𝓖𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔀

𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟓.

𝓖𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔀

𝙎𝘼𝘾𝙍𝙄𝙁𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎

David Bowie’s Notebook

“Fame” was released. It was a busy day. We had to do some check ups for the records and sort out management. Yes, we. John decided to jump in and help me. How does he make decisions? He was waiting for me in the studio.

“Hullo.”, he plainly stated, “Want to listen to the freshest record?”

He smiled and I chuckled.

“Yeah. That would be great!”, I sat down in thought.

The song played and we carefully listened. Even though John usually looked very stoic, then he was cringing everytime he heard himself.

“I told them to iron out my voice…”, he huffed.

“I like it.”, I shrugged, “Why change something that works?”

He laughed.

“You are right.” “Let’s move onto the paperwork.”, I sighed, “This is going to suck.”

“Now, now, David. Everything is going to be fine, I’m here to keep ya company remember?”, he took one pile of papers and began sorting, “Maybe it would’ve been easier to sort this if I brought May along, though… I don’t really want to misuse her services anymore.”

I took a pile of papers and began sorting it. We sorted in silence, until I heard John.

“David, I admire your bravery.”

I was shocked.

“I could never make so many different creative personalities and then perform as them on stage.”

I stopped sorting.

“John, you are the brave one here! Your every other song is problematic and makes people rethink their actions.”

He continued sorting, stopping after a few moments.

“How do you do it?”, he looked at me.

“Hm?”

“How do you face public performances?”, he shyly brushes his hands, but quickly corrects himself and stands confidently. I was shocked.

“Why would you of all people ask me that? You are great at that! People loved your jokes in the Beatles.”

“Right, in the Beatles. And when I’m with Yoko. Can you see where the problem is? I meant alone. You do it completely alone.”, he casually explained.

“John…”, why was he so afraid and vulnerable?

 “Okay, if you want a taste of my way of performing, I can guide you through the process.”, I offered. He lit up.

“Lead the way, Mr. Stardust.”, I could hear how excited he was.

“The personas I create are to ease my fear of public performances. Nobody knows me that way. They are usually tied to my emotional wellbeing and my hobby of the day.”, I explained.

“Oh, so they are you but exaggerated.”, John smiled.

“That sounds about right.”, I chuckled, “Well, what do you feel the most, John?”

John flinched, he doesn’t share his problems that much, and when he shares them it’s usually in the form of jokes.

“I’m usually trying to be happy.”, John obviously lied.

To compensate for that I said: “Go with the opposite.”

He lifted an eyebrow and wrote down “depression”.

“Hobby of the day?”, I asked.

“Hm… What would I like to do?”, he spun around in the office chair, “I would love to write something. Maybe… Poetry, did that. Story, did that. Hm, maybe a play!”

“That’s interesting.”, my eyes widened.

“No, no, why would I write a play when I could direct one. Put on a show! That’s a great idea, a director. A play or film director.”, he got engaged. 

I got us some pens, and we laid down on the cold floor. We exchanged some ideas, he was building a narrative, while I guided him and gave him some heads up. Just like when I was learning to manage myself. He was always on hand to explain and give tips which I wholeheartedly stick to.

“So, depressed director… The budget is never enough, nor the time. A perfectionist to the core. Does everything to keep the project going.”, he frantically wrote down.

“Why would they want to keep it going?”, I asked.

“Because they, hm, value themselves through their work. Their private life is not fun. It’s a routine of daily chores and the same people that repeat over and over.”, he added.

“Same people?”, I continued.

“Low expectations for people, low standards, they can see right through their facade. Each person has their own story? Maybe they can say that.”, he became playful.

“Are you staying with they?”, I asked him.

“Huh, I didn’t even notice we were calling the character they. Let me think about it…”, he stared into a point in the studio. He abruptly stopped and looked at me.

“What do ya say, pal? Should I stick with it? Or should I go with high heels or disgusting sandals?”

Now I’ve joined the staring squad, staring deep into his eyes trying to read his sorrows. His eyes were smiling on the outside, but under the surface they looked like they were tired of everyone and everything. Tired of looking after people. Yet, something in him put up with all the problems he had to face. Something that wanted him to persevere and wanted him to be the perfect ideal all of us made him out to be. Something that controlled him like a puppet and to which he has no control over. I was reminded of Yoko, because of the controlling part, but she was never that authoritative. Maybe I should give him a chance to be authoritative in a more professional setting. He was always up to challenges and it would be a good way for him to let out his frustrations. It’s an exercise after all.

