Chapter Two

Lena opens her eyes very wide. "Where am I?" She looks all around and sees trees, people and cars. Very old cars. Lena faces forward and jumps with recognition, "Oh my Lord! There is no way!" She steps closer to inspect the crosswalk that is outstretched before her.

It is not any ordinary crosswalk, "It can't be," she says in a hushed whisper. Lena's eyes dart rapidly to her surroundings. Girls wore peacoats with mini skirts and teased hair. Crimson telephone booths lined the street. She looks once again to the crosswalk and the white building that stands stately across the street. Lena squints her eyes to read the sign above the red door, "EMI Recording Studios!" She tries to clasp her hand over her mouth to muffle the scream rising in her throat, but she realizes that her hands were already full.

She looks down to see that she is carrying a guitar case and a bohemian style quilted bag. Her clothes were not her pajamas and not from her closet, but she likes them. A purple and gray filmy skirt, black ankle boots, a gray peasant blouse and a black peacoat that shields her from the cold. Lena puts down the guitar case and hears a familiar jingle. She rolls up the sleeves to find her bracelets that extend up to her elbow. Her hands are adorned by the same silver rings and paled by dark green nail polish.

She retrieves the guitar case and jogs up the road, "I have to find a newspaper!"

Luckily, she finds a paperboy on the corner and surprisingly there was money in her coat pocket. How much she was not sure, she doesn't now how to count British money. Lena flips the paper over to reveal the date, "November 15, 1966! I have to be dreaming!" In near hysterics, she runs back to the place that she had first found herself, in front of that hallowed crosswalk.

She paces back and forth frantically, trying to figure out what to do. "Where did these clothes come from? How did I get here? Am I even still me?"

Lena's eyes widen with this prospect and she runs to the nearest store window. She peers at the reflection and sighs with relief, "It's me. I'm here. I'm here in London."

She excitedly returns to the bench and picks up the patchwork backpack, "Time to see what you are all about." She begins to rummage through and finds two skirts (one green and one brown), a pair of patched bell-bottom jeans, three shirts (white, black, and green), pajamas, socks, and underwear all in her size. There was also a makeup bag containing shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, soap, deodorant, taupe eye shadow, ivory powder, eyeliner, black mascara, and shimmery lip gloss. Lena digs deeper and produces a book THE COMPLETE EDGAR ALLAN POE and a handful of guitar picks. She thumbs through the book thoughtfully, then stumbles upon a scrap of paper.

Lena's long, wavy hair blows with the wind, her green eyes wide as a shiver produces its way up her spine. She unfolds the paper only to read:


Lena's mouth drops into a small 'o'. So many thoughts run through her head. Suddenly, a pang of hunger runs through her stomach. She looks from side to side and notices a diner on a nearby corner. Lena puts the note in the book and the book back in the bag. She slips the bag on her shoulder, takes the guitar case in her right hand and the newspaper in her left. Lena walks towards the diner looking down at the newspaper.

Suddenly she is hit with full force and falls to her knees. The man she hits scatters pages from a notebook. Lena is stunned and feels clumsy and very embarrassed. She drops the guitar case and the newspaper and collects the loose sheaves.

"I am so sorry, truly I am," Lena whispers as she collects more papers.

"It's alright, luv," he says in a calming voice. He takes Lena's wrist gently and gathers the papers from her hand. Lena lifts her eyes to meet his, "I am so..."

"Sorry," she finishes after an uncomfortable pause. Lena smiles shyly but never takes her eyes away. She tries not to scream, cry, pass out or throw up because she was looking directly into the brown eyes of one of her heroes, Paul McCartney. She notices the way his hair falls across his forehead and how they appear to be close to the same age.

Lena hands him the rest of the papers and apologizes again. Mr. McCartney smiles and says, "It's alright, really." He extends his hand to her and she takes it without hesitation.

Once on her feet, Lena picks up her guitar case and newspaper then continues to look at him, "Well, I'm sorry. But I guess I should be going."

Before she could scamper away, Paul McCartney grabs her by the wrist. She meets his eyes once again and he steps closer to her in a hushed tone, "Dear miss, since you have unexpectedly run into me, the least you can do is leave me with your name."

Lena croaks, "My name?" Paul nods and waits for an answer. She clears her throat, "I'm Lena. Lena McGaughey."

Paul looks satisfied with this answer, lets go of her wrist and chuckles, "Well, Miss McGaughey. It's is a pleasure to meet you." Lena blushes a bit but manages a brilliant smile. Paul extends his left arm to shake her hand, "My name is Paul McCartney." Lena can't help but giggle at this statement and gives him a knowing look. Paul is now laughing and shaking his shaggy head, "Of course you probably already knew that, eh? She nods her head and says, "It's nice to meet you." Paul smiles and raises a finger in the air, "I am supposing, Lena, that there is a good chance that you are lost?"

Lena shakes her head in agreement, "I'm a veritable Alice down the rabbit hole."

Paul shrugs and says nonchalantly, "Well, I was just on my way to get a bite to eat. I don't suppose you would want to come with?"

Lena shudders at the thought of Paul McCartney watching her eat. It made her stomach churn, but her stomach was already churning due to lack of food. She looks at Paul and says, "Sure, I'd love to."

Paul smiles and motions for her to walk ahead, "Come along then, Lena McGaughey."

Lena follows him, confused as to whether she should walk behind or beside this glorious person.

Chapter Three

Written by Cinder Whittier. May not be reproduced in any form, by any means, without the permission of the author. Permission may be obtained by e-mail.

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Background courtesy of Vic "the Slick"