John Lennon strategically placed his fingers around the guitar neck and attempted, once more, the E-flat Paul McCartney had desperately been trying to get out of him for a good half hour. Paul sat cross-legged, intensely watching his long time best friend and band mate, who was trying very hard to get the sound out that Paul had asked for. John had begun to get a little impatient with him.
"No, John, that's not what I wanted. You have to-" Paul was quickly interrupted by John's booming voice.
"Listen, Macca," John spat the word 'Macca' at his face. "we have been working on this E-flat for a good, bloody 45 minutes! I've been doing exactly what you're tellin' me, but it's just not good enough, is it? I'll play the bloody E-flat for you, but if it's not exactly what you want, don't make me sit around for almost an hour strumming it if it won't work for you!" George and Ringo had been taken aback by the yelling and both had by then moved to a different side of the studio, but Paul still sat as he was, looking very composed.
"John, I just want to get the song right. There's no need to yell at me, so sit back down and just listen to what I'm saying." With every word he said, John's face seemed to get redder and redder. His brown mop-top was ruffled and sticking up in every which way, giving him the look of a madman.
"Paul! I don't want to work on this fucking song anymore! You've told me repeatedly what you want, and I'm doing it. Saying it again won't fucking help! If it's not what you want, fine! Go change the stupid song, but don't make me sit around and follow your every command like your puppet!" By this point, Paul started to lose his composure. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood up, face-to-face with his competitor in nearly everything.
"Look, I can see you're frustrated and tired, but you don't have to shout everything to get your point across," he tried to lighten the moment with a little joke, "you're scaring the children!" Paul pointed over at George and Ringo who were nervously fiddling with their instruments.
John scoffed at his face. "Well, lookie who's trying to stand up to me. Do you see this, guys? The cute Beatle's takin' me on!" he turned to look Paul in the eyes, "Paul, get outta my face." He pushed Paul back on his chair, causing him knock over an amp and him to fall back.
John giggled in amusement at what he caused but when Paul's head popped up from the floor, he saw that Paul wasn't laughing along. Normally, they'd have a little fight, John would push Paul a little and they'd both laugh, but there was no amusement this time. Paul's normally slick and shiny black hair was ruffled, his cheeks were cherry red and there was an intense anger in his eyes.
"You didn't have to do that! We could've settled this like normal adults, but no! John Lennon can't act like a normal adult! I'm sick of you never trying to fix things! I've kept my cool with you for so long, but apparently that won't get through to you! Well, John, we can settle it this way!" Paul pushed John's chest with both hands making John actually take a few steps back. His face seemed to fill with flames and he stepped back towards Paul to where their faces were merely inches apart.
He finally spoke in a near whisper. "Do you really want to do this?"
Before he got an answer out of his friend, he struck Paul right across the cheek bone.
Paul turned away and held his face in pain. He started to collect his thoughts, when John pulled him back up by the collar. He was about to throw another blow but was stopped by another force. Paul had grabbed his hand and pushed it away.
Paul put out every bit of fight in him and tackled John down. One after one, he began throwing punches at John. John turned his face away and tried to push him off, but every time he tried to, he would get punched again, impairing him from doing anything.
Finally, he managed to roll Paul off of him and stood up. Again, he pulled him up and bashed him right in the nose. Paul held his nose and tried to fight back; but it was useless. John had him. His nose was bleeding, his face was throbbing and he couldn't see anything.
John started to pull his arm back for another punch but something got in the way.
"Hey, John, stop! Hey! Hey! HEY!" John and Paul seemed to come out of their barbaric trance when George came in between them. He looked at them both in disgust and horror and pulled them away from each other. "You guys, we're in Abbey Road Studios, not a boxing ring! And you're friends; you shouldn't be fighting like this!"
"He's not my friend. Never was." John sneered. Paul looked over at him in pain at the remark.
John stood up and wiped his bloody nose. "Get out, Paul. You're not in my band anymore."
Paul was about to say that it wasn't just John's band, but decided to leave it at that and go.
"Gladly!" he shouted back, walking outside while putting his jacket on. He slammed the door of the studio and walked out into the rainy streets of London, heading toward his car, and slamming the car door as well. Paul sped off into the rain.
John sat with an ice pack on his face and his sleeves rolled up, in a way, trying to cool off from the whole incident.
"John, you didn't have to get into it with Paul…" George sighed.
"I didn't start it, he did! He pushed me!" John barked.