“You should go with…”

“High heels.”, both of us said at the same time.

“Glad to know you agree.”, he joked. What?

“David, you were staring for so long I didn’t know if you’d say anything so I thought “fuck it, let’s play dressup”.”, he patted me on the shoulder.

I chuckled.

“Alright, John. Now, use all of this information and take one of your songs that would suit her and sing it to me.”, I explained.

“That would suit her…”, he thought out loud.

He wrote down a list of his songs, then played around with his pencil, scribbling around.

“I don’t think my solo career suits her.”, he erased all of the songs, “But I have an idea. I’ll do something I was afraid of singing for a while, and that was never done live in the first place. Though here is no audience but alright, you’ll do.”

He became nervous.

“Are you okay?”, I asked him.

“I am fine. I’m not really looking the part so I don’t think I can sing yet.”, he chuckled.

I decided to let him go all in then.

“We should get you an interesting costume. You already dress strikingly, so we’ll go with the opposite.”

“You are correct. She just wants to work on her project- and I made up my mind- she should be a play director. The world's a stage.”

John was really getting into the process and I was so happy he felt that way, even though we weren’t serious. I looked up to him for so long, so for him to look up to me for something was so exciting!

“Style me. You are the master after all.”, he said.

“Alright.”, I joked, “We’ll not do much.”

I untied his hair, it fell too flat. I roughed it up, and it became a bit more curly and it fell naturally.

“I think I won’t use my glasses. It’s a John thing.”, he put away his glasses.

“I forgot to mention you should alienate yourself. But I think you’ve figured that one out yourself.”, I was impressed.

He turned and looked at me, swooshing his hair. It was weird looking at him without his recognizable glasses. His eyes seemed bigger and his nose smaller. That was a good decision on his part.

“I haven’t seen you with long hair and no glasses. You look so much softer.”, I admitted.

“I had long hair in the Beatles during the early years.”, he argued.

“It was tied back.”, I was doing his eyebrows and noticed I was scraping some gunk away. Was it some kind of makeup or something… No, no, I’m overthinking things. He became quiet. He had a small stubble that could easily be covered. I thought it would poke out a bit, but no, it blended in perfectly. It was quite soft… I thought he could just take off some stuff and he would have a character.

“What makeup do you want?”

“Oooh, I know. I want to be like Twiggy herself. I like that bird a lot. I remember, when we were still teds, the band used to wank off to her. It was like a competition-”

I was laughing out loud.

“I don’t want to listen to your wet dreams, Lennon.”, I was on the brink of choking.

“If you say so, though, it is quite spicy. Maybe even inspiring.”, he winked. “Take off everything that is too extravagant off yourself. So as to not ruin your precious makeup.”, I joked.

“Fine, David.”, he took off his scarf, his jacket, his belt, his pins and his watch. Leaving him in his shirt, jeans and worn out trainers. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and left one pin on. “I love Paul”. I always wondered why he liked that pin so much.

I added blue eyeshadow and did the eyeliner like Twiggy did. I put some blush on his cheeks. I gave him lipstick.

“It’s the last step.”, I chuckled.

He smiled and put on lipstick.

“Are you now comfortable?”, I asked.

He was quite nervous. Maybe he was nervous as himself, but now his nervousness was more evident with those accented doll-like eyes. 

“He, he, of course.”, he said.

“Then it’s time for the last step in my process. Just sing.”

He went to the table and took his guitar. He tuned it meticulously, he never tuned it that much trying to get the right note. He stood up, and began playing. It was “Happiness Is A Warm Gun”. But he changed the lyrics…

I’m not a girl who misses much

Do do do do do do, oh yeah

His voice was the same though it began to gain a much more sad and slow tone.

I’m well-acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand

Like a lizard on a window pane

My man in the band with the multicolored mirrors

On his hobnail boots

Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy

Working overtime

A soap impression of his wife which he ate

And donated to the National Trust

His voice didn’t go deep on this next part. It remained as high as when he sang the first.

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down

Down to the pits that I left uptown

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down

He got more theatrical. It’s like he felt the lyrics hit him for the first time.

