Holding Onto the Things that Slip Through Your Fingers (11 - 56)
Love to beagle_agent and mollybeakers for
Phase Eleven, in which Paul realizes a few things about movement and shoulders,
Past and present chapters HERE
*
**
It turned out that Paul’s worry over his next attempt at songwriting really was rather silly. He shouldn’t have been worried. He should have been fucking horrified. In fact, part of him, a decent chunk, was thinking getting out of bed had been his worst mistake of the day.
This realization had come after fifteen minutes of painful, raggedy attempts at mashing up some music into what might be called a song.
He just wasn’t sure anymore. Was this the right thing to say? Should he steer the conversation in this direction or maybe the complete opposite? Would it matter if he came up with these lines? Who had said this to begin with? Did it need to be said? Should he just let it be as it was?
One thing Paul prided himself- had prided himself on, was his decisiveness. He knew what he wanted every time he stepped into the studio and he would work until he got it. He’d never been in this position before, one of just sheer instability and second-guessing. It messed with his head and the more he sunk into the cycle of thinking the more messed up the entire situation became. Now things he was relatively sure of became questionable and doubted. Being in this constant state of hesitation ruined any and all of the creativity that could exist. He was already ninety percent sure he’d bollixed up this attempt at writing today and he felt his hackles begin to rise.
John, who had been quite patient, (meaning he had managed to keep his volume to mezzo forte) was beginning to slide into the frustration that Paul had been dealing with from the moment he’d walked in the door. However, John was a lot more verbal about it.
“Christ Macca! Can you keep your mind in one fucking place?!”
Paul flinched at the increased volume. He’d been expecting this since he’d offered his first wobbly suggestion. Despite that, he still felt a bit ashamed and all-around frustrated.
John watched him jolt and immediately lowered the volume, though there was no hiding the strain he felt.
“Stay still one goddamn second and let us work on a single idea for more than a moment. Just-fuck.” John ran his hand through his hair, and he jumped to his feet agitatedly.
It was the fact that John had cut himself off from giving Paul the full brunt of his annoyance that made Paul’s gut coil uncomfortably. John never held back, even on his friends, or his wife. The man was simply a blunt and easily annoyed guy. Getting a verbal lashing was nothing new. But John was treating him delicately, like he was liable to topple over at any given moment.
“Don’t treat me like fucking porcelain John.” It slipped out, he hadn’t really meant to say it, but his heavy emotions were clashing horribly against each other. Yet, when John met his eyes, he couldn’t help but return him with a defiant look.
“Well, with you having little fits and whatnot, you haven’t really given me a choice.” There was childishness in the tone that had Paul rearing.
“Excuse me for putting you out like that,” The sarcasm in his voice was as thick as molasses. “It must be soo hard for you to deal with.”
“It is! How do you expect to write any music when you’re passing out, and changing your fucking mind every other second? It’s impossible to do anything like this!”
“I know! I’m trying! I just can’t-” Paul broke off. He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. Those feelings of panic and hysteria were welling up. The feeling of being incapable of doing a task was monumental to someone like Paul. He needed to, but was unable to and if it wasn’t the most frustrating fucking thing in the universe he didn’t know what was. He’d never been musically impotent, and he didn’t like it one bit.
“Cor, Macca, you gotta calm down,” John wound down, seeing Paul like this was just disturbing. His friend was always so confident. This squirrely version made John worried. He placed a firm hand on Paul’s shoulders, hating the way he could feel his mate’s rapid breaths. John just wanted to make it- whatever that was- better. Watching his friend struggle alone pained John immensely.
“I need to go outside,” Paul announced, shaking John’s hand off. He hoped the air would clear his head some.
“Fine,” John grumbled and moved to go out with him.
“What’re you doing?” Paul asked, noticing his mate trailing after.
“Well obviously I have to come with you, ya git!“
“Why? I’m just taking a break; let me have a bit of quiet.”
“That’s exactly what you said last time and look how that ended,” John replied pointedly. “I’m coming with you.”
John’s response made Paul rile. He didn’t need constant watching. “No you aren’t, stay inside!”
“Too bad.”