"That is true…" Ringo spoke up from behind his drum set.
George paused for a second and then kept on with what he was saying.
"Listen, it doesn't matter who 'started it', what matters is that we're a fucking band and half of us are getting in fist fights. We have to fix this!" John confusingly glanced up at George.
"There's nothing to fix. Paul's out of the band!" George rolled his eyes.
"John, you don't mean that. Just because you guys got in one fight doesn't mean he's out. And besides, there's me and Ringo. Neither of us want him out, right Rings?" Ringo popped his little head up and nodded in agreement. "See? Now give it a day to think over what happened and then tomo-" He was interrupted by loud sirens coming past the studios.
"Hmm, wonder what that was…" George said to himself. "Anyways, just give it a day or two, okay John?"
John growled in reply and went off to the bathroom. He'd heard all he wanted to hear about Paul McCartney for that day.
The band was cleaning up the studio for the day. Quite a mess had been made so they were taking longer than usual.
In mid clean-up, their manager, Brian Epstein busted through the doors. He looked completely disheveled. His usually kept hair was frayed, his face was blotchy and his face was spotted with droplets of sweat. John couldn't help but jump on the opportunity to crack a joke at him.
"What is it, Eppy, did ya break a nail?" John chuckled at his joke but the whole room was dead silent.
George recognized Brian's concern and walked over to him.
"What is it Brian?" He finally looked up and looked around at them all. They were like his kids in a way and he had no idea how to tell them what had happened.
John and Ringo both started to realize that something was wrong. They all gathered around their manager like children gathered around their father waiting for punishment.
"What's going on, talk to us." John pried.
Brian looked John, George and Ringo directly in the eyes and opened his mouth to speak.
"Paul's dead, boys."
The silence in the room was stinging.
Ringo stood completely still with his big, blue eyes wide and glittering with water.
George's jaw dropped slightly as he stared in disbelief.
John stood very quietly as he intensely watched Brian.
The silence was finally cut when Ringo cleared his throat to speak.
"Wha- what happened?" Everyone looked over at Ringo as if he'd said something wrong.
"Car crash." Brian explained blatantly. "He wasn't paying attention and sped through a red light. A much larger car came through at the same time and hit the driver's side. They said he died almost instantly." John flinched at the unadulterated, straightforward description. Before anyone could really respond to the story, Brian continued talking.
"We should probably head to the hospital then. Everyone's waiting for us." George and Ringo both blinked a few times trying to gather their thoughts. They finally came into realization and started getting their things.
John was still staring off into space. He wasn't acting like himself. He normally had something to say about everything, but at that moment he said nothing. He just stood watching the off-white wall.
Everyone but John had gathered by the door, ready to go, but he was oblivious to it.
"John, we have to go now." George called, wearily. John slowly turned his head to the group, looked back down and then violently started going through all his things. He found what he was looking for, his coat, and headed toward the back door of the studio.
"Where are you going?" Ringo cried out. The only reply they got was the slamming of a door.
The two remaining band members turned back to their manager. He could tell they were both looking to him to say what to do.
"I'm sure he'll come back, just give him some time. We need to go now." They all filed out onto the street and got into the awaiting car.
The drive there was very quiet. Each person's mind filled with a million thoughts, but none were spoken. Ringo looked blankly out of the black-tinted windows while George watched the seat in front of him mournfully. It would be the longest 20-minute drive ever.
The grieving trio was led to an older room of the hospital. As they walked through the corridors of this sickly place, they noticed all of the people. People sick and dying, both young and old. The further they went, the worse it got.
They finally arrived at the room where everyone awaited them. Paul's father, Pattie Boyd, Cynthia Lennon, Maureen Starkey and Jane Asher all sat spread out across the room. Immediately, Pattie ran to George and wrapped her arms around him. Her face was blotchy like she'd been crying. Ringo found Maureen and rushed to her side. She kissed his cheek and laid her head onto his shoulder. Jane was sitting with Paul's father hunched over, hiding her face. Brian found one of the only open seats left and took it. Cynthia noticed that John wasn't with them and spoke her concern.
"Where's John?" she questioned Brian. Ringo and George glanced at each other from across the room.
"Um, he ran off, but I'm sure he'll be here shortly." Brian had a way of calming people down. Cynthia reluctantly sat back in her seat and fidgeted with the large button on her jacket.
