⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Seventeen: A Beautiful Moment, to Put it Simply

August 17, 1961

Later that day, John and I found ourself fixated in my room. John had brought over his guitar and he was finally gonna see how terrible I was at this.

"So," I said.

"So," he mocked. "Whatcha know?" He sat the object across my lap and I looked at it like it was an abnormally large potato. I didn't exactly know what to do.

"Well," I began, wrapping my hands around the neck. "I know it's a guitar?"

John laughed, shaking his head. "Surely you know more than that."

"Well, these are frets," I pointed to the pieces of metal lining the fretboard. He nodded, grinning consistently and amusedly. "And I know the strings are," I plucked the strings one by one as I named them. "E...A...D...G...B...E?" I looked to him for confirmation. He nodded. "And I know that this-." I formed a chord I hoped was right, "-is a G?" The sound came out alright and by the look on John's face, I assumed it was right. I played the few more chords I knew and John nodded when I knew nothing more.

"I mean...not bad," he said. "It's a start."

"Not much of one though," I replied.

"I want you to play with us," he said stubbornly, crossing his arms. "And I'm thinking you can." He smirked, leaning back against the headboard of my bed.

I shook my head. "Whatever."

He reached out his arms and I handed him the guitar back. He began to pick out a little tune I recognized. "Love, Love me do / You know I love you / I'll always be true / So please love me do." He sang happily with a wink. I wrinkled my nose and looked away from him towards the picture of my parents on my dresser, the haunting smiles. I looked away, but not quick enough for John not to notice. I watched in vain as his eyes scanned where mine just were. When I presumed he caught sight of the photograph, he pointed to it and looked at me imploringly.

Why do I keep getting myself in these stupid situations?

"Who—?"

I cut him off with a sigh. "My parents. It's the only picture I have."

He nodded absently, his lips curling into a warm and distant smile. He stood up and walked to the dresser, cautiously picking up the picture frame. "You look just like your mother," he commented, smiling at me. I gave him a weak, sad smile in return. Then, he walked back over to me. "They seem lovely," he said.

I sighed again, deflated. "I wouldn't know, I suppose."

He saw the tears in my eyes and wiped them away with his sleeve, putting his arm around me cautiously. "I know they were. And, y'know what?" he said.

"What?" I looked up at him.

"I know that they love you so, so much. And I know that they're so, so, so proud of you for being so strong," he whispered and that only made me cry harder. And he just sat there patiently, as I ruined his shirt with tears.

"I'll play with you guys once or twice," I choked out between heaves.

"You—what?"

"Teach me an easy part and I'll play."

"Are you sure?" he asked unsurely as he gently rubbed his hand on my back as my breathing evened out again.

"Yes, I am," I said, thinking back to when my grandpa would sit me in the parlor and teach me guitar chords and play me records while my grandmother made cookies in the kitchen, the smell drifting through the house dreamily. Perhaps I just longed for the nostalgic feeling the memory gave me, or maybe I genuinely just wanted to play with them. It was silly how after all these years, this stuff still effects me so much. Maybe it was normal, though.

He stayed silent a while as I finished crying and then he sat there again, just holding me and gazing at the photograph he still held in his hand.

"Y'know, Donna," he said a while later. "My mother always told me to go with my heart, and I always wanted to obey that, but sometimes I just couldn't find the way to. I was just too scared, y'know? Where my heart wanted to go wasn't always risk-free."

I nodded. He sighed and I could feel him looking at me, perhaps longingly.

"John?" I asked.

"Yes, Donna?"

"I—." I paused, regretting speaking up for the reason I had. "What was it like? T-t-to know your mother?"

At first he looked surprised, but the expression was quickly taken over by a sad one, then angry, and finally, deflated, almost confused. The emotions passed over his face in waves and it was painful to watch how fast they changed. For a spilt second, he looked like he might throw something and I was scared my question may've gone too far, but then he looked at me with a soft glance that was almost pitiful and I knew he wasn't mad, or sad, or really anything. He looked dead emotionless and that scared me, knowing that something can be so horrible that it can wipe you of all emotion, no matter how tough you may seem. It was an unexplainably depressing feeling.

"Well, it's comforting," he began with a shuddering sigh. "I didn't really know how to feel when she first started to take care of me. Y'know, I didn't know her all that well because she didn't really raise me. Yet, I loved her so much, y'know? It's just like a feeling ye can't explain. I didn't know her well that long, but I'm so glad we had worked it out because...when I...lost her, it was cratering. I'm so thankful I knew her, Donna. She had such an impact on me...I don't know what I would've done without her." His voice cracked and that's why I presumed he stopped. It looked like he had so much more to say, but he couldn't find the energy in himself to say it. The remorse killed him. That was only the first time I saw him actually cry.

I didn't quite know what to say after that. Seeing John cry was an experience, to say the least. Of course it wasn't heavy sobbing, quite like my anxiety-ridden breakdowns were, but only streaming tears and desperation in every sniffle. Nonetheless, it was heartbreaking and I hoped I'd never see it again. We ended up just staying on my floor a while, ditching the bed and just holding one another. Just as friends. No silly flirting involved, just two friends bonding over something unspeakable. I felt comforted and at ease, like nothing could ever happen to me, butterflies comfortably roaming in my stomach.

It was a beautiful moment, to put it simply.