“Look, you can watch me from the window if you are that concerned.” Paul said dismissively.
“I’m coming, because if I don’t you’ll probably faint the minute I look away!” John exclaimed,
Was John trying to be rude? “I will not and you need to let me go,”
“No, I’ll open a fucking window! You can enjoy the air in here.”
Paul was raging. John had no right to tell him what to do. He was a fucking adult, and he knew how to handle himself. Though the panic attack was frightening, it wasn’t like he was going to black out at any moment. In fact, going outside was what he was trying to do to prevent himself from getting too anxious. The more John blocked him the angrier he got.
“I need to step outside and have a bloody smoke!” He needed one health be damned.
“You can have one in here!”
Paul stared at him blankly for a few moments. Gradually a smile spread over his face, the immediate tension drowned out. Slow laughter began to follow. Paul didn’t know why it was so funny he had forgotten that you didn’t have to step out to take a smoke anymore to be polite. It was though, and he found that laughing was cathartic.
John, on the other hand, seemed to be even more concerned than before. John’s stupefied expression just made Paul burst out once more. He was in on a joke the rest of the world was missing out on and it was almost worth it just to see all the expressions on everyone else’s faces.
“S-sorry,” Paul managed between chuckles as he began winding down, “Ah, I dunno, it was just really funny is all.” Another giggle escaped his mouth. John’s countenance persisted and Paul moved to address it.
“Ah, I promise I’m good. I already feel lots better. “
The absolute look of doubt on John’s face made Paul give him a reassuring smile.
“Really, I just need a moment to meself. I’ll be back in a few.” He must have looked a lot better, because John stared at him long and hard before he folded.
“Sod it then, but I’m coming out and checking on you,” John looked as though he’d taken a bite of an unripe green apple. “Making a bleedin’ nurse outta me, next time I won’t save you, ya know. I’ll leave you out there for all the bloody vultures and fans!” The threat was hollow but it made both of them feel better.
“Ta John.” Paul shook his head wryly as he stepped out the doors and into the familiar green.
His first few breaths of air were like waterfalls and he simply stood in the moment. Eventually Paul began to walk a little until he wound up in the shade of a large oak. It was there he decided to sit down and just relax and think. The earth was soft and he ran his fingers through it mildly, not caring in the slightest if he ruined his clothes.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of fags.
Since he had been unable to convince George and the others to give up the habit, he had taken to nicking their packs when they weren’t looking. They would grumble and curse and be generally unhappy until there was time to stop by a store. It didn’t do much, but he figured if he could prevent them from smoking even one cigarette it was a step in the right direction. In any case, it would give him a bit of time to figure out a permanent solution.
He knew he’d promised himself he would stop smoking, but right now, the nicotine was exactly what his body needed. With the feeling of anxiety still present and hovering on the edge, he conceded and gave in to his body’s desires. The fire met the end of the cigarette almost eagerly and within a few seconds the smoldering stick was in his mouth.
The nicotine flooded his system and already, he began to feel the high-strung feelings ebb with every puff.
He let his gaze and mind wander towards the sky, where the light poured brightly to the earth in little rays. White speckled the sky in wisps of clouds and just watching the serenity of the outdoors eased him even further.
The peace he felt from being surrounded by nature lulled him into an absent mindset, one unbothered by his current concerns. Sometimes, he wondered if he stopped often enough to smell the flowers and grass. He also wondered if he even had the time to smell all the flowers and do everything he wanted.
His mind was constantly under stress due to the knowledge of the future he possessed. He didn’t know how he could manage all the small details that came with doing everything he’d done before. Often, when he looked back, he rather wondered how he had done it the first time around. But that was the magic of being in the group. Things would just happen to them without even the slightest bit of warning. Like their fame which hit them with the force of an oncoming train. It was all so sudden; they went from playing in clubs and having to eke out any time in the studio to being launched into the papers and massive tours. They really had no choice but to cope with what came their way. It was cope or be swallowed by the sea of what was happening.
The overwhelmed feeling they got as their entire world suddenly shifted around them was really too large for them to process entirely. None of them realized how big they really were, or what exactly their fame would lead into. Paul doubted that any one person was ever prepared for that.
