We Can Work it Out
by Kelonzi

* * * * * * * *

Ever since mum died, I wanted to do something special. Prove that I was more than Little Paulie who went to school all day like a good lad, then came straight home to his studies and watched over his brother. Mum would want me to make something of myself and be happy. If my music made me happy, everyone else would simply have to understand that. Ever since I'd traded in my trumpet about a year or so back for a guitar, everyone else in the house treated me... different. They'd make the jokes at my expense: "Where's Paul gotten off to?" "Oh, he's sitting up in his room plunking away on that godawful instrument of his. Why couldn't he have stuck with brass? It's so much more pleasant." Right. Pleasant. As if hooting and honking was worlds above strumming. The few experimental "blats" I'd managed to produce were so far removed from music, it was outrageous. I'd play and the dogs for miles around would howl and bury their heads in their houses.

Coming to my own defense here, I had gotten quite good. Of course, that was after I'd figured out why playing was so difficult- I'm left handed, and this guitar was designed for a right handed musician. Quick solution? Flip it around and string the cherry red thing upside down, and problem solved. Since that "operation", playing had become much easier. I'd even played with a few mates after school. I could tell that they weren't as serious about music I was though. Well, with the exception of a best mate of mine named George. He's really quite good and we enjoy jamming together on occasion. In spite of that, I felt the desire for someone who could challenge me to improve my musical skills.

Enter my newest best pal, John Lennon. I met him month ago today, backstage at one of his gigs at a local club. His group, The Quarrymen aren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but they are worlds above what I'm used to hearing from kids my age. To make a long story short, I played a bit for him and now... I'm in the band! It's incredibly exciting to be in John's world now. Late nights out, skipping out of lessons early in order to practice at my house until dad comes home---- did I mention how exciting this has been for me?

* * * * * * * *

"PAUL!! YOUR FRIEND IS HERE!" A voice called from downstairs and 17 year old Paul McCartney slammed the cover of his notebook shut. He'd been writing in a narrative style as an exercise for himself. If he could improve the style in which he wrote, he could make his songs just that much better.

"Comin'!" He bounded out of his room, grabbing his guitar case on the way out, and down the stairs.

Sitting in the main room, gazing around him with a smile on his face, was John. "Heya mate. Wanna come to my house an' work on our---"

Paul's dad stepped into the room a beat later and John bit his tongue, improvising quickly.

"Work on our homework? I could use a bit of help on the math."

Straightfaced, Paul replied, "Sure. What part didn'ya undahstand?"

"Uhm... the math." John shrugged and Paul had to fight to keep from laughing.

Paul grabbed his coat, then remembered something quickly. "Dad? If George comes over, tell him that I'll meet up with him at the corner market, okay?"

Nodding, Paul's dad headed back to his reading.

Paul wondered for a moment whether or not his father had even heard, but pushed the thought aside when he realized that John was getting impatient. "Bye!" The two boys ran out the door.

* * * * * * * *

"Ah gotta go. Ah'm sorry." George Harrison just didn't understand why his dad was giving him a hard time about going out. "Ah'll help when I get back." He said in reference to the housework that still sat around in disarray. He had promised that he'd help out, but he'd also promised Paul that they would get together and jam a little.

"Like hell you are." George heard as he strapped his guitar on his back and ran out the back door.

He was going to be about five minutes late, but, he reasoned that that really shouldn't make a difference. Paul wasn't exactly Mr. Punctuality himself. Chances were good that Paul hadn't even noticed.

Rounding the corner, he quickened his steps to shave as much as he could off of those five late minutes. He jumped the staircase and knocked on the front door. A rumbling inside tipped George off that Paul was coming to the door. George prepared himself for teasing-- he didn't like being late, and Paul knew it. He imagined Paul standing there, saying something smart like "Where ya been? Ah've been waitin' here for soooo long, mate!"

But nothing like that happened. In fact, he was met at the door by Paul's father.

"Hallo." George smiled cheerfully. He was disapointed, but maybe that just meant Paul was upstairs working on one of his songs and was too engrossed in his work to answer the door. "Paul 'ere?"

"Just missed him, son."

George tried not to look as dissapointed as he felt. Paul not there? Where would he go? "Did 'e say when 'e'd be comin' back?"

"Yes... but Ah can't remember too clearly. He went out with his best friend John for a bit, Ah think."

Crestfallen, George felt his spirits sink. Best friend? But that was him! Or, well, used to be.

"You could wait in the parlor for a bit. Ah'm sure he'll be right back."

"N-no." George found himself stuttering a bit. "S'alright. I'll just go on 'ome, I guess." Of course, he had no intention of doing so. Going home right now with how upset his father was would be like suicide.

"I'll let him know you stopped by."

"Ya do that." George walked off, staring down at the pavement. Who was this John fellow and what right did he have to take his best friend away?

* * * * * * * *

Paul sat at the corner store, thoroughly confused. "George should 'ave been 'ere."

