And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 88: To Be Young Again

 Nothing bad happened.

The duo had actually made it to Paris and I gotten my first letter in the mail today. It was such a relief to hear from John, even if his words were only words on a page.

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you

Tomorrow I'll miss you

Remember I'll always be true

And then while I'm away

I'll write home every day

And I'll send all my loving to you

John didn't write these words, but I thought of them from the first time I got the letter from him and a rare photograph. The photograph made me laugh: John and Paul, squeezed into a photo booth both wearing their bowler hats. The letter attached read instead of drainies, these Frenchmen wear wide legged pants. Wouldn't that be a hoot back in Liverpool?

"Cora?"

I jammed the paper back in its envelope, shoved it under my pillow, and called toward the door, "Come in, George."

He entered in pajama pants and a white t-shirt, a piece of paper in his hand, his brow furrowed. "Have you heard from Paul or John? I haven't, and I'm not sure if we're supposed to be anywhere in the next couple of days for gigs or..." he trailed off, waiting for a response. I shifted on my bed uncomfortably. The letter seemed to burn hot, searing the blanket against my backside and I jumped, ready to beat it in the race to George. "They're, uh, they're in Paris. I just got a letter from John," sprang from my mouth.

"Paris?" Before his expression of annoyance, I caught a fragment of hurt, hurt at being left out of the experience. "Seriously, Cora?"

My lips curled against each other in discomfort. "I'm sorry."

There was quiet.

"Doesn't this mean the band is over?" George finally asked in the softest of voices.

"What? Are you blaggin' me head, George?" I asked him, incredulous. "It's not over."

"Well, two of them off to Paris, not having the decency to tell anyone where they went, I'd say it's pretty much over," and he slammed the door, not before leaving the piece of paper he had been holding as he entered the room. A prickle of guilt passed down my spine. I should have told George, but John would have been angry. It wasn't my business, though. Had I done the right thing?

The piece of paper that George dropped caught my eye and I inched forward cautiously to pick it up. Upon first glance I saw that it was for me from Anna, my name written in black ink on the envelope. I opened it.

Dearest Cora,

Wie geht es dir? It has truly been too long since I have spoken with you face to face.

You wouldn't believe what has happened the other day. I was with a friend in her dormitory and we turned the radio on and who do we hear but you! Unmistakably you and the boys—the Beatles—soon to be the biggest band, I believe it. If you remember, the song was "My Bonnie."

My roommate and I ran to the nearest record shop and bought the record. The B side was "the Saints," which made me realize that you all recorded this the day I broke up with George.

All this to say, I feel as if I should tell you something. George and I are seeing each other again. My mother's death made me realize that I need to take hold of what I have and make it last, and what I had with George was truly something special. And that's why I would move to Liverpool and continue my studies at the Liverpool College of Art as a transfer student.