A/N: This story takes place in the mindset that Roger would have been 15 in 1980, thus 24 in 1989 when the movie takes place. Oh, and this is my first ever dive into writing fanfiction ever, so please be nice. Thanks.
December 8, 1980
It was staring at him. Watching him, and wondering why it was sitting unplayed.
Roger stared at his old Fender, unable to get up and play it. The news had shocked him. One of his idols and role models suddenly shot.
Looking back, Roger would not remember what made him watch Monday Night Football that particular evening. Perhaps he was bored, maybe he just felt like sitting with his father.
Then suddenly Howard Cosell came on the screen with an announcement. With a grave face he reported that ex-Beatle John Lennon had been shot outside the Dakota building on Central Park West in New York.
As it soaked in, Roger felt his living room melt around him. Suddenly, nothing else mattered and he only had to be alone. In a daze, he stumbled out of his chair and up to his room with his parents staring, concerned, after him.
Now, he was sitting in his room staring back at his Fender wondering what had affected him so much. He was only fifteen. Born in 1965, the Beatles had already been famous for a year in America when he was born. He vaguely remembered when they broke up in 1969, but it was only marked by the devastation of the older girls in his elementary school.
Regardless, John Lennon had always been a presence in the Davis household. One of the first songs he really learned well had been "Imagine," and he tried to exhibit the peace and love the John Lennon preached.
The Fender continued to watch him, and uncomfortable, Roger averted his eyes and glanced around the room. The first thing his eyes landed on was a framed poster that he'd gotten last Christmas of The Beatles' Sergeant Pepper's album. That didn't help. Next, he saw his ancient record player that sat next to his bed.
Roger heaved a deep sigh and stared at it. Slowly, he reached down to the drawer that held some of his records, hoping the one he desired would be there. No dice. He grunted and knelt down to sift through the crate that held the rest of his records. It was there. Standing up, he stared at the cover for a minute before removing a record by The Who and placing it in the player. Roger let himself fall down on the bed as the opening chords of the song he needed to hear played out.
"Imagine all the peopleā¦"