Paul knew what happened and even with that he was still at a loss for how it had happened. It wasn’t a simple equation, where anyone could calculate what they needed to do to become rock stars. Paul knew what had worked the previous time, but replicating it had turned into more of an arduous and impossible task. Things weren’t lining up the like they had in the past, and in was silly thinking he could recreate the bursts of brilliance and creativity that happened as they created a song.
He wasn’t an active player, or participant, he was on the outside, never really having any of those genuine moments which were one of the best quirks of life.
Paul was weighed down to that position because of his goal to save his John and George. Their lives were worth more than any of those moments. But then again, what was it that made them so precious to Paul.
Blinking, he realized it was those moments.
And he dearly wanted to have them again. Paul was unsure if he could have both. He needed to have the future the same so he would be able to save them.
Paul paused. A pensive revelation slowly began to trickle into his mind.
Wasn’t the reason he was doing all this was to change the future? The end result of the story was something he was working to prevent.
Paul gave a bitter and rueful smile as realization finally sunk into his mind.
He’d been trying to play God; the effect was not unlike those times his girls would dress up in Mommy’s clothes. It was about as effective as that too.
He really wasn’t God, or anything of the sort. The idea that he could take that place and make things fall into the places he wanted them to was ridiculous. No, Paul was still human, only his perception had altered; letting him believe he was different, better, that he could make a brighter future. This just went to show that he was still helpless prey to the every whim of the moment as those who were unaware of the future were. The present was a power that was undeniable, and living within it, and creating something from the moments given was what life was about. He felt like he’d lost sight of what really was important, what he really yearned to have in the future. But why yearn and worry about something that you wanted fifty years from now when he already had it? He wanted to spend time with John, George and Ringo. He wanted to make music. He wanted to laugh, and smile and relish the sunshine while it lasted. He’d forgotten the present because he grew so caught up in his view of how the future should be.
Fixing his controlling behaviors was one of the things he’d wanted to prevent at all costs. He’d failed spectacularly. Sure, he wasn’t overbearing and unyielding on music and things relating to the band, but instead he was trying to control every little detail to create a future he wanted. It was delusional to think he could get precisely what he wanted from something that was unquestionably unpredictable. He’d already changed the future after all, what extra knowledge he knew at this point was pretty much moot by now.
He needed balance. There was no way he could predict and react to every wrong thing, or remember how they put together every song he and John wrote together. It wasn’t in his power. But neither should he just fold and let things fall where they would. Some things needed to change.
Admitting that fact to himself made him feel like the world was before him, his and yet not. He had rediscovered life and it was both exciting and unknown; a mixture that made it worth living, if only to see what would happen next.
The earth was not resting on him and its fate was not his to bear.
Finally comprehending those things made him feel absolutely weightless.
In that moment, he understood perfectly why John had said what he did all those years ago.
All along, the movement he needed was on his shoulders.
Rising, brushing ash and dust off of his shirt, he stared at the deep sky over him and smiled.
Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to create a better future through his own small acts. Changing the small things within his grasp, and focusing on living and enjoying the time he had. Now it was apparent that becoming a part of the new world he would help shape was the real point of his second chance.
It wasn’t just for the others; he would make a better future for himself too.
Since he’d already messed up history entirely by this point, he might as well go all the way and do it properly.
He had always wondered what kind of music he and John would have created in the future after all those years of experience. It was time to find out, clearly.
Striding into the studio he was met by a bogusly surprised looking John Lennon.
“Great scott! You made it back here without fainting. I’m so very proud, I thought this day would never come,” John pretended to pat his eyes like a proud mother might.
“You’re such an overdramatic twat,” Paul spoke with a smile.
The older man took a moment to scan his younger companion. Gone was the stressed and patently miserable expression on Paul’s face and in its place there seemed to be a kind of peace and acceptance that John doubted he’d ever seen before. It was such a contrast to how Paul was when he stepped out twenty minutes ago.
“Did you smoke a joint without me?” he asked, taking note of the sublimely content smile on his co-writer’s face. “You little sod, don’t be hogging all the grass.”
