and imagery made me feel like he actually knew what he was talking about. I could feel a love for someone who was far away, and yet, close.

"Did you write this about Jane?" I asked suddenly.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"Did you write it about Jane?" I repeated, "It's different than what you've written before. It's like you were writing to someone this time."

Paul's cheeks became tinted red. He looked away, gazing at his guitar strings as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. He cleared his throat, "Um, yes, of course, it was Jane. Who else would it be?"