Okay, so you know I'm usually all hyper and crazy and out of control and talk, talk, talk? Well, I'm sad to say that this is no longer the case, as I am FREAKING SAD! There are four more chapters, three if you don't count this one. And after that no more A.J. Sad face. Anyway, I guess I should do a quick recap for those of you who, er, forgot. Sooooo: George, Paul, AND the horrible John know all about A.J.'s little crush on Ringo, but what George and John don't know is that Ringo kissed her and now she LOOOOOVES him. Paul knows because A.J. tells him EVERYTHING. So when A.J. went to profess her feelings to Ringo, she found him…ahem…with another girl. Then A.J. ran out and got herself a little haircut. And nooooooow, here's chapter seventeen!
My head felt heavy as I rolled out of bed, but the only thought that was in my mind was this: COFFEE. I stumbled into the kitchen, not even looking to see who was in there. I poured myself a cup, took a grateful sip, and turned around, leaning against the counter.
They were all sitting at the table, wearing similar expressions: eye brows raised almost off their heads, eye wide, mouths open. I stared right back, frowning. No one said anything for a second; they were too awestruck. And me? I couldn't figure out WHAT the hell was going on.
"What?" I finally asked, my hand on my hip.
A smile flickered across George's usually serious features, and he raised his arm, pointing at me. "Hey, looks lads! It's the fifth Beatle!"
I gasped. "WHAT did you just call me?" I took another sip of my coffee, trying to wake myself up.
John was already cracking up, holding his stomach. "What did you DO?"
I slid my mug onto the counter, then ran into the bathroom, a sudden burst of energy overcoming me. I stopped dead, staring at myself in the mirror. What…the…FUCK?
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed in this high pitched, horror movie scream. My fingers slowing went to my chin, touching the fringes of hair that hung there. No…I did NOT!
Four faces appeared in the doorway, two of the grinning like madmen, two of them looking wary. "It doesn't look THAT bad. Actually…I think you look pretty." Paul smiled at me, obviously trying make me feel better.
"Have you SEEN me? I look like…like…"
"A boy?" John offered.
I looked at myself in the mirror again, slightly shocked. Why did I do this to myself? Why would I-
Then I remembered. I turned slowly, my eyes narrowed into oblivion. "This," I hissed, pointing at Ringo, "is YOUR fault."
John rolled his eyes, George looked down, and Paul bit his lip. However, Ringo raised his eyebrows incrediculously. "It's not my fault you decided to come into my room! And how does your hair have to do with me sleeping with some girl?"
"Oh, really? Bonnie was just SOME GIRL? Because you seemed pretty chummy when I saw you last." I crossed my arms over my chest. Jerk face.
"Why do you even care?" he shot back. "And you never answered my question."
John smirked. "Yeah, A.J. Why do you even care?"
"Shut up," Paul muttered, nudging John in the ribs.
John rolled his eyes. "Christ, why do you always have to take HER side! It's like-"
"Like George," Ringo cut him off, smirking. My finger moved to play with my curls like they usually did when I was anxious, but there was nothing there to play with. So they moved up a considerable amount and tried to seek out a good ringlet in the thick mess on top of my head.
"What does GEORGE have to do with any of this?" I thought aloud.
Ringo snickered. "Oh, please." George blushed scarlet, but his face was uncertain.
I looked at George. "What…?"
George cleared his throat. "Uh…"
"Oh you two are so damn cute!" Ringo proclaimed, giggling like crazy. Okay, what the fuck was HIS problem. I mean-
Oh, I get it.
"That's ironic," I breathed, shaking my head. The other three laughed, but Ringo just kept grinning away like he knew everything.
"A.J. loves George! George loves A.J.," he began to sing. George just got even brighter red.
"No, I don't."
Ringo began to do a little happy dance around in a circle. "A.J. loves Geo-rge! George likes A-J!"
John began to laugh. "You know why this is funny? Because A.J.-"
But before he could say anything, I lunged at him, my hand flying up to cover his mouth. "Shut UP!" I hissed, giving him my Mean Face.
"Hey Peter Pan, don't you have to get back to Neverland?" George quipped, snorting into his hand. Paul began to giggled too, and I lost my only ally.
I whipped around, marching back into the bathroom and sighing overdramatically. George, Paul, and John were still laughing at me, and Ringo was still happy dancing/singing. "I hope you all fall down a well and DIE!" I screeched, slamming the door shut. Goodbye and good riddance.
I stayed in my 'room' the entire day, talking to no one. When they all left to go party or whatever the hell they did every night, I emerged, thinking I was safe. I walked into the kitchen, making my footsteps quiet just in case someone WAS there. Slowly, I pulled open the fridge, peering inside. There was nothing good except a lone cup of pudding, standing resolute with its sticky note. I glanced around, knowing full well that if I got caught with pudding, there would be hell to pay.