Mother Superior jumped the gun

The unexpected falsetto here scared me. He felt like doing everything different. He continued repeating it that way, each time feeling more and more like a call for help.

He put on a smile. His voice gained a more elegant and cute tone. It was like when I embraced my character. Singing even the smallest parts. Though I helped him with that.

Happiness is a warm gun (bang, bang, shoot, shoot)

Happiness is a warm gun, momma (bang, bang, shoot, shoot)

He took his glasses and didn’t play this part.

When I hold you in my arms (ooh, oh, yeah)

He caressed the glasses.

And I feel my finger on your trigger (ooh, oh, yeah)

He began to put them on, but decided to put them in his pocket.

I know nobody can do me no harm (ooh, oh, yeah)

Because

He went back on the guitar.

Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is (bang, bang, shoot, shoot)

Happiness is a warm, yes it is, gun (happiness, bang, bang, shoot, shoot)

Well, don't you know that happiness is a warm gun momma?

He didn’t wait for me to clap, dropping the guitar. I was astonished. It was so different from how he used to do it that if anyone said it was a different person I’d believe them. I don’t know if John would be comfortable for me in costume to call him she. 

“Bowie.”, he continued in his higher pitched voice, “Was I any good?”

“You were great and different.”, I said, “Different in a good way. You played your, or um, John’s song in a completely new way…”

“Hahaha, David, tis fine. I know I did, plus it’s in character for me.”, he chuckled wistfully and caringly. Yet that wistful smile got lost as fast as it came on.

“You know, David… I wonder how it would’ve played out…”, he spread himself out on the floor. He patted the floor to say I can sit beside him, so I did. The doll-like eyes gazed into the abyss that was the ceiling.

“If I played in front of many people. Me. A small unimportant artist, a small unimportant woman against a whole bunch of gits. They would’ve torn through me…”, I concluded he was comfortable.

She rustled her sleeves…

“Exactly why John can do it. He has… The energy needed to survive the crowd. I don’t.”, she sighed.

“But then why would he ask me for advice?”, I asked. Why would John say this? Or John’s counterpart? Or this role he is playing?

She ignored the question.

“He won’t be playing for a while.”, she shrugged.

“He won’t be, what!”, I was saddened.

“He won’t. It’s because of Sean and a bunch of disappointing turnouts. He is burnt out.”, she explained.

There was something she wanted to tell me, but couldn’t. She graciously stood up.

“You know, I like this role.”, she twirled around, “I…”

“I really hate I’m going to tell you this.”, she exhaled.

“What?”

“John’s songs are very touchy and private. Every song. Him saying they’re not us upright lying!”, she jumbled her words.

John lost himself.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She played with her hair.

“Do you… Feel any better?”

“Feel, hum, I feel fine.”, she giggled, “She’s in love with me and I feel fine.”

“Why “Happiness Is A Warm Gun”?”, I was quite interested in the choice.

“It’s my everyday.”, she said looking at me, “I feel like I’m overworked, yet I do nothing. I grab my guitar and sing and write nothing. Of course, compositions for the plays. Everything is meaningless without an audience. One person is enough for an audience. Though it doesn’t have to mean that if they don’t give you any useful feedback.”

Her smile differed from John’s usual one. This one was full of hope and amazement.

“My meticulous planning and execution make the difference. My “gun” are the tools and ideas I incorporate in my life that make my art great and me satisfied. Yet there are always ideas that have to be benched for some time.” 

I was confused. She noticed and booped my nose. This character by her composed stature, melancholic stare and patient smile didn’t remind me of Lennon in the slightest, except her ideal chasing nature. John was direct in his songs, but when I talk to him I see a lot of excuses and sugary sentences to make me accept something. Though when something was bad, he would tell me. This woman was straight to the point.

“David.”, she became serious, “Don’t hesitate, any question is fine, really. Just keep me occupied, John needs a break.”

“John needs a break?”, I listened to her order.

“An actor needs a break to collect himself. A role can tire a person out.”, she described it, “They should try something new and see if they like it. Maybe a different role.”

“You existed even before today?”

She smiled and chuckled.

“Cheeky bugger. Depends on how you look at it. With these characteristics him and you gave me, no. But, at the core, for as long as John knows himself.”, she took a piece of paper.

“John fantasized about you? Or being you?”, I concluded.

Her face was ridden with uncertainty.