"Paulie..." John was getting impatient. If this George was such a hot shot musician, he certainly wasn't much of a social fellow. Showing up late to a business meeting was discourteous to say the very least. Maybe he'd have to reconsider letting this 15 year old kid into the group. No matter how close he and Paul were, this was stretching things a bit. "We should go, mate."

"He'll be here, I promise."

They stood for another ten minutes, Paul trying to will George to appear coming around the corner down the street. Still, nothing.

Now John was impatient. "Macca...?"

"Fine." Paul stared down glumly. This wasn't like George at all... unless.... "Wait! I just 'ad a thought."

"It get lonely up there?" John teased.

"Just come on, ya ol' comedian." Paul motioned for John to follow him. They were going to George's house.

* * *

Running along the streets to George's house, Paul caught a few notes of a song and stopped short. John, who had been following, almost crashed into his friend when he pulled up short.

"What's wrong with ya? Tryin' ta get me killed 'ere?"

"Didja 'ear that?"

"My heart ka-thumpin' in my ears? Yeah, Paul... I 'eard that."

"No! The music!"

John was about to decide that Paul had gone completely bats when he too caught the faint strains of someone strumming the guitar not far away. "Hmm. Not bad."

"That's George." Paul smiled. "Shoulda figured 'e wouldn't 'ave cut out on me like that." Then, bragging a little for his friend's benefit, Paul added. "That's good? Wait until he's through with the warmup before you rush to judgement."

Now John was far past simple fascination. He wanted to hear this fella when he let it loose. "Should we let 'im know we're 'ere?"

"Surprise 'im." Paul and John hid around the corner from the bench that George had parked himself on. The 15 year old ran his fingers along the strings with such fluidity and composure that one would have sworn he had been born playing music. He played far better than someone his age would be expected to. In fact, he played better than a lot of the 20 somethings that John knew.

"That's amazin'." John exclaimed as George finished up and set the guitar back across his lap.

* * *


George jumped a bit when he heard someone speak directly behind him. Frankly, he wasn't aware that anyone was listening. "Not much, really. Not enough to be noticed by my friend---" He turned and was face to face with McCartney and another kid whom he'd never seen before. "-- Paul. Hey." His face clouded a little. What's he want now?

"John an' I were just listenin' to ya, mate." Paul was confused, but continued the explanation as planned. What does he mean, 'not enough to be noticed'?

"Yer playin' is fab." John supplied, sensing George's shift in mood.

George smiled politely, then turned to Paul. "Could we talk for a minute?"

"Sure thing!" Paul waited expectantly.

"Alone?"

John put his hands up and stepped off a bit to let the two childhood friends talk. "Ah'll just be over 'ere if ya need me."

"What's goin' on?" George asked the second John was out of hearing range.

"Well, it's a bit of a surprise, actually---"

"Nice surprise. When exactly were ya gonna tell me that ya replaced me with John?"

Paul practically choked. "Re-replaced?!"

"Yeah. You an' 'im 'angin' out all the time." George tried not to let his emotions show, but he was pretty damn mad... and hurt. "We used ta be mates, you an' Ah. Then you met this 'ere Lennon fella an'--- What exactly 'ave ya been doin' with 'im anyway?"

This was too much. He thinks I forgot about him? How could he? I spend more time with him than my own father! Paul stopped at that thought. Gee, that wasn't really saying much since he was never at home anyway. He and John spent nearly every waking moment together as of late and scheduling time with George had been difficult. But they had hung out together on occasion. Hadn't they? Why, the last time they got together--- You right bastard. That was supposed to be today. "George... Ah'm sorry we 'aven't been spendin' time together--"

"At all."

"-- at all. But Ah do 'ave some good news."

George tried to act as if he wasn't interested, but when Paul had good news it tended to be on the earth shattering scale.

"John 'as a band. Ah 'aven't been around because Ah've been playin' with 'em."

"Good for you." George wanted to pick up and leave. There was no point in sitting around here and listening to Paul go on and on about his new friend and their silly little band. Great for Paul, but what did this have to do with anything? Just rubbin' it in my face, I suppose.

Paul waved John back over at that moment. Here it comes. George sighed.

John cleared his throat. "George, Paulie an' I were hopin'... this is if ya wanna, a'course... that ya'd join the group. Ya play great mate, an' Paul's told me a lot about ya."

George coughed a bit in surprise. "Is this some kinda joke?"

"No joke." Paul answered. "Ah know that Ah 'aven't been around, but John an' I 'ad to convince the others that ya'd be a good addition to the group."

"Nothin' personal, mate, but they were wonderin' just how good ya could be for a---" John trailed off.

"15 year old kid." George shook his head. "I 'ear that all the time."

John smiled a sly grin. He had an idea. "We 'ave a gig tonight. Maybe if ya sit in ya can prove ta everyone that you aren't just some kid."

This was all happening so fast. Two minutes ago he was ready to walk away from his best friend Paul forever, and now--- "Sounds like fun." George's heart was beating fast as he accepted. If everything went well, who knew how far this band could go? The sky was the limit!