⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Ninety-Four: The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

October 1, 1962

"Love Me Do" was hitting shelves in three days. The boys went on and on about it. They were growing impatient. I'm between gigs, they'd constantly been out doing stuff together to pass the time. They could often be found spending the night at one another's houses as well, where they were undoubtedly playing music until they'd get in trouble. They wouldn't stop, but rather drop it down a notch and wait until they'd get yelled at again.

On a sleepless night, I was woken by rocks hitting my window. The familiar sound took me back. This time last year the boys were in Hamburg, unknowingly on the road to being kicked out. They didn't have a manager yet, although that would change very soon. They were still just a four-piece band from Liverpool. Ever since this time last year, too much had changed to wrap my head around.

I put my book down and made my way over to my window, dodging things spread across my floor with precision. I expected to find the band staring at me from John's window, but I didn't. Instead, I found them standing on the lawn between our two houses. They were wordlessly motioning for me to come down there. It was two in the morning, I knew they couldn't yell.

I silently closed the window back and slipped a jacket—John's leather one that he'd never asked to have back—around my shoulders.

I made the stealthy middle-of-the-night trip out the front door that I'd made too many times before to be proud of.

"What do you want?" I asked them as I made it to the edge of the road. I had hopelessly tried to comb my hair with my hands on my way down, but I knew I hadn't succeeded in doing much, so I kept running my hands through it insecurely.

"We couldn't sleep," said John, coming over and taking me by the arm. "And it seems you couldn't either. Didn't take much to get you up."

I shrugged. "Wasn't tired."

Later today, the boys were to sign a five-year management contract with Brian. The last one they'd signed didn't have Brian's signature, and therefore gave them a chance to back out in case Brian didn't secure them with a label. Now, however, with the release date of their first single being a measly four days away, they knew that Brian had proved himself worthy.

~~~

The signing, like last time, took place at NEMS. Paul and George's fathers were there since the pair was still under 21.

They took careful time to read over the whole contract. They were told exactly where to sign and what everything meant.

Johns still managed to sign in the wrong spot. He quickly, with cheeks tinged pink, marked out the incorrect signature and signed where he was supposed to.

It didn't take long, maybe about twenty minutes. Everyone seemed content with it. The boys were all excited, as were Brian and I too. By noon, the Beatles had secured a five-year management contract.

"To the next five years!" yelled John at a diner afterwards, thrusting a milkshake into the air. We got a few dirty looks from other people at the small establishment, but we didn't pay any attention to it. Everyone was too happy.

We'd been to this diner a hundred times before, but today felt different. Today was the first day of the rest of our lives.

October 4, 1962

"Donna, Donna, Donna‽ It's us, the fucking Beatles, on our own bloody record!" I woke up groggily and rushed over to open the window, but before I made it over, a rock finally busted through. It had had a good run, I suppose. I wrenched the remnants of it open with a sigh.

"What's up?" I asked. I saw them waving a 45 at me eagerly.

"Sorry 'bout yer window!" called George.

"It's fine I don't like solid things anyway!" I replied with a roll of my eyes.

"Let us in," said John, his eyes bright. "We gotta listen to it!"

I didn't close the window, deciding it wouldn't be necessary now and dodged a little pile of broken glass to get dressed quickly and run downstairs to unlock the door. They came in as quick as they could. I had gone into the kitchen beforehand to get something to eat, knowing I wouldn't have been able to with them inside.

"No milk in your cereal, Donna?" asked John amusedly as he came inside.

I shrugged. "I had four hoodlums knocking on my door," I responded simply.

"Our bad," said Paul. "Now, c'mon, quick, let's put it on."

I rolled my eyes as John pulled me eagerly into the living room by my wrist and placed me in a chair. Ringo and George sat on the couch. Paul went behind John, who was clearing his throat, to put the disc on.

"And now," said John in his best radio announcer voice. "I present the very first record by a little band called the Beatles! Strange name, isn't it?" he added sarcastically to pass the time as Paul placed the needle down and waited patiently for the music to start.

Finally, it did. John's harmonica was soon playing through the speakers.

"Hey!" said George. "Is that—?"

"—John Lennon?" finished Paul.

"Yeah!" John said and then shushed everyone as the recording went into Paul's part.

"Love me do, yeah, love me do."

"Paul McCartney?" said Ringo. "Is that you?"

Paul put on a look of mock surprise. "I think it is!"

They all laughed. I had never seen them so happy. I was then told excitedly that it had been selling nicely down at NEMS and the four looked to be so relieved they could full on break down in tears of joy.

When "Love Me Do" finished, John eagerly went over to flip it to the B-side, the original called "PS I Love You" that they'd fought hard to land on the single. When the record began to spin, John fell back on the ground in front of me, leaning his head back on my lap and smiling dopily at me upside-down. I smiled back and he returned his gaze to their record as I began to stroke his hair playfully, George Martin's words after finishing this very recording ringing in my ears.

"I think we've got a hit, boys."