“Don’t know about that from his point of view, but I wanted to be like him.”, she grabbed my shoulder, “You said earlier today his songs are brave, yes?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“I could never do that. Go out there with my stuff and be seen with it. Be a target. Exactly why you need actors, because the director is a figure in the darkness. Maybe John’s question about your process could be better worded as this: how do you manage to be an actor and director at the same time? Johnny and I would love to know the answer, so please pray tell.”, she asked me.

“You went through it with me. You should be able to conclude now.”, I wanted her to think.

“No. Then it’s exactly the same as for us two.”, she said, “You, David are the director, while your personas are the actors. You perform as them, or they perform for you, and… Wait. You always credit yourself in the end, even though you let them perform instead of you…”

“Yeah. It’s my creation afterall.”, I affirmed.

She hugged me all of a sudden. The first hug I got from John.

“You’re so lucky, David.”, she squeezed me, “I wish I met you earlier. In good old Liverpool. You would’ve appreciated me from the beginning… Like…”

She sniffled, “I want to see her again… I hope she found someone else. She had to have found someone else.”

“Who?”

My question was downright ignored again.

“I told him to leave her, for her health. We both loved her. And the child… He was in the middle of everything. John hurt him too. What an awful person. What an awful actor. No, I am an awful director.”

This is going downhill really fast.

“Lennon, are you okay?”, I asked her. Her face was buried into my shirt.

“Bowie, I’m so thankful.”

“This is helping?”, I asked.

“This is helpful, yes.”, she said, “John needs to visit Julian at all costs. The lads were right about us… Oh, Paul…”

I realized everything. John views his emotions as feminine. He was repressing this for so long. And is still repressing them by putting them in a different persona.

“I couldn’t have guessed that John has been feeling this way.”, I sighed and hugged her back.

“John is not writing and performing for a while and that is the end. He needs to let off steam. He is tired of playing the cunning and smart Britishman. He is neither cunning nor smart in person. He is just a normal Liverpudlian with a nasally high voice that he absolutely despises and high standards, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Everything will be alright. John is like a mentor to me.”, I reddened because of embarrassment, “I believe he’ll figure things out.”

“First person to say he is a mentor to them, I always viewed him as a playful guy who acted like a child. A smart child.”, she was proud.

“If I call you John, would I be wrong?”

“Yeah, because I passionately deny it in front of an audience. My crew gets the other answer.”

“John, why would you go through this? It was simpler to tell me as yourself. You don’t need a spectacle to tell me the truth.”

“He needs to rest. He wouldn’t tell you the truth, he is imagined that way. A brick wall.”

“You are still talking about yourself in the third person and you told me all this.”

“Force of habit. My little beloved actor side…”, she wiped her tear smearing part of the makeup… I don’t remember applying that much.

“Why does he even need to let off steam? Isn’t he ideal? He should be able to withstand whatever I throw at him, not let me take over. Life really knows how to set me up. I should be able to get through this.”, she pouted.

“John isn’t perfect.”, I told her.

“John is perfect by his function.”, she proudly stated.

I got sad. John just admitted to me he was fake. He was fake with me. What did he mean everytime we played, what did he think of me?

 “Wait, wait, no, no! David… ”, her view fluttered towards my eyes, like an older sister watching her upset younger brother, “You took it the wrong way, no, I explained it wrong.”

She smeared the makeup, finally breaking the boundaries for John.

“Bowie, I’m so sorry… I got too into character.”

“She is you, of course you got into character, when it’s your feelings Lennon.”

“David…”, he struggled to get anything out.

“You really can’t tell the truth huh?”, I was astonished with the amount of anxiety and pain he must’ve been feeling, “John, I still respect you and I think you respect me too by sharing all this. But this kind of behavior is damaging for you, so tell me directly what is bothering you? I’ve heard what she thinks. I need to hear it from you.”

He was quiet, pondering my question, staring into my eyes.

“What’s bothering me is that I’m trapped in a loveless marriage with a child that I am not sure is mine, and even songwriting and peacemaking doesn’t satisfy me anymore. I only like working with people, because I’m sick of writing on my own. I’m sick of running after George and Paul, fuck ‘em both.”, this was unexpected.

“How long?”, I pat him on the shoulder.

