This chapter's official song: "No, No, No" by Yoko Ono

Daniel dropped me off at the gallery. It was dark, but the doors were unlocked. I slipped inside.

Yoko was sitting on a chair in the center of the gallery. Her long black hair was covering her face, but I could tell that she was holding her head in her hands, and her whole body was shaking.

I tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Yoko-chan?"

She looked up at me. Her face was stained with tears. "Nobody has called me Yoko-chan since I was five. Why does the person who wrecked my show and stole my chance at happiness call me that?"

I sat on the floor in front of the chair. "I…" On the way to the gallery, in the car, I had decided to tell her the bald truth—that I was from the future and that she had to protest the Vietnam War. Sitting on the floor with a crying artist, this course of action just seemed stupid.

"I wanted to apologize for wrecking your show," I said.

Yoko shrugged. "Actually, it's okay. What you did made me think about what I've been doing." She sighed. "People don't understand my art—to tell you the truth, I don't understand some of it myself. I sometimes work for hours at a time thinking up things and then I wake up and I don't know what they mean. But it seems like they should have some kind of artistic significance, so I keep them."

That made sense to me. After all, who, when sober, can understand the justification behind things you did when you're stoned?

"Oh, I'm a failure as an artist," Yoko wailed. "If I can't even understand my own art, then what's the point?"

I winced. She had a really piercing and annoying wail. It was even worse than her singing.

"Yoko-chan, you have much more to contribute. If you got involved in politics, you could still change the world." That, of course, was the fateful sentence. I honestly meant nothing more by that than maybe getting involved in a few protests. But of course she wouldn't take it that way.

Yoko immediately brightened up. "Politics. Of course." She wiped her eyes. "Thank you. What is your name?"

"Rachel."

"Rachel-chan, thank you. That is a very good idea." She got up and bowed to me. I bowed back.

Yoko hugged me. "Maybe I will see you again sometime," she whispered in my ear. "But for now, thank you. I will take your advice."

I left feeling somewhat disoriented.

Daniel met me with the car outside the gallery. "So, how'd it go?"

"Yoko was crying," I said.

Daniel grinned. "Sounds good to me."

"No, she was really sad. I felt bad for her."

"So what did you do?"

"I suggested that she get involved in politics."

Daniel almost choked. "You what?"

I decided it was time to change the subject. "So what did you do?"

Daniel sighed. "Don't even ask. They were all on acid and they wouldn't listen to a word I said."

"That's too bad. What did you say, anyway?"

"I told John that Yoko would make him the happiest man alive."

I started banging my head against the dashboard. "You—are—a—dumbshit."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?"

"You could have told him…You know what, I don't know. It doesn't really matter, I guess."

"You sound exactly like he did when he told me to fuck off." Daniel started up the motor.

"Yoko Ono is now a United States senator. What have you unleashed upon the world?" Daniel turned the TV off. "You know, you should have told me what you were planning to do."

"Why? I would have done it even if you thought it was a bad idea! Anyway, we've gotten her out of the recording studio and into the Senate, and she's done a lot of good." I was pacing back and forth on the carpet. "I mean, did you see that list of bills she pushed for? Environmental laws. Pacifist foreign policy. And I don't know if she had anything to do with it, but Ralph Nader is now the President. How can you possibly say that's bad?"

Daniel looked at the ceiling. "Fine. Fine, you win. John Lennon is alive and Yoko-less and the Green Party is in charge. The world is wonderful."

"Yeah." I stared at the dark screen. "The world is wonderful."

Daniel snuggled up to me. "So. Feel like celebrating?"

"I don't know," I said. "I just feel like there's something missing."

"What? We have a live genius and a harpy who doesn't sing and Bush isn't the president. What could possibly be missing?"

I sat up. "I want to go back."

"To what?"

"To 1974 and that crash pad. I feel like there's something important that I can find there."

Daniel thought about this. "Can I bring a couple of friends? Faina wants to meet Gloria Steinem."

"What, are you nuts? An activist like Steinem wouldn't be caught dead with a bunch of rock strutters."

"Would too."

"Just shut up. We're going."

"Hey, I wonder if Andy Warhol will be there?"

"He wasn't last time."