How to Change the World Part 9
Title: How to Change the World
Author: glomerdian
Rating: R?
Warnings: homophobia and language and what not
Summary: "The reporter sat there in shock, watching as Paul took another drag of his cigarette. The 'cute Beatle', Paul McCartney, was a f---ing queer!"
Author notes: Right, should I put a disclaimer that says that this is fiction and didn't happen. Fine, this is fiction and didn't happen.
The sky was dark, but still blue. It was the sort of blue you get at 5 am, where most of us are asleep, and the rest of us woke up to take a piss.
But Paul wasn’t awake because he needed to take a piss. He didn’t sleep at all tonight. He was in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs with John, pondering how detrimental all of this would be to him. And after all things were considered, it wasn’t the end of the world, it just felt wrong. He wanted to get it over with, to have a grand epiphany stating his hatred or undying love for John, but that never came.
Every part of him that was sane felt guilty, tugging at him like some desperate spirit. Thank God John fell asleep around 1 am, because he wouldn’t be able to look at him for this long. It’s like John had taken the sane parts of him and stabbed it in its heart.
The parts of him that weren’t sane, the sentimental parts… they weren’t there somehow. He knew he was still in love with John, but the chunk of him that did was wrapped and warped by so many other things that it was hard to describe how he felt. With whatever sentiment he held for John, came his own grievances. Paul slides out from under the warm sheets, being stealth as to not wake the man next to him. He dresses frantically in the clothes that were tossed on the floor. He leaves John in bed alone, and looks at him.
He’s asleep, and vulnerable. The way his chest rose and fell was serene. The tension was gone. The mop of hair on his head was tossed over his face, and his lips parted. In any other circumstance, he would have been alluring. But in this moment, Paul’s mind was disconcerted in a mess. He knew that if he were to undress and return to his spot next to John, things could be different. If he climbed into that bed, they could have a secret love affair. Or an open one, who knows? If he stayed in that bed, there’s a chance he might wake up next to John every morning. They could be something, anything, but they would be together somehow.
Maybe that was what Paul wanted. He sure as hell wanted it when he was 15. He wanted it when he was 20. And probably a year ago, he wanted it. So now that he could have it, why was he so hesitant?
There was a time when John felt like comfort, when he felt like home. But that’s gone now.
And so was Paul.
~*~
They were a week into filming “How I Won the War”. But really, there wasn’t much filming going on. John spent much of his time hanging about, thinking or scribbling discordant ideas onto a notepad. There was a song lurking on the edges of his thought. With all of the other shit lurking in there, the song was sort of an outlet. It took his mind off some of the chaos that was happening.
He had a few words written on the notepad.
There's no one on my wavelength
I mean, it's either too high or too low
That is you can't you know tune in but it's all right
I mean it's not too bad
Maybe it’ll be something, John doesn’t know for sure yet. He has a lot of freetime here, and there’s a lot of people he could talk to, but he was out of it. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone.
He tries to stay positive, or at least stable. He hasn’t talked to Paul since he left from Paris. And he was surprised to wake up to an empty bed in Paris. He didn’t want to think about what Paul’s abrupt departure meant.
But he’s in a different place here now. There’s no Beatles in Spain, just him and his notepad.
He wishes it were simpler. He felt nostalgic for an old time, causing him to feel more somber about his thoughts, but it’ll help with the damn song so he allows himself to think. He starts remembering his youth at 17, when he just wanted fame. He kind of gave a fuck about music, but he really only wanted to be Elvis. And when he met Paul, he started actually caring about what notes and lyrics could do.
He should give his Aunt a call, he calls her every week, and it’s about time. John laughs, remembering all the times Aunt Mimi yelled at him for doing stupid crap… like when he snuck into Strawberry Fields every now and then.
Strawberry Fields.
John wrote it down.
~*~
“It’s not too bad in here in India, Paul. I think I’m liking it here. And the Sitar lessons are going brilliantly.”
Paul took another puff of his cigarette, whilst also taking a sip of his tea.
“That sounds great, George. How’s Pattie?”
“She’s doing alright. We’re having a nice time.”
“Hmm.”
“How about you? Uhh… How are you doing.”
“Alright.”
“You sure?”
“Mhhm.”
“Umm… and John?”
“How would I know?”
“Haven’t seen him?”
“No.”
“Still bickerin’ then?”
“No- I just haven’t seen him, alright?”
“Right.”
“I-I have to go, George.”
“See you, then.”
Paul hung up the phone harshly. He wasn’t in a mood to talk about… his personal life. He was enjoying a cup of tea and a cigarette, he didn’t want to be reminded of him.
So, okay… they did fuck eachother in Paris, but that meant nothing. Paul felt so fucking guilty afterwards he couldn’t bear to see John awake.
Maybe the television will aid him in his emotional recovery. It’s effective taking the mind off important events. Paul turned on the telly, flopping onto the couch.
The woman on the telly spoke, “-soon as 1967, the Sexual Offences Act may legalize homosexuality throughout the UK. Its advocates are of course famous homosexual men, all coming out in the open about what may be a new phenomena. This new fad has of course been inspired by Paul McCartney of the Beatles, who came out as an open homosexual. This act will legalize homosexual acts to those aged 21 and over, as opposed to normal heterosexual acts, which are legal for those at 16. Many psychologists are concer-”
Paul turned off the television. Thinking perhaps not the best choice at the moment.
Maybe some songwriting or just thinking. He was very fed up with being a Beatle. He was tired of some of this bullshit. He wanted something new… to make an album, as if it were other people singing it. Well they would be singing it, of course. But what if they were another band? Singing like another band would, from a different point of view.
He played around with this idea. But he needed to get dinner as well. That sounds like a good idea.