We Can Work It Out - (LENNISON)

Two of Us Riding Nowhere

GEORGE POV (^,uwu,)

"Look, I wish reporters were less interested in our lives and more into the music we create, but that's not going to happen," John said. He had leaned his chair back to a reclining position and rested one of his legs on the passenger seat dashboard. He had his arms crossed behind his head in a very relaxed position.

"I don't care about that stuff John, I feel bad for you," I confessed, "I mean, they really need to let you and Cynthia be."

John let out a 'humph' and remained silent. I sat in a position rather the opposite to his: straight back, arms straight ahead on the wheel, and only looking at the road and passing signs. I was unfamiliar with the route back so John was directing. Truth be told, this is taking longer than I thought it would.

Silence fell over us and I turned on the radio for background noise. The sky grew darker and John sang along a little to the songs he recognized. I enjoyed when he sang, even though I know he hates his voice. 

"God," he exclaimed, "can you believe it's only been about five months since Revolver?"

I hadn't even thought about that, "It seems forever ago."

"Yea, I mean we look and sound better now," he declared proudly, but then sank a little lower in his seat, "right George?"

His brilliant eyes bore into the side of my face and forced me to look away from the road for just a second, "John, we've all got mustaches now and are writing songs as if we're some other band. So, I'd say we're pretty good." I smiled at him warmly.

He nodded, expressionless, and returned to his relaxed state, closing his eyes and tapping his knee with his fingers and humming. 

"Hey, Johnny?" I pestered, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Course Geo."

"Do you still care for Cynthia?"

Dead silence. He had stopped humming and the music seemed far too loud as a result of the silence or the fact that it was a new Rolling Stones hit playing. I reached over and shut off the sound. 

"I-" John stuttered, "I don't really know. I mean, you understand right? I spent so much time with her in my life and she's a great person. In fact, one of the best people I know. And I know I'm not good enough to be by her side. We both weren't satisfied with our relationship but-"

He stopped and gestured to the left road in an upcoming fork, "That way."

"I know what you're saying John, and I don't blame you. I want you to know that I'll be here for you if, uh need to talk about it or something," I murmured and set a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Also, you do realize that if I crash, your knee is going to go straight through your face?" 

John laughed but didn't move. I shook my head and removed my hand. We'd been on the road for what seemed like forever, and I'm starting to regret taking John with me.

"John, are you sure this is the way back to the studio?" I demanded, my voice rising.

"Yes, why?"

"We just passed a sign that said: 'now leaving London'," I glowered and shot a glare at my passenger, "what the fuck Lennon?! You said you were leading me home! You aren't this thick!"

"I wanted to get away, but couldn't drive myself," He mumbled, setting his foot down and crossing his arms. He looked guiltily out the front window, trying to avoid my intense pointed look. 

"And you didn't think to ask?!" It was hard to be angry and drive at the same time. A few spare houses dotted the sides of the road and I kept my eyes out for a petrol station.

"I wanted you to come with me, and I didn't think you would if I told you my plan upright."

"Well you were correct," I shouted, "There's a Shell here, I'm pulling over."

I pulled the car into Shell's car park. The lights seemed especially bright against the dimming sky. I shut down the car and leaned back in my seat with a huff. I looked over at John, who had not moved from his defensive position. 

"I need air," I declared and exited my car. I leaned against the side of the machine and pulled a pack of cigs out of my pocket. I lit one up and placed it in between my teeth while pulling my coat closer to my body. 

I let the smoke fill my lungs and then breathed it out. My stress exhaled with my breath. Cars on the highway behind me rumbled and the illuminated station in front of me beckoned, but I didn't move. 

I heard my other car door open, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of my acknowledgment. I watched the sun sink below the horizon behind the station. Stars started to dot the sky and my cig had run out. I turned to face John, who was looking out in the opposite position I had just been in.

"Do you have a plan?" I questioned. When he turned to face me, I held out a cig for him and a glimmer of a smile crossed his lips. He took it and I held out my lighter for him. 

"I do," he responded after breathing out smoke, "I brought enough notes to rent hotels and whatnot, and you've got yer guitar in the back seat. That way if Macca gets on us, we can claim this is a writing retreat."

"You could have just told me this, I'd be on board," I sulked, leaning crossing my arms and leaning them against the top of my car. 

"I'm sorry Geo," he looked down at his feet and then popped his head up excitedly, "but I can make it up to you."

"Oh no," I groaned, wary of his sly smile.

A few minutes later we were back on the road. The only thing different was the numerous bottles of booze we now had in the back seat. I guess I'm about to go on an adventure. 

I really don't mind this, I thought while I glanced at John who was laughing at a joke I had previously told. A real good laugh too, one that made him close his eyes and reveal his teeth. 

Maybe I'm just fine going anywhere John is.