1980s Collection

23 October 1984

Paul was stuck waiting in traffic. It was a real drag.

It was a gloomy day, but nice and comforting in its mellowness. The rain hit the car roof, making pattering sounds. You were both in the back seat, being driven to Paul's offices. Paul himself was busy writing things on his papers. Sometimes it was legalities, business-orientated things, or thoughts and ideas he didn't want to forget.

The radio host was speaking, then transitioned the station into a song.

You lifted your head from his shoulder, pepping up. You whispered to him.

"Remember the day you wrote this one?" You whispered to him. "We were in that park."

Paul's eyes flitted from his notes, glancing at the driver, then back at you.

"Yes..." Paul said. It seemed that he remembered, judging by his pinkening cheeks. "...I do."

Paul flushed so easily. It was as if he couldn't recall half the obscene things he'd done over the years. How funny.

"It was empty that day," You whispered. "...so we found that shady tree, and-"

"Yes. I know." Paul hissed, cutting you off, worried the driver would hear.

It wasn't very likely that he would. The rain was loud, and he'd turned the radio higher once the cong came on.

You brought your lips closer to his ear. You whispered along with the song.

"And then we'd lie, beneath a shady tree...I love her and she's loving me..." You giggled, interrupting the song. "Not quite lovemaking what we did, I'd say."

You picked it back up, whispering along.

"...she feels good, she knows she's looking fine..." You punctuated the words, mimicking his bubbly voice. "...I'm so proud to know that, she is mine..."

Paul glanced out the window, then back to the driver, a bit flustered.

"I'd be afraid to hear the song you'd write from that day." He muttered playfully. "Mine did, but yours wouldn't get past the censors."

"In 1966?" You said amusedly. "No, it wouldn't."

You pressed your lips to his ear, voice even lower.

"I'd say you're just as irresistible now as you were then." You purred. "And you're not stoned all day long."

Paul coughed into his hand, eyes forward.

"Well, it helped me write Got to Get You Into My Life, didn't it?" He said. "That one's your favorite, you said."

You shook your head playfully.

"No, no, I Want to Tell You is."

Paul scoffed. You put your hand on his thigh with amusement.

"Come on Paul," You said, patting his leg. "You know nobody can sing the way you do."

That seemed to placate him. His head rested on your shoulder, your hand still on his thigh.

"Hey, I think we may need to pull over." The driver suddenly said, turning down the music. Paul lifted his head.

"You what?"

"Something's wrong with the engine...I'll have to see about phoning somebody." He said. "Terribly sorry."

Paul parted his lips, but nodded.

He pulled into a rest stop parking lot. It was rather empty.

The driver unbuckled himself, he stepped out, sticking his head in the car.