The next chapter... WITH A BEATLE! Or three actually, technically... -.-
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I knocked on Mr Lovegood's door. I tucked in my new shirt nervously. This time I made sure that what I bought was appropriate. It was just an ordinary wool skirt, reaching my knees, a white shirt and white socks to match. I still wore my sneakers though. I couldn't find a shoe store.
I had gone back to the homeless shelter the night before. Darlene was now pretty used to the sight of me, but she did look a bit put off when I walked in with yet another brand new outfit. She didn't ask questions though, which I was thankful for.
She actually stayed with me for a bit and we laughed a bit. Only when there was a ruckus somewhere upstairs she left, bidding me goodnight, before breaking up the fight that had broken out. She had woken me again in the morning, like she had the days before as well. Maybe it was a good thing; I never was a morning person and I was afraid of oversleeping my appointment with the principal and perhaps messing it up for myself.
Mr Lovegood opened up the door for me, beckoning me in. I walked in, hoisting up my bag a bit higher on my shoulder. Mr Lovegood seemed to be looking for something, but after a minute of rustling through his drawers he gave up and sat down, looking at me.
'Before I can send you to your first class, we'll have to go over your personal details. First of all, your address?' He asked and I swallowed. He looked at me expectantly, his pen ready and I shrugged. 'I don't really know how the street is called.' I said, avoiding his gaze.
'Do you have a map? Can you show me?' He asked, scratching his head and I nodded. I took out the map Uncle David had sent me and started to retrace my steps from the Art College to the homeless shelter. Of course I wouldn't tell him it was a homeless shelter.
'Here it is!' I said, pointing it out on the map. He narrowed his eyes and copied the street down on his paper. 'Could you find out which number it is and tell Miss Terry downstairs tomorrow? The lady at the reception?' He asked and I nodded. 'Yes, of course.' I said.
'And do you have a telephone at home?' Mr Lovegood asked next and for a moment I was about to recite my own mobile phone number, stopping myself just in time. I shook my head. 'No, sir.' I said instead. He crossed it out on the short list.
'Well, thank God you're eighteen, otherwise we would have to get your parents' permission as well and no parent wants their child at arts school.' Mr Lovegood joked, crossing another thing out. 'I'm nineteen.' I said, correcting him. He frowned at me. 'Nineteen?' He asked and I nodded. 'I was born in 1941.' I said and his frown deepens. 'Your passport says your birthday is October 11th.' He said and I nodded. 'Yeah, that's right, so that would make me..' I stop, realizing he was right.
Uncle David hadn't thought it through really well. In the future I was about to turn twenty in a few months, not to turn nineteen. I was supposed to be born in 1940. No wonder that timemachine didn't work out.
'Oh, yes sorry, a bit of a language mix-up!' I said, blaming it on my English. He narrowed his eyes at me for a second, but I just smiled and he seemed to decide that I told the truth. He handed me a schedule and I looked it over. It looked reasonable.
'Just introduce yourself to the teacher and try and participate as well as you can.' He said to me and I nodded, taking a deep breath. It seemed like something I did a lot lately. Nodding I mean. I was pretty fluent at English, but after talking English for the entire day and all the stress and emotions, you just get tired of speaking any other language than your own.
'I will. Thank you very much.' I said and he stood up and opened the door, pointing down the hall. 'Just go the end and then to the right. Just follow that hallway and the last but one is your lecture hall.' He said and I smiled. 'Thank you.' I said again and I went on my way.
It was a bit harder to find than he made it out to be, but I found it eventually. It was a wooden door and I knocked it before walking in. It was a large room and about fifty students stared at me as I awkwardly walked up to the teacher, an old woman with a purple dress.
'I'm Marit de Ruyter. I'm a new student.' I said in a half-whisper. For a moment the teacher looked at me oddly, but then understanding was read on her face and she clapped her hands. 'Oh, yes! Quite right! Mr Lovegood informed me! You can take a seat.' She said, gesturing towards the countless rows of students that were watching me with hostile looks in their eyes. I went to sit in the back, taking out my notebook and pencil.
Most of the day it went like that. People would stare at me discretely but would say nothing to me and I made no move to talk to them. They were from the past and I was from the future. I wouldn't want to disrupt anything.
This ritual remained until right after lunch. The class had just started when a boy walked in. I didn't look up, doodling in my notebook, but the teacher sounded annoyed and said; 'This is the fourth time this week! Come on time, or don't bother coming at all!'
From the corner of my eyes I could see the boy sitting down, propping up his feet and pulling his hat over his face. He sat close to my spot, near the back of the class, while most sat near the front, closest to the teacher. It was an irritating man, that talked about art as if it was a pretentious way of distinguishing yourself from everyone else, rather than a way of expressing yourself. I smiled to myself when I thought of the 21st century term for him; hipster.
