I've Got A Feeling

Chapter Twenty Two

schluckspecht= guzzling woodpecker, (I.E. he's calling out John for his heavy drinking)
kriecher=saliva licker
(Both are in German btw, it probably won't be the most accurate for those who speak the language, I tried my best. I want to learn it myself actually, but right now everything is kind of jumbled up.)

For some reason Paul never showed up to celebrate my eighteenth. I swear I heard someone run down the street sobbing but by the time I looked up no one was there. It was probably a bird who got dumped. I waited and waited, but he never showed. I decided to walk home after I lost the feeling in my fingers and couldn't move them without much force.

"Hello Mimi." "Hello John, ya go drinkin' again? Have a good day at uni." I sighed, it hurt knowing Paul didn't show up. "Uni, it was fine as normal, pissed off a couple lecturers. As for the drinking, no I did not. I decided not to, it's bad for my 'ead anyway." I was walking up the stairs when I heard her mumble behind the daily papers. "What?" "Paul never showed up, did he?" "I-I didn't ask Paul out to drinks." "Oh yes ya did, you couldn't sit down for the whole damn week." I raced up the stairs, knowing she was right. I had been on my chair the entire time waiting for the ninth.

I sat down on my bed shaking my hands to warm them up. Please be there to pick up, you've got to be. There was nothing but silence from the other end. Paul please. Okay, I might have lied. But I was good and only had one bevy. Only one, okay? I dialed and called but every single time there would be no answer. It was sundown when I began this adventure, and now it was very dark outside, the sky packed with stars this Thursday night. Nine o'clock and still no sign of him. Finally there was a click on the other line. "Who is it that keeps calling this late at night?" It was rough edged, definitely annoyed. "M-Mr. McCartney, may I speak to your son, p-please?" I flinched at the last second, knowing he would yell at me to stop calling and stop seeing his son. "Fine, just don't call this late again." There was silence until I heard a sheepish voice. "J-John?" "Paul, you answered. Why didn't you show up earlier? I thought we were supposed to be celebrating together." "Oh, I uh, I- forgot up until it was too late to show up. Homework, y'know." "Oh, okay. I get it, I'm pretty blocked right now as well." I didn't believe him, but I knew I shouldn't push him. "Well, goodnight Paul." "Goodnight John." I couldn't make my hand put the phone back on the handle. I wanted to hear more of his voice. That's when my ears were hit with sniffled through the receiver. It was Paul, I could tell.

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The phone went ringing again. It was so loud I could hear it all the way from upstairs. Blaring into my ears, head pounding. I tossed over to my other side, pulling the pillow over my face. It was no use. "For Christ's sake," is what I heard my father say. Silence, beautiful silence at last. I finally realized my eyes burned and my head pounded like a hammer as I let out a deep sigh. My muscles felt weak too. "Paul, there's someone on the phone for you!" "I'm not answering it Da'!" "It's John and if you don't get yer ass down here he's gonna keep calling through the whole damn night!" I raced down the stairs to see me dad holding the phone and staring at me like I died. "You really need to eat or something Paul." "I'm not hungry." "Well either way you need to answer the phone."

My voice was shaking as I replied to the other line. "J-John?" My hands were fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, my eyes closing from all the work they were put through. "Paul, you answered. Why didn't you show up earlier? I thought we were supposed to be celebrating together." I froze on the inside. What am I supposed to say? That hey, "I was gonna tell you that I love you and want to kiss the fuck out of you but I saw you and Stu snogging so I ran off and cried my eyes out like a baby to George."? "Oh, I uh, I- forgot up until it was too late to show up. Homework, y'know." I crossed my fingers hoping he would believe me. "Oh, okay. I get it, I'm pretty blocked right now as well."

There was silence until he cut it off. "Well, goodnight Paul." "Goodnight John." Silence once again. I felt the tears rush down my face as my nose began to run. I couldn't let go of the phone. "Paul, are you okay?" "Yeah, just fine dad." I watched as he exited the room.

