All his dreams had involved the same girl, but he hadn't seen her face. He had been dancing with her, but all he could remember was the feel of her arms around his neck, and her lips on his cheek...
He shook himself. What was he thinking? He did not need these feelings complicating his already busy life! He realized he probably wouldn't be able to sleep for a long time, so he got up and fixed himself a drink. He took his glass and walked out onto the porch.
He opened the door and was suprised to see Paul sitting in the corner, sobbing, with his face buried in his arms.
John put down his glass and ran to him.
"Paul, speak to me! Paul, what's the matter?"
Paul tried to choke back the sobs.
"I...I don't know, John. I just don't know....It's...it's just...I was having these awful dreams, John. The kind where you wake up, and you don't know whether you're awake, or still dreaming. John...I...I dreamed my mother was alive, and...." Paul paused.
"And?" prompted John.
"She asked me to choose, John. Between her and you. And...and, well I couldn't...I wouldn't choose, and then...then she went away again, and said she didn't know if she would ever come back, and...." he broke down.
John comforted him as best he could. He knew all too well Paul's emotion.
His own father had done the same when he was five. He came back from years of traveling and had asked little John to choose whether he wanted to live with Mummy or Daddy. John had chosen his mother, but had never lost the agony of that moment.
John began to wonder about his own dreams. What could they possibly mean? If Paul's dreams meant something, then surely his meant something too?
Thinking about Paul's dreams brought his attention back to the man who was lying in his arms, and crying like a child. John knew from experience that it would do no good to try to comfort him, and just held him. He would consider his dreams later. It was a long time before dawn broke and they were able to go back inside.
Both John and Paul were shaky from the previous night's happenings, but now John was worried. Paul seemed to have some point to his dream. Paul's mother would come between them. He was no interpreter, but if the press got hold of it, they would without a doubt translate it as the end of the Beatles. So...Paul's dream had a possible meaning, now what about his? Was there love in his future? He realized, as did most other people, that the only reason he was still with Cynthia was that he was too afraid to leave her. But if he had someone else, someone he really loved....
The voice of George called him back to Earth.
"John Lennon, that is the third chord change you've missed in the last two minutes! What is wrong with you?"
"Leave him alone, George. He'll be alright. He just needs time to think."
John looked at Paul with gratitude.
George looked at Paul with exasperation.
"Alright, guys. What the hell is going on? You two have been acting really strange today, and I want to know what's going on with you. And if I don't deserve to know, I'd like to know who does."
Paul looked at John, and nodded to tell him it was alright if he told them. He didn't really want to, though. John would understand, but he wasn't as sure about the others.
John told them about Paul's dream. He didn't mention the circumstances under which Paul told him. He decided that that was an unnecessary blow to his friend's dignity.
He didn't realize until he finished that both George and Ringo were turning an unusual shade of white-green.
"John," began Ringo, "did you by any chance have a strange dream last night, too?"
"I did. Why?"
"Well," said George, "me and Ringo were talking while you two were sleeping, and we both had unsettling dreams."
Now it was John's turn to turn white. He sank down on the couch and leaned heavily on the arm. He looked at Paul. He looked at George. He looked at Ringo. Then he fainted.
"My God, John. You look terrible! Are you alright?"
"Shit. My head hurts. Is that George?"
"Yeah." George turned to Paul. "Go find Brian, and tell him that if things continue like this, he's going to have to cancel the concert."
John heard that and tried to get up.
"No! I can't do that! Please, Paul, you can't...."
John fell over, and hit his head on the table.
The nurse heard him moaning, and immediately walked over. John looked up at her though his hazy vision, and discovered she was quite pretty.
"Please, miss." He hurt too much to be anything but polite. "Please...I have to..." he couldn't finish. The nurse guessed what he wanted and took him to the bathroom. Every step he took hurt his head. By the time they made it to the bathroom, he was in too much pain to notice that she had to help him.
He was only too glad to be back in his bed. The nurse, who introduced herself as Mary, gave John a pain killer, which sent him to sleep almost immediately.
When Mary walked in, she encountered four young men, worried not only for the show, but for their friend. They all looked up at her, hoping the news was good.
She smiled, and the mood instantly changed. There were too many questions for her to answer. Is John alright? What happened to his head? When will he be better? Paul was the most curious, wanting to know everything and anything. And not only about John.
Mary said that it would probably be about three days before John could leave the hospital. He hadn't fractured his skull, or sustained any other major injuries. But, he was badly bruised and had needed stitches. He was in a lot of pain, but they could come in and say hello if they wanted.
She got an instant reaction to that. She jumped aside as the Beatle stampede rushed by her. She continued to walk calmly down the hall. They would come back when they realized they didn't know where John's room was!
Mary reached John's room with George, Paul and Ringo close behind. John barely moved as the door opened, but when he realized who it was he immediately turned around.
"He can't talk much," said Mary, "but he'll listen. Won't you, John?"
John nodded to the best of his ability.
George told him quietly that the concert was off and Brian was really worried.
John muttered something, to the effect that he was probably more worried about the concert than his singer.
"Actually, John," put in Paul, "when we told him what happened to you, he got really upset. He doesn't like hospitals, but he wants to come see you as soon as he can."
John smiled. Cynic he might have been, but he couldn't deny Brian's good will. He remembered something, and stopped smiling.
He looked at the nurse, and gritted his teeth against the pain he knew would come. He had to say something, though.
"And what about you, though? This is a good story. Will you be going to the press with it?"
Mary looked at him. She looked at all the others, and saw four men whose entire lives were reported to newspapers. They had no privacy.
"No." she said. "I'm not. I'm actually not allowed to, you see. It's against the rules to talk about a patient without their permission. Even if the patient is a Beatle."
She looked at John, and corrected herself. "Especially if the patient is a Beatle."
John smiled at her with something more than gratitude in his eyes, and
fell asleep, wondering if love at first sight was possible.
Written by The Walrus. May not be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. Permission may be obtained by e-mail.
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