Paul laughed freely and clearly loving the way he felt in this moment.
“I didn’t but there is some in my jacket that I think we should enjoy later.” He grinned now, sliding onto the piano bench where John was sitting, so close their thighs were touching. The other man seemed startled by his entire switch of moods from agitated and anxious to calm and blissful.
“Well, did you find a bird amongst the bushes; you’re practically soaking in the afterglow. It’s fucking disgusting, it is.” John commented, and he was miffed when Paul laughed again.
Through the chuckles Paul said, “No, I wish. That would have been a lovely way to top things off.”
When his band mate quirked a brow, he decided to move on, knowing that John would pursue this otherwise.
“I think we should scrap what we have and do something else,” Paul declared, and he was pleased at how quickly John’s attention switched to what he just announced.
John mulled over the thought. “I dunno, the base of it seems alright, I don’t see much of a point to abandoning everything.”
“Maybe you’re used to hearing people say ‘It was just alright,’ but I’m not,” the bassist replied with a smirk, enjoying the look on John’s face, “I want to blow them out of the water.”
“Well what do you suggest?” John asked, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes. It was easy to say things like that, but doing them was another matter entirely; especially when they were on a timetable.
“Well, why don’t we take the beat and then expand the harmony like this . . .” He plucked out a few notes from the sea of black and white keys.
“That would be good, but then the vocals would have to be changed too, so why don’t we move the key down a fifth below it, I mean, you well fucking know I can’t sing that high.” Paul laughed, feeling the nervousness of his first big change to the script morph into sheer excitement. Writing with John was indescribably brilliant, and he held it close before he let it wash him away, drawing him into its current.
It was time to create new memories, ones with outcomes and feelings Paul would be unable to guess. That fact was lovely in and of itself.
Their earlier conversation was forgotten, all that mattered in this moment was the music.
And it was beautiful.
*
* *
AN/ So! Paul finally gets over himself and realizes, he actually has very little control.All he can do is deal with the things before him, smile and enjoy the ride~!
One more chapter of '65 and then we move into more interesting waters . . . :}
Thanks for all the support! Leave a me a comment so I know you were here!
*
Phase Eleven, in which Paul realizes a few things about movement and shoulders,
Past and present chapters HERE
*
**
It turned out that Paul’s worry over his next attempt at songwriting really was rather silly. He shouldn’t have been worried. He should have been fucking horrified. In fact, part of him, a decent chunk, was thinking getting out of bed had been his worst mistake of the day.
This realization had come after fifteen minutes of painful, raggedy attempts at mashing up some music into what might be called a song.
He just wasn’t sure anymore. Was this the right thing to say? Should he steer the conversation in this direction or maybe the complete opposite? Would it matter if he came up with these lines? Who had said this to begin with? Did it need to be said? Should he just let it be as it was?
One thing Paul prided himself- had prided himself on, was his decisiveness. He knew what he wanted every time he stepped into the studio and he would work until he got it. He’d never been in this position before, one of just sheer instability and second-guessing. It messed with his head and the more he sunk into the cycle of thinking the more messed up the entire situation became. Now things he was relatively sure of became questionable and doubted. Being in this constant state of hesitation ruined any and all of the creativity that could exist. He was already ninety percent sure he’d bollixed up this attempt at writing today and he felt his hackles begin to rise.
John, who had been quite patient, (meaning he had managed to keep his volume to mezzo forte) was beginning to slide into the frustration that Paul had been dealing with from the moment he’d walked in the door. However, John was a lot more verbal about it.
“Christ Macca! Can you keep your mind in one fucking place?!”
Paul flinched at the increased volume. He’d been expecting this since he’d offered his first wobbly suggestion. Despite that, he still felt a bit ashamed and all-around frustrated.
John watched him jolt and immediately lowered the volume, though there was no hiding the strain he felt.
“Stay still one goddamn second and let us work on a single idea for more than a moment. Just-fuck.” John ran his hand through his hair, and he jumped to his feet agitatedly.
