To Those Who Don't Belong

10

"Who's your little friend?" Paul looked John up and down and seemed to be saying stuff... differently. He didn't sound like a snake when he spoke, teasing constantly with a hiss of sass.

"This, Paul, is John. I thought you two would get along," Paul smiled.

"I think we will too. I'm Paul," Paul extended his hand.

"So I've heard," John scoffed and took his hand, shaking jokingly, "charmed, simply charmed," John was pulling his usual clown act.

I nudged him, "play nice," I whispered.

I watched John and Paul shuffle off to a couch. They instantly began talking, rambling on, really.

"So, Ringo," I heard George sneak up behind me, "I wanted to say this in person," he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed, "I'm sorry I was careless with my words. And, I love you."

"I love you too," I ducked my head not knowing what else to do. I had never really dated anyone else. Well, there was this one Maureen chick who did it because she felt bad...

"What are you wearing from that dance tommorrow? I read that we had to dress like we were from the fifties," I didn't think about that till now.

"Well," I thought, "I've got jeans I can roll the cuffs up with, a white shirt, and a leather jacket," I watched George think.

"Every guy is gonna be wearing that. Let's go shopping," he scrunched his nose like a child playing in the dirt."Paul, I trust you to hold the place down," George bellowed.

"I'm not a child, George," Paul whined.

And with that we left. We walked briskly to the antique shops. They weren't far away at all. We visited for shops only picking up a pair of shoes and a thin tie in the process.

"Huh," I looked over at George's deep thinking, "The Top Ten Antique Shop... Let's go," I nodded and followed in pursuit of his steps.

"Hi, welcome to The Top Ten, we have dressing rooms in the back. Are you guys looking for anything in particular?"

"Yeah, but we wanna look around a bit. Thanks, though," George waves off the cashier. "Let's see what we can find," he clapped his hands together and rubbed them.

I slowly walked until something caught my eye. I quickly paced over to it and pulled it off the rack. It was a blue blazer that had the torso a little longer- like the Rick and Roll superstars of 1950's America. I quickly looked at the well fades tag. I had to squint to see the tag: Small. Perfect. Just my size.

"Hey, Ritchie, found these," George held up a pair of high waisted trousers. They looked like they'd fit perfectly too.

"How did you know my size?"

"Well, when he went on our way out the house, I quickly put my hand in your pants to check the tag," he blushed heavily. Why didn't I feel him do it? I mean, you don't just shrug off someone putting their fingers down your pants.

George handed me our bag of stuff from the last shops, "Go try the whole outfit on," he shooed my over to the back of the store.
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I tightened my tie in the mirror and attempted an Elvis face- lips puckered and eyes filled with lust. I was unsuccessful. I turned around and opened the door.

George gasped, "God, you look so... hot!" God. Wait, I forgot to tell him about that Sri Krishna figure person thingy. I shouldn't bring it up now. He was having lots of fun.

"You really think so?" I knew he was lying.

"Richard Starkey, never think any less of yourself. You are my everything. And yes, you are hot. Make any girls wet, and I'll murder you," I laughed, but he didn't. He was serious. Or so it seemed.