Blackbird, Fly (A Paul McCartney Story)

Chapter Four

After our confessions to each other, some sort of wall seemed to break between us.  We could see more of each other, and I certainly wanted to see all I could of him.  

He did too.  

"So have you any family?" he asked me.  

"My mom and dad work too hard, and my brother and sisters will have to too if I don't get them out of here.  Tommy and Ruth are so bright.  They deserve a college education."  Paul looked down at the ground.  Another car passed by, and I flinched when it lit up the room.  But unless people were looking for us, no one would pay attention.  

Paul rested a hand on my shoulder.  "It's alright.  Don't be afraid."  

"I'm not afraid." I lied.  Looking down at the old floorboards I asked him about his family.  

He smiled.  "My mother passed awhile ago now.  I miss her, but I know she's in a better place.  My dad and my brother still live back in Liverpool.  My brother loves photography and I reckon he'll make a living out of it one day."  I smiled at hearing him talk well about his family.  Most people I knew didn't want to talk about anything personal, whether they were ashamed of where they came from or their families were no-good.  

The Beatle looked over at me.  "Have you fancied anyone, love?"

"Fancied someone?"

"Pardon my English," he smirked, "have you ever liked someone more than a friend?  Found someone attractive?"

There were several times when I had found someone handsome, but that person never held that characteristic over me.  It never influnced me to do anything that they wanted.  

But Paul was a different story.  

I'm not sure if he knew then or not that I cared about him.  If he didn't, it would become evident fairly soon.  "I-I have, but it's not as if the feeling is going to take me anywhere."

"Why not?" he asked.  

"He doesn't know, and it would never work out." I looked towards the other side of the room, away from him.  However, Paul reached over and turned my face gently in his direction.  My heart seemed to stop and fall into my stomach.  But it still remained beating fast and scared.  

Paul leaned in and kissed me for a second time, but for once I let him.  Then, with a new forcefulness, he pushed me down on the cold floor and began to kiss my neck.  "Stop!" I yelped, pushing him off of me.  I sat up, feeling violated.  "You can't leave marks on me.  Someone could see them.  This is wrong...this is so wrong." I stood up, brushing off my skirt.  "You have to leave.  It's so late and dark enough that people won't see you."  

But he wouldn't follow me out.  "I want to see you again when you're not working.  But someplace besides this one.  Please?"

I sighed.  I don't know what made me give in that night.  Maybe it was his pretty pleading eyes, or that passionate kiss that I would have continue with had it not been the circumstances.  I told him to meet me there, but with a disguise.  

We had a date.

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 I was cleaning on the floor below that day, and I was a bit worried that I didn't see Paul.  But the bus ride seemed agonizingly long, and I was happy to find that Ruth was staying a friend's house, so I could ready without anyone knowing.  My best dress was one I wore to church, and it was blue with white polka-dots.  I always found it very pretty, and quite flattering, and a part of me hoped that Paul would notice.  And when my mother was relaxing in the living room, listening to the radio, I snuck into my parents' room and put on the tiniest amout of her perfume.