It was the fact that John had cut himself off from giving Paul the full brunt of his annoyance that made Paul’s gut coil uncomfortably. John never held back, even on his friends, or his wife. The man was simply a blunt and easily annoyed guy. Getting a verbal lashing was nothing new. But John was treating him delicately, like he was liable to topple over at any given moment.
“Don’t treat me like fucking porcelain John.” It slipped out, he hadn’t really meant to say it, but his heavy emotions were clashing horribly against each other. Yet, when John met his eyes, he couldn’t help but return him with a defiant look.
“Well, with you having little fits and whatnot, you haven’t really given me a choice.” There was childishness in the tone that had Paul rearing.
“Excuse me for putting you out like that,” The sarcasm in his voice was as thick as molasses. “It must be soo hard for you to deal with.”
“It is! How do you expect to write any music when you’re passing out, and changing your fucking mind every other second? It’s impossible to do anything like this!”
“I know! I’m trying! I just can’t-” Paul broke off. He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. Those feelings of panic and hysteria were welling up. The feeling of being incapable of doing a task was monumental to someone like Paul. He needed to, but was unable to and if it wasn’t the most frustrating fucking thing in the universe he didn’t know what was. He’d never been musically impotent, and he didn’t like it one bit.
“Cor, Macca, you gotta calm down,” John wound down, seeing Paul like this was just disturbing. His friend was always so confident. This squirrely version made John worried. He placed a firm hand on Paul’s shoulders, hating the way he could feel his mate’s rapid breaths. John just wanted to make it- whatever that was- better. Watching his friend struggle alone pained John immensely.
“I need to go outside,” Paul announced, shaking John’s hand off. He hoped the air would clear his head some.
“Fine,” John grumbled and moved to go out with him.
“What’re you doing?” Paul asked, noticing his mate trailing after.
“Well obviously I have to come with you, ya git!“
“Why? I’m just taking a break; let me have a bit of quiet.”
“That’s exactly what you said last time and look how that ended,” John replied pointedly. “I’m coming with you.”
John’s response made Paul rile. He didn’t need constant watching. “No you aren’t, stay inside!”
“Too bad.”
“Look, you can watch me from the window if you are that concerned.” Paul said dismissively.
“I’m coming, because if I don’t you’ll probably faint the minute I look away!” John exclaimed,
Was John trying to be rude? “I will not and you need to let me go,”
“No, I’ll open a fucking window! You can enjoy the air in here.”
Paul was raging. John had no right to tell him what to do. He was a fucking adult, and he knew how to handle himself. Though the panic attack was frightening, it wasn’t like he was going to black out at any moment. In fact, going outside was what he was trying to do to prevent himself from getting too anxious. The more John blocked him the angrier he got.
“I need to step outside and have a bloody smoke!” He needed one health be damned.
“You can have one in here!”
Paul stared at him blankly for a few moments. Gradually a smile spread over his face, the immediate tension drowned out. Slow laughter began to follow. Paul didn’t know why it was so funny he had forgotten that you didn’t have to step out to take a smoke anymore to be polite. It was though, and he found that laughing was cathartic.
John, on the other hand, seemed to be even more concerned than before. John’s stupefied expression just made Paul burst out once more. He was in on a joke the rest of the world was missing out on and it was almost worth it just to see all the expressions on everyone else’s faces.
“S-sorry,” Paul managed between chuckles as he began winding down, “Ah, I dunno, it was just really funny is all.” Another giggle escaped his mouth. John’s countenance persisted and Paul moved to address it.
“Ah, I promise I’m good. I already feel lots better. “
The absolute look of doubt on John’s face made Paul give him a reassuring smile.
“Really, I just need a moment to meself. I’ll be back in a few.” He must have looked a lot better, because John stared at him long and hard before he folded.
“Sod it then, but I’m coming out and checking on you,” John looked as though he’d taken a bite of an unripe green apple. “Making a bleedin’ nurse outta me, next time I won’t save you, ya know. I’ll leave you out there for all the bloody vultures and fans!” The threat was hollow but it made both of them feel better.
“Ta John.” Paul shook his head wryly as he stepped out the doors and into the familiar green.