I feel hurt. Out of anger I slammed the telephone down on the handle, the loud clanging radiating throughout the quiet house. Big sobs erupted from my lungs, but were cut short and silenced when I realized Michael was standing right in front of me. "Are you-" "Yes I'm fine! Leave me alone!" I pushed past him and ran up the stairs only to slam my door shut and have it lock. I slid down the wall, pushing my knees into my chest, feeling my lip whimpering. I fucking hate myself. And I hate you, but I know that's not true.

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We were having one of our weekly practices again. I think the only reason we're having them often now is because John needs an excuse for Paul to talk to him. I watched as he tried to start up a conversation, but Paul just left. I followed him to see he slammed the door to the bathroom. I gently knocked on the door. "Paul? It's just me." His voice was weak. "Come in George." I turned the knob to see his head in his hands, not daring to look at his appearance. "What's wrong?" He shook his head and engulfed me in a hug. Tears are hot and fresh alright. I lifted his face to see it was awfully pale. "Are you alright Macca?" I stared with concerning eyes.

"No." "What happened out there?" He took a lagging breath. "It's just, he walked over to me and said hi, and I couldn't take it. First he confesses his feelings, doesn't talk to me for what? Practically two months, asks to meet me for his birthday, kisses Sutcliffe, and tries to talk to me again like this?" "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry. You look nauseous." "Cause I am." "Hey, it's okay. If you need to, throw your guts up Macca. I just want to comfort my mate." More tears came out of his eyes as he hugged me again. "Thank you."

Anger filled me as I saw him cry even harder as his stomach emptied. You did this Lennon. You fucking did this to him. "You can leave George." He always knew I wasn't the best at handling medical tasks. "Thanks Paul." I checked my hair in the mirror before skipping out of there. You could slightly hear Paul if you listened very closely, but I made sure to get one of them check the volume. "I think it should be a little louder, yeah? Just a tad." They did as I requested and noodled with the sound. I was about to grab my guitar when I felt a tap on my shoulder. "What?" I said nicely, not knowing who it was. "Is Paul okay? He says he's fine but I feel like he's lyin to me. Is there something going on?" I clenched my fists as I looked into John's eyes, rage filling my veins. He's the reason Paul's upset. "He's fine." "Really?" I snapped, I couldn't hold in my emotions for an eternity.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask yer fucking boyfriend Lennon!" "What did I do?" "Oh I don't know, ask yer lover or whatever he is to you bassist, schluckspecht, kriecher!" I stormed off and slammed the door behind me open. It was cold yes, but anything beats having to stare at that ass-face and expect me for everything to be okay. Paul is like a brother to me and I hate to admit it, but I would die for him. He's not like my other brothers, y'know? He jokes around with me more than trying to screw me over. Did I mean to use German? Who knows, it sort of came out. The only reason I know what they mean is because there was this one kid who knew full on German and told us when the teachers weren't looking. Damn, I really miss that fiver.

I lit a cigarette and slipped it in between my lips. The long drag was nice, a release of stress for me. I heard the door open. Shit, here we go again. "What the hell did John just tell me George?! You screamed at him?" "I did what I had to do, okay Macca?" I crossed my arms, taking another drag while he got in my face. "No, you shouldn't have done that George. I'm my own person, I don't need you taking care of my problems, okay? Now he's asking me what's wrong." "Look, you mean a lot to me Macca. That means sometimes I have to scream at people for your sake. I would die for you, I hope you know that!" The specks of green in his eyes eased up. His gaze turned warming. "You-, You'd die for me?" I turned away so he wouldn't see my face soften. "Of course I would. Yer a brother to me." "That, that means a lot. Yer my little brother George, but I don't want you getting hurt because of me." I wrapped him in a hug. Under my breath, I mumbled the same three words that I had been for three BLOODY YEARS.

"Eight months Macca."