'And in these times the artist can finally freely express himself!' The teacher said dramatically, opening his arms to the students, as if to beckon them in. I rolled my eyes. 'Come with me on this journey and I'll show you the innards of art in the modern world!' The professor said and I did a poor, whispery imitation of him, doodling flowers in my notebook, annoyed by his melodramatics. The boy that came late heard me and laughed and I looked up in wonder.
He had pulled his hat off and I gasped in surprise at the odds. 'Hey, you're the girl who just left me at the Cavern the other day!' He said, recognition in his eyes.
'Keep your mouth shut, Mr Lennon!' The professor said and John Lennon rolled his eyes. He moved a couple of seats towards me, now sitting directly in front of me, and he leaned on my desk. 'Now, what did you do that for?' He asked, his voice a bit lower in volume.
I couldn't believe I had met John Lennon for the second time on accident. 'You go to art school?' I asked in surprise. He shrugged. 'Sometimes.' He replied. He looked back to the front for a second but then turned back to me. 'But I come often enough to know you weren't here before.' He said. I nodded. 'I'm new.' I stated lamely.
'Are you following me?' he asked, his eyes twinkling. 'Of course not.' I snorted. He put his hand on his heart. 'There is no "of course" about it! Why wouldn't you want to stalk me?' he said. I chuckled, but said nothing, knowing that we were coming very close to a time period in which every girl on the planet indeed wanted to stalk the boy in front of me.
We were both silent for a while and I felt both relieved and disappointed at that, but then he turned around again. 'Do you have a boyfriend or something? Is that why you left the other day?' He asked and I raised one eyebrow. 'Is that the only reason I wouldn't want to be alone with you in a backroom of some shady club?' I asked him and he chuckled. 'That's what they tell me. It never stopped a bird before.' He said and I frowned at him. 'Bird?' I asked and he laughed, earning another glare from the professor. 'Girl.' He clarified. 'Oh..' I said lamely.
He stuck out his hand and I shook it. 'John Lennon.' He introduced himself and I found myself nodding along. 'Yes, I know.' I said and he gave me a funny look; 'Excuse me?' I quickly shook my head and said; 'I mean; Marit. My name is Marit. Marit de Ruyter.' I had almost said van Breukelen instead of my new fake name.
We looked at each other for a second longer and I realized he was still holding my hand and I quickly yanked it loose, picking up my pencil again. He winked at me and I felt myself blush. 'Stuff it.' I murmured to him and I think he heard because he snorted.
'So.. That name doesn't sound like it's from around here..' John Lennon said. I couldn't keep calling him John Lennon could I? Just calling him Lennon would be weird too. And could you call a long gone legend by his first name? 'It isn't.' I replied him. 'I'm from Amsterdam, in the Netherlands. Born and raised.' I said and his eyes lit up. 'Oh, so you're one of those girls?' he asked me, his eyebrows moving up and down suggestively. I made a slight noise of disgust and hit him in the arm, which was still leaning on my desk. 'You're more like one of those girls than I am, I bet.' I said and he muffled a laugh.
'So how are you liking good old Liverpool then?' He asked, layering on his accent a bit more. I shrugged. 'It's fine.' I said, not really willing to go into that subject. Being in Liverpool was a bit of a sore subject for me. I think he sensed my unwillingness and he let it go, which I thought was really unlike him, even though I had just met him. I bit my lip. But I had seen interviews. I knew him better than I should've known him at a first meeting.
John looked at the clock. There were only a few minutes of class left. He turned back to me, leaning in a bit closer as if he was disclosing some great big secret to me. 'I'm meeting up with a couple of mates of mine after class. You want to come?' He asked and I raised my eyebrows. 'Are you inviting me?' I asked surprised. Did John Lennon just ask me along?
He frowned. 'What else did you think I was asking you?' He asked me and I made a face. 'I can't. I have another class after this.' I said and he gave me a wicked smile. 'So do I.' He said.
The bell signalled the end of class and John stood up from his chair, walking off. I watched after him and made a split second decision and I know I shouldn't have, he was John Lennon for God's sake, but I ran after him. 'I'm in.' I said and he said nothing, only gave me a wink.
He lazily lead me to the front of the school, where he hopped on the bonnet of a parked car, lighting a cigarette. I carefully sat next to him. 'What are we waiting for?' I asked him and he put his lighter away before answering. 'Stu. He goes here as well.' He said and I nodded.