“Yoko and I have been in a bad spot for some time now because of the May situation. Sean will make or break our marriage completely in private. Yoko knows me all too well, she knows how much I regret not taking care of Julian and how much I have a soft spot for kids. If I leave her, I’d look like I’m running away from the responsibility of being a parent, I’d hate that to happen again.”, what interesting phrasing.

“I’m sick of pretending that I know everything if I know nothing. That’s it. I know absolutely nothing.”, he is going from one extreme to the other. When I look back on his attitude, he always acted like he had everything under control. It was contradictory that he was prone to panic. It’s like when a play goes wrong and the director can’t correct it. Everything was preplanned, John came here with the thought of doing this. He wanted to tell me something and I think I can dig it out of him.

“What does your aunt think of it?”, could be tied to her.

“Mary? She told me she supported me whatever I do. But she is scared. Of course she is. Her nephew is in a big city in an another country.”, he said, “I should pay her a visit soon. Maybe next week.”

His face became melancholic, “She is scared for me and Julia…”

Julia. First I heard that name from John’s mouth. 

“Jules is depressed all of the time, she is alone, I think she liked Paul for a long time and they used to hang out, but they never got together. She just gave up when everything “didn’t go according to plan”. No wonder us two are still in a quarrel, so I’m not paying her a visit. We are too different. I’m impulsive and rash, she would pre plan every single thing down to the minute detail.”, he sighed angrily.

“John, stop lying. You predicted my behavior. You arranged my behavior like a director to get me to give you space for your problems. You two are more similar than you think.”, I calmed him down, “You should both resolve the conflict. It’s clear you care, because you are still angry.”

“No, we are not similar, and how would you know what she is like!”, he was angry, or no, he was panicking.

“She is caring, she is funny and melancholic, slow, truthful and direct. She holds her own and likes to write using metaphors…”

“Yeah, that’s her.”, he facepalmed himself and laughed quietly, “I am really getting out of hand. I should resolve that with her.”

Is that what he wanted to tell me? To help him with resolving his conflict with his sister. That is very sad and I’m grateful he thinks we’re that close.

“Anything else?”, this was getting sadder and sadder. John Lennon was unraveling in front of me. The description that fits Julia could fit him then, broken on the floor, smiling like everything was meaningless except the moment he was sharing with me, which he planned for I guess long before we met today. He wiped off the rest of the makeup. The frail stature of the man didn’t suit the picture we all had of him for so long. His eyes remained doll-like. He had a stubble but it was missing!

“Did you apply makeup before this or what?”

“I dunno, but I do know we should finish sorting and we lost time on my confession. Let's sort this out.”

“John, explain, please, I’m so curious! I am most curious to know what you have been hiding! You cannot cut the story where you like!”

“Except I can David, I am the director.”, he joked, “And this part of the play has gone on for too long. Let’s get back to the script.”

I sighed and laughed. I’m glad I got to see his vulnerable side. I could've been overthinking things. We sorted through the documents and parted ways.

“Thank you once more, David. It helped me so much.”, he said sincerely smiling, “I will visit aunt Mimi during next week, I missed Liverpool.”

“I’m happy I got to share this moment with you. Please consider what I said. Don’t let my words be for nothing…”

I went home and began thinking about visiting Liverpool. I’ve never been there and inspiration could be anywhere. This week, I went there. It was very nice and quiet. I headed to Strawberry Fields, since it was John’s most inspiring spot. In here I found some Beatlemaniacs, but the fuss they were making was much smaller than I expected. Other than them, there were few people on a walk… I  found a spot in the grass and relaxed. John liked the place because the two of them could focus on the songs. I stared off into the sky that was framed by trees, giving me a sense of intimacy.

“Why must you always complicate things? You did the best thing you could’ve done at that moment…”, I heard a familiar voice.

“I don’t know how you look me in the eye sometimes.”, another quite familiar voice, “After everything we did to you. It’s not just him…”

I moved my head to the source of the voices and spotted two women. I recognized the first one immediately, she was Cynthia Powell, while the other one was a tall brunette with cat-eye glasses. They sat on the bench in front of me. Cynthia sat ladylike, while her friend spread herself out, making Cynthia chuckle.

“I missed you a lot. I’m glad you took precautions and only visited Julian, but you could’ve used more chances to check on how I was doing y’know? We’re still best of friends.”

“Cyn…”, the brunette hugged her, “You always understood me. Yet I always misused that.”

