John Lennon awoke quickly, as if from a nightmare, bolting straight up in bed in unclear surprise. It felt as if he had slept for years. After the initial shock wore off and he got his bearings, he looked around and suddenly realized that he truly had no idea where he was.
He was in a bed, that much was certain, and by the low ceiling above him he could definitely tell it was some kind of bunk- and he was on the bottom. The thin sheets, and also the loose pajamas he couldn't remember ever putting on, were a pure, snowy white and extraordinarily soft in texture. Like air almost. Practically no furniture decorated the room, save for a small dresser on the opposite end. There were two doors, and John had no way of knowing where they led. A wide window opened on one side towards something he couldn't quite make out. Despite the sparseness of the room, it had a certain ubiquitous homey feel to it- like many people had called it their happy home, and all it wanted was to accommodate more.
Tossing the sheets carelessly to the side, John got out of the bed and was suddenly accosted by a strange, weightless feeling. Faintly, he could remember the odd sensation. It was one he had felt the few times he had been on a boat, although for the life of him he couldn't think of any reason he would be on a boat at that particular point in time.
The spacious window was slightly fogged up, so John wiped away some of the condensation with the sleeve of his pajamas. True enough, he was on the ocean, although it wasn't any ocean he recognized. The waters were calm, and a crystalline blue color. The only break was a dock- just a normal, wooden dock, stretching out into the ocean. Just as he was about to turn around, John noticed that suddenly, there were people on the dock. And when he saw exactly who the people were, he did a double take.
The first one he noticed was Yoko. It couldn't possibly be anyone but her- nobody else he knew had hair like she did, and besides, he simply had a feeling, in the pit of his gut, that it was her. She was leaning into someone with her head in her hands, shoulders shaking. Surprised, John noticed that the person supporting her was none other than Paul, the Paul McCartney he had played in the band with so long ago, who stood as straight as he could with Yoko's weight on his shoulder and looked off into the distance, a wistful, rueful look on his face. Even George and Ringo were there, Ringo with his shoulders hunched in, staring at the wood of the dock, George calmly patting his friend's back, his own eyes closed and his shoulders slack. His sons, too- Julian, looking sullen, and Sean, looking confused, were on the dock in the slew of people.
Never before had John seen all of them together, and it made him smile to witness what seemed like their differences being settled. However, they looked sad, for some inexplicable reason. He cheerfully waved to them, in a hope to bring them happiness, but they didn't appear to see them. For a split second, it looked like Sean could see him, but just as quickly as the feeling came it was gone again.
A mist enveloped them and John walked away from the window. What a strange dream it was. Of course, odd dreams were nothing unusual to him, but this was stranger than most.
"Hello," said a voice from somewhere behind him. The shock at hearing such an abrupt noise startled John, who jumped slightly before settling down. He pressed a hand against his chest instinctively, expecting to hear an elevated beat, but felt nothing. Odd indeed.
He turned to see another man, who appeared to be about thirty years of age, standing in pajamas that exactly matched his, in front of the double bed. Obviously, he had been on the top, but strangely enough John hadn't heard him come down, or even thought to check the top bunk for someone else. The thought had evidently slipped his mind. The man had dark skin that made him appear to be of African heritage, matched with black curly hair buzzed close to his head. He had an easy, friendly smile on his face. "Ah… hi…" John said slowly.
The new man nodded his head. "My name's Lawrence Jenkins," he said, offering a handshake. "Most call me Larry. And I definitely know who you are."
John couldn't even speak. Larry was so straightforward that he was taken aback by it. He was so friendly, it was flabbergasting. Paul had been that way, John mused. Perhaps that was why all the girls liked him. Certainly, Larry seemed like the type who would have an admirer on either arm.
"Mister John Lennon or the Beatle fame," Larry continued. "Didn't expect to see you here! My grandkids would be ecstatic if they were here, boy, you were their idol! I sure did see you a lot back in the sixties. I remember with them all in front of the television, watching that first telecast on Ed Sullivan. They were only five or so at the time, bless their souls, but you and the rest of that band of yours stole their hearts, what with your fancy guitars and songs! Thought you were hoodlums at the time, I did, but I must admit what you did with the equal rights movement was mighty spectacular. Great at what you did, all of you." John felt himself grinning at the compliment. Larry, meanwhile, gravitated toward the large window, and much like John did leaned against it and smiled, waving. John peered over his shoulder, but couldn't see anything except for mist and the endless expanse of water.
Something about Larry's speech certainly couldn't be correct. Once the man was done with his moment at the window, John voiced his thoughts. "Ah, Larry?" he asked slowly.
"Mm hmm?" was the response.
"You don't quite seem old enough to have grandkids. Actually, you barely seem old enough to have kids." The prospect that a man so young could have had grandchildren- and no less, grandchildren in 1964- was simply impossible.
"Really?" Larry looked amused. "How old do I look?" He looked eager to hear the answer.
John looked at Larry for a moment before saying, "Twenty-nine. Thirty, maybe."
Larry laughed loudly, and for a very long time at that. "Thirty years! My, my, Mr. Lennon-" he was interrupted again by laughter. "Oh, but I should have suspected." He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and leaned against the dresser drawer. "I was born fourteenth of January, 1892!"
"But-" sputtered John. "1892! You look younger than I am!"
"Looked in a mirror lately?" smirked Larry. John scowled at the cryptic way he was speaking, and opened the nearest door, which thankfully was to a bathroom. He located the mirror, and was completely surprised at what he saw.
His couldn't be more than twenty-two. Except for the fact that his hair was curlier and his circular glasses were perched on his nose (when did those get there?), he was the exact copy of himself from 1963. His mouth agape, he turned to Larry and looked at him. "What are ye, some sort of seer?" he asked, semi-angrily. Larry was acting omnipotent almost.
"Seer? Lord no. Just an accountant."
"Am I on acid again?" John muttered to himself. "Weird dream, weird dream…"
"Dream?" asked Larry. "I can see where you might think that. I certainly don't think you expected to be here! Much too young, you are… A right shame. I wouldn't expect you to remember quite yet, it seems you're still adjusting. Whenever you want to tell me what happened, feel free. People tell me I'm quite the confidante. Course, I knew this day was coming for me at least…" he began to look distant, although not unhappy. "Much different here than the preacher man said. Have to wonder what it'll be like when we dock… that is, providing we do." John ignored the odd words coming from his roommate. People had said much stranger things to him in dreams before. Larry, as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary, moved to the dresser and fished out a bundle or cloth, which he tossed to John. The musician was surprised that the bundle, which was most definitely of clothing, had a note on it with a name attached. John Winston Ono Lennon. Yep, that was definitely him.
He ducked into the bathroom and changed from his white pajamas quickly. The clothes were a pair of black slacks, a green dress shirt, and even a pair of shoes and socks. He had never liked to wear a suit, but the clothes were strangely soft and comfortable, like the insides were softer, looser, and cooler than the outsides.
He opened the door to find Larry in similar clothes, albeit ones that looked to be from the twenties or so. John was about to say something before the other man beat him to the punch.
"Well, come on then," said Larry, opening the door and heading out into a hallway. John followed him, taking in the scenery as he went. It was a very old looking boat- like he was walking in some historical artifact or something.
"Where are we going?" asked John, running a hand over some textured wallpaper.
"Exploring," replied Larry easily. John grinned. He was certainly up for an adventure.