We sat in silence for a few minutes before this "Stu" person came running out of the school, laughing. 'I almost got caught nicking Lovegood's watch!' He said, skidding to a halt in front of us. John laughed. 'It's about time he notices.' He said, jumping off the bonnet. I got off as well. Stu now focussed his attention on me.
'And who's this?' He asked John, eyeing me up and down. I glared at him; a clear "no chance!" signal. 'She's new at our wonderful little school. I figured we had to give her a proper welcome!' John said, walking down the street. Stu and I followed him.
Stu stuck out his hand. 'Stuart Sutcliffe, at your service.' He said with a smile. I shook his hand. 'I'm Marit de Ruyter.' I introduced myself. 'That's an unusual name around here, where do you..?' He began but before I could say anything John had already answered. 'Amsterdam! City of drugs, sex and.. Well not rock 'n roll, but it will be some day! Rock 'n roll will rule the world!' He said, doing a weird dance to accompany that statement.
I laughed. 'There's a lot more in Amsterdam than that, you know!' I said, but John waved me away. 'Don't try and top those two..' He said, suddenly crossing the street and walking up to a diner. It looked a bit dingy and dark. A sign told me it was called Ye Cracke.
A little bell ringed when we went in and a couple of heads looked up from what they were doing. Most of them looked back down, but two of them, who were sitting around a table in the corner grew grins and waved us over.
Stuart pulled out a chair for me next to him and I sat down. John sat on my other side. 'Fellows, Marit's new in town so be nice. Marit, these are Pete and his little brother Roag.' John said, gesturing at the two guys across from the table. The one named Roag only waved but his brother Pete stuck out his hand. 'Pete Best. I'm in John's band.' He introduced himself to me. 'Marit de Ruyter.' I replied, shaking his head.
I elbowed John softly. 'That band is the one I saw, right? A couple of nights ago, when I first met you?' I asked and John nodded, lighting another cigarette. 'Before you ran out on me.' He said. Pete laughed. 'Oh you're the one? He sulked about it for the rest of the night!' He said, taking a sip of his tea.
A server came up to our table, a bored expression on her face. 'What can I get you?' She asked, chewing her gum. 'A tea, please.' I said, smiling politely. 'Same.' Stuart said and there was a cheery 'Here here!' from John. The girl wrote it down on her notepad and shuffled back to the bar, her shoulders hung down. We watched her go and then looked at each other. We burst out in laughter. 'Wonder how she is in the sack!' John said.
I swatted at his arm. 'That's vulgar.' I commented. 'So what?' John replied, ignoring me furthermore. He started to talk to Pete about band practise and Stuart asked me about my course.
'Well, I just started today and I'm already skipping, so I don't know how it will go in the future.' I said, an unsure grin on my face. He laughed. 'John and I have been there since last year, but John made me skip a lot more than I'm comfortable to admit also.' He said and I chuckled. 'So, you go there voluntary? I don't get that vibe from John.' I said.
Stuart shot John, who was still talking to Pete, a look. 'His aunt makes him go. She figures that art college is a better waste of time than the band.' He said and I looked at John as well. I looked back at Stu. 'So who's in this band of his? I saw just a tiny bit the other day, but I wasn't really paying attention.' I confessed and Stuart smiled at me.
'Well, there's John of course and Pete on the drums. I'm in the band as well, bass guitar.' He grinned proudly at me. 'And there's these two kids called Paul and George. They're a bit younger, but they're pretty good so it's okay.' He said and I barely contained my grin. Ringo wasn't in the band yet though. I wondered where he was then, if not with the Beatles.
I decided that asking about the Beatles anymore would get a bit suspicious. They weren't yet famous and even if they were, I wouldn't want to come across as some crazy fan. I changed the conversation. 'When you came out of the school you said you stole Mr Lovegood's watch..?' I asked and Stuart leaned back in his chair, laughing.
'Yeah, it's just this joke I always play on the headmaster. He's about as messy as you can be and I thought it would be funny one time to nick his watch. I handed it in with lost and found of course, but he went mad looking for it. It's his father's watch, you see. And then it turned out to be with lost and found. It was so funny that I had to try it again and the same happened again.' He said and I laughed amazed. 'Really?' I asked and he nodded, crossing his heart. 'Now it's sort of our game. He knows it's me because it's always me handing it in with lost and found, but he can't prove I stole it, if he doesn't catch me in the act.' Stuart said and I chuckled.
'I always tell him to just keep the watch.' John said from my left, tuning into our conversation. Before Stuart could react the girl from the bar came to bring our tea. 'Thanks, that looks grea..' I began to say, but the server had walked off already. John patted my back. 'Keep up, keep up, customer service doesn't exist in this country!' He said. He put his arm over the back of my chair, leaning back.