I reached in slowly and determinedly, making sure not to disturb anything else, and grabbed the plastic cup. Quietly, I closed the refrigerator. Being my old paranoid self, I glanced around again. No one. I looked at the yellow paper that was stuck to the cup. It read: JOHN'S FUCKING PUDDING! WHAT DON'T YOU PEOPLE GET ABOUT THAT? I slipped the note in my jean pocket, not knowing where else to deposit it.
Ever so gently, I peeled off the top, grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer, and dipped it in the delicious substance. "Sorry, Johnny," I whispered, placing the spoon on my tongue and savoring the creamy, chocolate treat that slid off of it and into my waiting mouth.
"So it was YOU!" a voice hissed from behind me. I jumped ten feet in the air, the pudding cup flying out of my hand and landing on the floor with a thump. Its contents seeped out. John looked from the chocolate pudding, to me, pudding, to me, pudding, and then finally his beady little eyes rested on my own. "You…you…pudding waster!"
I bit my lip, not knowing what to do. But it was too late. Now I, the only one in the house that ever respected John's pudding rule, was going to take the fall for pudding-stealing. "Oh, shut up. It's not like I was the one eating your cornflakes!"
John gasped, hurrying forward and pushing me out of the way to get to the cereal cabinet. He yanked it open, snatching out the precious box and ripping the top open. There was a noticeable amount gone. "George," he growled. The yellow sticky note on the box proclaimed: Eat. And. Die. Love, John.
"Anyways," I said slowly, inching my way out of the kitchen, "I was just going-"
"Oh, no you don't. Back," he ordered, pointing to the kitchen chair. He reached up, put the cereal away, and sat down across from the chair he had indicated. I sat down uneasily.
"Uhhh…what's up?"
"Remember that deal that we made?" He grinned evilly at me. I want to smack him across the face.
"Yes," I replied, not wanting to elaborate in case HE forgot.
"I know what you're gonna do for me." He was wearing a completely serious, all business face. Dread was creeping into my stomach, and my palms were starting to sweat. However, I glared at him defiantly.
"What?"
"You're going to tell me something."
Okay, I just dodged a MAJOR bullet. And that bullet was going ninety five miles per hour, was pointed at the end, and was named John Lennon. Tell him something? EASY! I thought he was gonna make me drink George's dirty bath water or something. Ugh.
"Okay, shoot."
That famous John Lennon smirk appeared. "Who is grandfather?"
My mouth dropped open. "Er…I…Doctor Ryan, remember?"
He shook his head. "I'm not a moron. They met AFTER she told me." I stared at him blatantly. How could he not see? How was being so blind? He WAS smart, this I knew. And he had common sense, at least. He should have realized it by now.
"Are you kidding me, John?"
He just stared back solemnly. I sighed, standing up and grabbing his hand. "Come with me," I commanded. To my great surprise, he stood with me, and he allowed me to drag him into the bathroom.
"Whoa, Peter, I don't like you like that!" he exclaimed, wrenching his hand away from mine. I rolled my eyes.
"Don't call me Peter. And look in the mirror, John." We stood side by side, staring into the mirror, and hit me all of a sudden that no matter how much everyone said I could be my mother's sister, it was her FATHER that I resembled most.
He shifted his weight impatiently. "What am-"
"Just look."
"I am looking! I don't see anything!"
"Look harder!"
He squinted his eyes up and leaned forward. After a second he returned to his old position. "That's not working," he informed me.
I shoved him a little bit, and when he straightened up and returned to the frame, he rolled his eyes at the exact moment I did. That, I think, was when he knew. There was a flash of recognition behind his eyes, however brief. But he still looked at me stubbornly.
"Enough of this bullshit, just tell me."
"I can't, John. I really can't. It's not my secret to tell."
"But you know."
"Yes…"
"So you have to tell me."
"I. CAN'T!" I yelled. I was starting to get SERIOUSLY pissed off.
He crossed his arms over his chest, that malicious smile dropping back on his think lips. "Fine then. I really should be catching up with the lads. I only came back to grab my ciggies. Besides, I have this one story that I've been DYING to tell Ringo."
My face drained. "Please…don't."
John shrugged. "If you're not going to tell me, then I'll do what I have to."
"That's not fair!"
"And neither is the fact that you didn't follow through on your side of the deal." He turned around, walking out of the bathroom and into the hall. I hurried after him.
"C'mon! I'll do anything else!"
"I don't want anything else." Now he was in the living room.