His first few breaths of air were like waterfalls and he simply stood in the moment. Eventually Paul began to walk a little until he wound up in the shade of a large oak. It was there he decided to sit down and just relax and think. The earth was soft and he ran his fingers through it mildly, not caring in the slightest if he ruined his clothes.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of fags.
Since he had been unable to convince George and the others to give up the habit, he had taken to nicking their packs when they weren’t looking. They would grumble and curse and be generally unhappy until there was time to stop by a store. It didn’t do much, but he figured if he could prevent them from smoking even one cigarette it was a step in the right direction. In any case, it would give him a bit of time to figure out a permanent solution.
He knew he’d promised himself he would stop smoking, but right now, the nicotine was exactly what his body needed. With the feeling of anxiety still present and hovering on the edge, he conceded and gave in to his body’s desires. The fire met the end of the cigarette almost eagerly and within a few seconds the smoldering stick was in his mouth.
The nicotine flooded his system and already, he began to feel the high-strung feelings ebb with every puff.
He let his gaze and mind wander towards the sky, where the light poured brightly to the earth in little rays. White speckled the sky in wisps of clouds and just watching the serenity of the outdoors eased him even further.
The peace he felt from being surrounded by nature lulled him into an absent mindset, one unbothered by his current concerns. Sometimes, he wondered if he stopped often enough to smell the flowers and grass. He also wondered if he even had the time to smell all the flowers and do everything he wanted.
His mind was constantly under stress due to the knowledge of the future he possessed. He didn’t know how he could manage all the small details that came with doing everything he’d done before. Often, when he looked back, he rather wondered how he had done it the first time around. But that was the magic of being in the group. Things would just happen to them without even the slightest bit of warning. Like their fame which hit them with the force of an oncoming train. It was all so sudden; they went from playing in clubs and having to eke out any time in the studio to being launched into the papers and massive tours. They really had no choice but to cope with what came their way. It was cope or be swallowed by the sea of what was happening.
The overwhelmed feeling they got as their entire world suddenly shifted around them was really too large for them to process entirely. None of them realized how big they really were, or what exactly their fame would lead into. Paul doubted that any one person was ever prepared for that.
Paul knew what happened and even with that he was still at a loss for how it had happened. It wasn’t a simple equation, where anyone could calculate what they needed to do to become rock stars. Paul knew what had worked the previous time, but replicating it had turned into more of an arduous and impossible task. Things weren’t lining up the like they had in the past, and in was silly thinking he could recreate the bursts of brilliance and creativity that happened as they created a song.
He wasn’t an active player, or participant, he was on the outside, never really having any of those genuine moments which were one of the best quirks of life.
Paul was weighed down to that position because of his goal to save his John and George. Their lives were worth more than any of those moments. But then again, what was it that made them so precious to Paul.
Blinking, he realized it was those moments.
And he dearly wanted to have them again. Paul was unsure if he could have both. He needed to have the future the same so he would be able to save them.
Paul paused. A pensive revelation slowly began to trickle into his mind.
Wasn’t the reason he was doing all this was to change the future? The end result of the story was something he was working to prevent.
Paul gave a bitter and rueful smile as realization finally sunk into his mind.
He’d been trying to play God; the effect was not unlike those times his girls would dress up in Mommy’s clothes. It was about as effective as that too.
He really wasn’t God, or anything of the sort. The idea that he could take that place and make things fall into the places he wanted them to was ridiculous. No, Paul was still human, only his perception had altered; letting him believe he was different, better, that he could make a brighter future. This just went to show that he was still helpless prey to the every whim of the moment as those who were unaware of the future were. The present was a power that was undeniable, and living within it, and creating something from the moments given was what life was about. He felt like he’d lost sight of what really was important, what he really yearned to have in the future. But why yearn and worry about something that you wanted fifty years from now when he already had it? He wanted to spend time with John, George and Ringo. He wanted to make music. He wanted to laugh, and smile and relish the sunshine while it lasted. He’d forgotten the present because he grew so caught up in his view of how the future should be.
Fixing his controlling behaviors was one of the things he’d wanted to prevent at all costs. He’d failed spectacularly. Sure, he wasn’t overbearing and unyielding on music and things relating to the band, but instead he was trying to control every little detail to create a future he wanted. It was delusional to think he could get precisely what he wanted from something that was unquestionably unpredictable. He’d already changed the future after all, what extra knowledge he knew at this point was pretty much moot by now.