Cynthia lifted an eyebrow.

“Julia, you and your theatrics. Stop repeating yourself and relax…”, she patted her younger friend on the head.

Julia and John have a history with Cynthia.

“Everything is quite simple. It’s just your poetic head that makes everything complicated. Just like your songs.”, Cynthia said.

“They’re good.”, Julia stated, “I’m done with them.”

“You are done with them? But why?”, Cynthia asked her.

“Enjoy the view, Ms. Prim, and don’t think about it.”, Julia joked.

By John’s description, Julia writes too. Could Julia have been writing John’s songs all along, or no. That would be stupid. John and I wrote “Fame” together over improvised live sessions.

“You know you could tell me anything, Lennon.”, Cynthia looked at her with a sense of longing.

Julia stared at her the same way John stared at me after I asked him.

“I think that my little actor has passed his boundaries.”, Julia explained, “Even though Yoko keeps him in check, you could include May as well. He needs a break.”

She was using the same terminology as John, making me question are John and her even in a fight.

“I…”, Cynthia glanced at her friend in tears, “But songwriting has become the only thing you love. After Paul left you…”

“After I left him. He just rejected me. I don’t need his sorrows and explanations. I still love him… John still loves him. I don’t understand why he was so against everything!”, Julia was angry, “And I love Aunt Mimi, Julian and my friends, including you. You said it yourself, I did the best thing. And sometimes it meant John leaving you. He needed to go. The selfish prick with no boundaries.”

My question was answered.

“Could you do me a favour? Just one.”, Cynthia asked with a sense of playfulness.

“What?”, Julia looked at her with her doll-like eyes. Her eyes shifted to the behind of the bench.

A small sign passed behind the bench. It was exactly like a sign I noticed on a picture of Cynthia and John. Julia blushed a bright pink.

“Ah, Cynthia Powell, whatever shall I do with your lovesick head?”, Julia joked.

“Well, Julia Victoria Lennon, whatever shall you do? Ms. “I forgot my best friend” and Ms. “I love Paul”.”

“I told the pricks multiple times that it's as it says… Augh, that’s not important. And this one is for Ms. Prim and Proper.”, I couldn’t believe it but Julia planted a kiss on Cynthia’s lips. A kiss of friendship and lost passion. A parting one. Or a kiss they haven’t shared for so long. Were they together before John and Cynthia or what is their story?

“I listened to your new song. I liked it.”

“Oh, yeah, y’know, the kid I worked with is great. Were it not for him, I wouldn’t have visited Aunt Mimi and you.”

Wait.

“He reminds me of you, so artistic and introverted. Proper when he is himself but his personas are full of life.”, she booped Cynthia on her nose.

This can't be.

“You have adopted another rock star. Oh, Julia.”, Cynthia chuckled.

“Don’t remind me of Geo, he fucking gets on my nerves. He can’t stand Yoko. How are the two of us supposed to hang out if he keeps being such a drag?”

“You can’t go anywhere without dragging her with you, am I really getting replaced as a best friend too?”

“Cyn, you cheeky woman.”, Jules chuckled, “She needs to keep me in check, I can’t trust meself. Though I didn’t bring her to practice with Bowie that day… Hm.”

“Oh, oh, John is queer. I could have expected this, no, who am I kidding. No.”, were the words I thought while freaking out. 

The two women chatted some more while my jaw dropped. Julia told Cynthia John’s problems like they were nothing, just a story she thought up over a cup of tea. Cynthia listened to her, gave her advice. They were close, and I understand why - they were together for ten years.

“Cyn, want to go to my place? It was nice to visit Strawberry Fields. See, this tree behind us is where Paul and I wrote most of our hits.”, she pointed in my direction but didn’t see me.

“Yeah, we could, I want to say hi to your aunt.”, she chuckled, “Proudest aunt in Liverpool.”

“Second to Paul’s scumbag father.”, Julia scoffed.

“Don’t fret over that, Jules.”, she kissed her on the cheek.

Julia took Cynthia by the hand and led her home.

“It’s you and I, Ms. Prim.”, Julia chuckled.

Leaving me imagining what part of the illusion was real; Julia or John? Only thing I knew for sure was they respected me and I respected them and their choice, making me feel less alone and alien in this weird world.

Rest of Sacrifame