"I'll tell you…about, ummm…all of Paul's hit songs!"
This seemed oddly tempting to him, but he waved it away. "Nah, I'm fairly certain I'm better than him." His hand was reaching out for the front door.
I stood in the middle of the living room, deliberating. I knew for a FACT that he was going to tell Ringo this very second about how I felt. That was just who he was. He hated me! He didn't care about MY feelings at all. He never would. He just wanted to be an asshole. The knowledge of that is what made me do it.
"-and then later we're going out, so we won't be back til much later. Paul's been goin' on about some bird, so we might-"
"It's you," I cut off quietly. He stopped, half way out the door, midsentence.
"It's me…what?" But he knew. I could tell by the look on his face that he knew.
"When Maggie Mae got pregnant, she told you that it was another man's baby because she didn't want you to have to carry that around with you. You know, that weight of having a child, maybe of even having a wife. So she lived in pure misery, had YOUR baby, and listened to all the times you bitched and moaned and complain and cussed her out." I glared at him, hoping the resentment I had been feeling was pouring out through my eyes.
He leaned up against the doorframe, his eyes cast downward, breathing heavily. He looked up at me through the corner of his eye. "I didn't know," he said in a dangerously low voice.
"Yeah, neither did I," I hissed. "And the worst fucking part? Neither does your daughter. Because Maggie Mae would have rather been called slut and a whore and a bitch then to betray that secret that she kept because of YOU."
John stood up straighter, his voice coming back to him. "I didn't ask her to do that!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. He was gonna scream this one out, I knew it. And if that was what was gonna make it better for him, so be it.
"No, and doesn't that make it all the more noble?"
"You don't think I would have cared for my own fucking kid? You don't think I would have helped her?" He pointed his finger in my face, and I carelessly swatted it down.
"I don't think anything. Obviously Maggie didn't though." I crossed my arms over my chest.
He took a step back, his hands shooting up and twining into his hair. "This is BULLSHIT! I don't…I can't…"
"You asked," I spat.
"BECAUSE SHE TOLD ME IT WASN'T MINE!"
"And did you honestly believe that, John? Or did you just WANT to believe that?"
He stared at me, his mouth hanging open. "You cocky little bitch! You don't know me! You don't know anything ABOUT me!"
"HA!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Seriously John? That might have worked a couple months ago, but that was sure as hell NOT working now. "That's where you're wrong, asshole. I DO know you. I know that you're OCD about pudding and fucking cornflakes, I know that your favorite color is green because it reminds you of nature and trees and peaceful things. I know that you like to sing show tunes in the shower and that you hate the sound of your own voice. I know that you talk in your sleep, and because of that I know that you are very fond of cats. Fuck, I even know that Maggie Mae was the only girl you've ever truly loved, and I know all the songs you've written for her by heart." I felt like crying again. But I wasn't going to cry, because too much crying got VERY old. "And I know tons more, but I'm afraid that if I tell you that I know them you'll hit me."
His face looked completely dead, and he wouldn't look me straight in the eye. "Yeah, okay, I guess you know a few things about me."
I laughed, because I honestly didn't know what else to do. Then I took a few hesitant steps forward and whispered, "And you know what I know most of all?"
"What?"
"That you're gonna hate this next part."
His defeated features looked, if possible, even more resigned. "Shit. Okay, fine. Tell me."
"If you were the father of Maggie Mae's baby," I began slowly, watching his face, "and Maggie Mae's baby is my mother, that makes you…"
He stared at me, his mouth open but no sound coming out. "…my grandfather," I finished, because I didn't think he would ever add it up.
Okay, now let me tell you a little something about John Lennon. No matter how much you hate him (like me) or worship the ground he walks on (like most others), there is no doubt in your mind upon meeting him that he is intimidating. And not because he is especially big, or because he is especially good looking. But because even standing next to him you can tell that his mind is working at all times. He has this aura of…intelligence, almost, that bites into you and makes you stutter. You just KNOW that you are in the presence of an outstanding mind. And what, you may ask, did the award winning mind of John Lennon think up to say to the simple fact that yes, he was my grandfather?
"Ew."
Hehe. He says nothing but 'Ew'. Sorry, but i think that's kind of funny. Anyway, only a few more chapter left til the impending doom that we all knew was coming from the beginning. I want to say ahead of time thank you SO much for reading, and no matter what happens just know that I am a slightly pessimistic person, and that I think happy ending are for people who can't face reality (haha Dani Dragon!). If you WANT you can review but- Okay, sorry, I don't know what happened there. That was VERY out of character. What I MEANT to say was REVIEW OR I'LL SAY YOU ATE JOHN'S CORNFLAKES!