He needed balance. There was no way he could predict and react to every wrong thing, or remember how they put together every song he and John wrote together. It wasn’t in his power. But neither should he just fold and let things fall where they would. Some things needed to change.
Admitting that fact to himself made him feel like the world was before him, his and yet not. He had rediscovered life and it was both exciting and unknown; a mixture that made it worth living, if only to see what would happen next.
The earth was not resting on him and its fate was not his to bear.
Finally comprehending those things made him feel absolutely weightless.
In that moment, he understood perfectly why John had said what he did all those years ago.
All along, the movement he needed was on his shoulders.
Rising, brushing ash and dust off of his shirt, he stared at the deep sky over him and smiled.
Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to create a better future through his own small acts. Changing the small things within his grasp, and focusing on living and enjoying the time he had. Now it was apparent that becoming a part of the new world he would help shape was the real point of his second chance.
It wasn’t just for the others; he would make a better future for himself too.
Since he’d already messed up history entirely by this point, he might as well go all the way and do it properly.
He had always wondered what kind of music he and John would have created in the future after all those years of experience. It was time to find out, clearly.
Striding into the studio he was met by a bogusly surprised looking John Lennon.
“Great scott! You made it back here without fainting. I’m so very proud, I thought this day would never come,” John pretended to pat his eyes like a proud mother might.
“You’re such an overdramatic twat,” Paul spoke with a smile.
The older man took a moment to scan his younger companion. Gone was the stressed and patently miserable expression on Paul’s face and in its place there seemed to be a kind of peace and acceptance that John doubted he’d ever seen before. It was such a contrast to how Paul was when he stepped out twenty minutes ago.
“Did you smoke a joint without me?” he asked, taking note of the sublimely content smile on his co-writer’s face. “You little sod, don’t be hogging all the grass.”
Paul laughed freely and clearly loving the way he felt in this moment.
“I didn’t but there is some in my jacket that I think we should enjoy later.” He grinned now, sliding onto the piano bench where John was sitting, so close their thighs were touching. The other man seemed startled by his entire switch of moods from agitated and anxious to calm and blissful.
“Well, did you find a bird amongst the bushes; you’re practically soaking in the afterglow. It’s fucking disgusting, it is.” John commented, and he was miffed when Paul laughed again.
Through the chuckles Paul said, “No, I wish. That would have been a lovely way to top things off.”
When his band mate quirked a brow, he decided to move on, knowing that John would pursue this otherwise.
“I think we should scrap what we have and do something else,” Paul declared, and he was pleased at how quickly John’s attention switched to what he just announced.
John mulled over the thought. “I dunno, the base of it seems alright, I don’t see much of a point to abandoning everything.”
“Maybe you’re used to hearing people say ‘It was just alright,’ but I’m not,” the bassist replied with a smirk, enjoying the look on John’s face, “I want to blow them out of the water.”
“Well what do you suggest?” John asked, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes. It was easy to say things like that, but doing them was another matter entirely; especially when they were on a timetable.
“Well, why don’t we take the beat and then expand the harmony like this . . .” He plucked out a few notes from the sea of black and white keys.
“That would be good, but then the vocals would have to be changed too, so why don’t we move the key down a fifth below it, I mean, you well fucking know I can’t sing that high.” Paul laughed, feeling the nervousness of his first big change to the script morph into sheer excitement. Writing with John was indescribably brilliant, and he held it close before he let it wash him away, drawing him into its current.
It was time to create new memories, ones with outcomes and feelings Paul would be unable to guess. That fact was lovely in and of itself.
Their earlier conversation was forgotten, all that mattered in this moment was the music.
And it was beautiful.
*
* *
AN/ So! Paul finally gets over himself and realizes, he actually has very little control.All he can do is deal with the things before him, smile and enjoy the ride~!
One more chapter of '65 and then we move into more interesting waters . . . :}
Thanks for all the support! Leave a me a comment so I know you were here!
*