I sipped my tea. 'Sutcliffe, it's band practise tonight at Paul's.' John said over my head. 'Tonight? But I'm supposed to help my dad out tonight.' Stuart said. 'If you don't show up, you're out of the band.' John replied stubbornly. They started to bicker, but I didn't mind. I leaned back in my chair, pressing into John's arm softly.
It felt all rather surreal. It felt too real to be a dream, but too much like a dream to be real. Three days ago at the same time I was playing games on my phone, hoping for the lecturer to finish his lecture on regional religionist wars quickly. In the year 2013. And there I was now, sitting next to dead musician John Lennon, before he was even famous, skipping class and sipping tea, in the year of 1960. What the freaking hell?
I felt like I should perhaps freak out, but I don't think it dawned on me quite yet. What were the odds for everything to work out like it did? Almost zero, so it couldn't have actually happened like it did. That was the only logical answer. And yet it wasn't.
I looked to my right, where Stuart was sitting. He was a handsome young man, with dark hair and eyes. He looked a lot more like a visual artist than a musician and I bet that the only reason he was in the band was because John made him be. Pete looked a lot more like he should be in a band than Stuart. He sat confident, with his hair styled into the Elvis cut, like John's and so much other boy's I had seen. It was obvious for what look he was going; the smouldering and mysterious look and to be honest; he was pretty good at it and I could imagine a lot of girls falling for the look. His little brother didn't look like much. He looked like Pete was supposed to babysit him and decided to take him along instead of watching over him at the house. Then I looked at John.
John looked like a bad-boy. His entire persona breathed individual ideas and curiosity, mixed in with a healthy disregard for authority. I immediately approved of him. He still looked so young though. He was about as old as me here, but I was used to seeing pictures of him from 1964 and onwards. It was weird how much of a difference three or four years could make on a face.
I looked at the table, putting my teacup down. All these thoughts were making me tired and I only really wanted to go asleep and wake up at home and in my own bed, instead of at the broken couch in the homeless shelter.
'So will you come?' I shook my head, looking up from my thoughts. 'Mmmh?' I murmured. 'Will you come to our gig this Thursday? It's in the Jacaranda Club at 23 Slater Street. It's owned by our manager.' Pete asked, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. I shrugged. 'Yeah, sure.' I agreed and Pete gave me a flirtatious smile, which I wasn't sure I was completely comfortable with.
John got up. 'Well, now that's settled, I better get going.' He said, putting on his leather jacket. I stood up as well. 'I'll walk with you.' I said. John didn't respond to that, only looked at Stuart, pointing at his chest. 'I'll see you tonight!' He said and Stu rolled his eyes.
We walked outside and walked towards the city centre. We passed the school on our way. 'I didn't pay for my tea.' I said with a smile. John shot me a glance. 'Neither did I.' He said and I laughed. 'Now they'll have to pay for us!' I said happily. He frowned at me. 'You Dutch are exactly as cheap as they say.' He said and I elbowed him.
'So where do you live?' I asked him and he yawned, scratching his head. 'Just a block away from the college. Together with Stu.' He replied. He looked at me sideways with a smirk. 'You want to come visit?' He asked and it was innocent enough of a question, if he hadn't asked it in that way. I made a face at him. 'Ew, as if.' I said childishly and he raised his eyebrows. 'What? You think you're too good for me?' He challenged, stopping in his tracks. I walked on.
'That has nothing to do with it.' I told him. 'I just don't want to jump into bed with someone I've just met.' I said. I shrieked when he pulled at my wrist, pushing me up against the wall. His entire body was pressed into mine and his face was only a couple of centimetres away from my own.
He leaned forward to whisper in my ear; 'That's what you think..'
I smacked his face and he stumbled backwards. 'Ow!' He yelled at me, looking at me like I was insane. 'What kind of two-bit whore do you think I am!?' I yelled at him. 'Don't you ever do something like that again, or I'll make sure you'll regret it!' I said, my Dutch accent seeping in heavily in my anger.
I was breathing hard, cursing him in Dutch under my breath and he was just staring at me, his hand on his cheek where I hit him. 'So..' I concluded, after a long rant in Dutch. 'Just don't, okay?' I ended rather weakly.
He held onto his cheek a second longer, but then John straightened his back and let out a laugh. 'Bloody hell, woman, you're mad!' He said and although I tried to keep glaring at him for a few moments, a grin broke onto my face as well. 'You better not forget it!' I said to him and he offered me his arm.
I took it and together we walked further into town, talking about light hearted subjects, making fun of each other and most of all poking fun at other people, innocent people who just happened to walk by.
From that moment on John Lennon and I were friends.
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