There was barely any time to get settled when a nurse walked in followed by two doctors who rolled in a table covered with a large sheet. The whole room seemed to shift when the second doctor began to speak. He was an older doctor with graying hairs covering his head and age spots on his face. His voice was grainy and showed signs of past smoking.
"I'll give you folks some time to say your goodbyes." That was all he had to say.
The entire room stood up and gathered around the table. The nurse then slowly pulled part of the sheet of the top half, revealing Paul's face. Jane seemed to jump back a little at the sight of her boyfriend's scratched up, bruised, baby face.
Paul's dad, Jim, was the first to step up to him. He observed his son with fatherly concern and then rested his hand on Paul's shoulder while bowing his head to say a prayer. Jim tussled his son's hair a little bit and then stepped back.
None of the others really stepped up, but they were saying something. Ringo watched Paul with a strange look of admiration. He was the only one in the band who was somewhat comfortable with showing emotion. A small tear escaped his left eye and crashed onto the cold, metal table. Maureen seemed to be grabbing onto his shoulder for dear life and hung there like a bat.
George stared at his friend, still in shock. He had just seen him a few hours earlier, alive and well. It was all too much. His jaw twitched a little and he sniffed while his girlfriend, Pattie was latched onto his arm.
They all stood very quietly, watching the table for a while. Finally Jane came up right next to him. She kneeled down by the table and laid her head on it. There was a brief pause. She took Paul's cool hand and held it in her own. She rubbed it with her thumb while she looked up at his face. It tore her apart inside to see him like this. His face was pale. It had lost its life and colour and she knew, no matter what she did, she wouldn't be able to get a reaction from him. She finally pulled her stare off of him and looked down. A few tears were squeezed out of her eyes and she stood up. With his hand still placed in hers, she gently kissed it and then set it back on the table. Jim pulled her back and put an arm around her to comfort her.
Just as everyone thought things were beginning to wrap up, John came bursting through the doors, out of breath. Every head in the room turned to see who had slammed open their door. As soon as Cynthia recognized it as her husband she ran over to him and embraced him tightly.
"John, where the hell have you been? You look terrible!" She was right. He was dirty, his clothes were ripped and torn, his hair was a matted disaster and he looked pale.
"That's not important. I'm here now, aren't I?" John looked over at everyone else and noticed the man on the table. He immediately knew who it was. Slowly he approached Paul, taking each step delicately.
There he stopped, yet again, head to head with Paul. Only this time there was no angst. No repressed anger, no hard feelings, just love and remorse. He saw each and every injury covering Paul's face and knew half of them weren't even from the car accident.
John stopped and realized everyone in the room was closely watching him with interest.
"Um, do you think I could have a word with Paul alone?" John tried to politely ask. With no reply really needed, everyone sloshed out of the room.
John waited until the footsteps faded, making sure everyone had left the room and couldn't hear him. He then kneeled down and pulled a napkin out of his pocket that he had been clutching the whole time. He placed the wrinkled note firmly into Paul's hand.
Dear Paul,
I'm writing this letter on a greasy napkin in a dirty, old diner, so sorry that this couldn't be written on some fancy stationary. Whatever I may have said to you today or any other old day for that matter, I didn't mean it. Of course I don't want you out of the band. I never did want you out. You have always been my best friend and one little fight over a stupid E-flat won't change that. I do care about you and if we have to sit around for days working on notes to avoid fights like that, then that's just fine with me. I know it's too late now. I regret everything I said and I'm sorry. I really am. Please, just try and find a way to forgive me because I can't live with the guilt that my best friend won't forgive me. I'll say it one more time, I'm so sorry, Paul. Please come back.
Your Friend,
John
John chuckled to himself a bit.
"See you twit, I told you neither of us would make it to 40. Guess I'm next then, eh?" John smiled a little to himself but it quickly faded away. "I'll see you on the other side, Paul." He stood up and walked out of the room.
Everyone else waited in the lobby for John. When he finally emerged from one of the main hallways, the group of 8 stood up. Brian curled his pointer finger in, indicating for everyone to come close.
They all gathered around him as he started to talk.
"Okay, the press is outside. We need to stay calm and just tell them what happened. Give them what they want so we can go on with our lives, sound good?" Everyone nodded in agreement and headed toward the front door.
A blockade of men and women with microphones, notepads and recorders awaited them. They each glanced at each other and moved forward. They would go out there and tell the media exactly what happened; that Paul McCartney, the Beatle, the cute one, the band mate, the friend, the lover and the son, was gone.