“Laura? It’s Emma.”
“Em? Hey! How are you?”
Emma stared at the phone cord she was twisting around her finger. “Not good. Do you think it would be okay if I came and visited you for a while?”
“Of course! What happened, Em? You sound funny.”
Emma had to laugh. “You are not going to believe who I just ran into.”
Laura had no idea. “Who?”
“Paul.”
“Paul?” Laura questioned.
“Paul McCartney, Laura!” Emma laughed again. Emma could just see the look on Laura’s face.
“Paul McCartney?”
“Yes! I can’t explain this over the phone. Can I come down to San Francisco?”
“Yes! Of course. Come as soon as you can.”
“I can be at the airport in less that forty minutes.”
Laura laughed. “Okay. Call me when you have a ticket in your hand.”
“Thank you, Laura.”
“Anything for a friend.”
An hour and a half later, Emma was on a plane to San Francisco. During the whole plane ride, she played the scene in the coffee shop over and over in her head. She never even thought that one Beatle would mean that the other three were around. That would mean that John was around. But did she really want to see him right now? What would he think of her? Would Paul tell him that he saw me? Those were the types of questions that ran through Emma’s head the entire plane ride.
Laura was waiting for her and they ran into each other’s arms.
“Thank you, Laura.” Emma said after they had pulled apart.
“It’s no problem. I needed some company. Now let’s get your bags and get out of here.”
They got into Laura’s black Volkswagen beetle convertible and drove to her home. It was located on one of San Francisco’s famed rolly streets.
“This is great, Laura!” Emma cried when she got out of the car. It was a huge Victorian style house, three stories.
“I have the third floor.” Laura explained, taking one of Emma’s bags. “On the first floor live a newly married couple. He’s attending law school and she . . . well let’s just say she is very friendly with the milkman!”
“No!” Emma gasped. “They just got married?”
Laura laughed as she opened the front door. “Uh huh. And then there’s Graham Walker. He lives on the second floor. He’s a writer too. I like him. You’d like him too.” They continued up the three flights of stairs until they reached Laura’s apartment. “Voila,” Laura smiled as she opened her door and let Emma walk ahead.
“It’s great!” Emma cried as she went from room to room.
“Glad you like it,” Laura sighed as she set down Emma’s bags. “God, it’s been a long day!”
Emma flopped down beside Laura. “Tell me about it!”
“That’s right!” Laura cried. “I want to know every detail!”
Emma closed her eyes. “It’s just been a weird few months to begin with. I haven’t been able to come up with any inspiration for my paintings, I can’t sleep, and The Beatles are everywhere.” She paused. “Then today I’m down at that little coffee shop, the one that I always told you reminded me of Liverpool.”
Laura nodded her head, remembering.
Emma continued. “I’m sitting there, wishing the world would go away when a shadow falls across the table and then, in a very familiar British male voice, I hear my name. When I looked up my jaw must have hit the table. Paul was standing there. He was all dressed up in disguise, but I knew it was him.”
“He was in the coffee shop?” Laura gasped.
“In the fucking flesh! I was so shocked I could barely speak. He sat down across from me. The whole time my mind was screaming for him to go away! The whole time we were sitting there, it was as if I was in some weird dream.” She turned so she was facing Laura. “I talked with him Laura and then I just left. I wouldn’t let him explain anything. I just got out of there as soon as possible.”
“What were you supposed to do?” Laura asked. “I would have done the same as you, I’m sure.” She stopped to consider what had happened. “Are you okay, Emmie?”
Emma leaned her head against the back of the couch. “I don’t’ know. I always pictured my reunion with him to be something out of the movies. I’d run back into his arms and the past would be forgotten. But my life isn’t a movie.”
Laura put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Things will get better, Emmie.”
Emma looked at Laura and smiled. “I know.”
I was reading in the paper that this New York show will have the biggest audience the Beatles, or any rock group for that matter, have ever seen.” Laura said, changing the subject.
Emma smiled again. “I know! I wish I would have went.”
Laura sat up quickly, an excited looked crossed over her face. “You can! Well, not Shea Stadium, but they are coming to San Francisco.”
“I don’t know--”
“Emma!” Laura cried. “You just said you wished you could see them in concert! I have to do an article on the concert. Come with me.”
“Okay.” She replied without a moment’s hesitation.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. When will I ever get the chance to see them in concert? If I keep acting the way I do I will never see them!”
Laura was getting excited. “I could probably get us backstage passes and then--”
“No!” Emma cried. “Just the concert, Laura. That’s all I can handle at the moment.”
“That’s fine! Going to one of their concerts is a big step!”
Emma threw a pillow at Laura. “You make me sound like I’m in some sort of twelve step program!”
Laura ducked, laughing, and this led to an hour-long pillow fight.
The concert was at 7:30. At four, Emma and Laura began to get dressed. They had gone shopping for special outfits in an area Laura called Height-Ashbury.
Emma found a gorgeous blue violet slip dress. It came three inches above her knee and was bordered with a thin layer of black lace. To go with it, she picked up a black cardigan sweater and a floppy black hat. Laura insisted that she purchase a pair of black knee-high two-inch heeled boots.
Laura found a beautiful A-style red dress with white piping.
Next was hair.
Emma’s fell to the middle of her waist. Laura had taken a piece from each side of her head and braided them, bringing them together at the back of her head.
Laura’s once long auburn hair was now cut into a short bob that reached her chin. She accented it with a thin white headband.
“I’d say we’re two fine looking chicks!” Laura laughed as they looked at each other in the long mirror that hung on the back of Laura’s bedroom door.
“I’d have to agree with you!” Emma smiled. “After the concert we’ll have to hit a club! Wouldn’t want these perfectly good outfits to go to waste!”
“No, we wouldn’t!” Laura laughed. She then glanced at the alarm clock that sat on her dresser. “We’d better get going.”
They put on their sweaters and grabbed their purses, leaving the apartment.
It was a hot summer night. Just right for an outdoor concert.
They got into Laura’s car and were off.
“I’m so nervous!” Emma cried when they pulled into the arena parking lot.
“Maybe they will see you from the stage.” Laura suggested as they followed a throng of young girls through the admission gates.
“Maybe.”
The place was packed. The group wasn’t even on stage yet and girls were already calling for them. The opening act came on, but it was pointless because the girls kept chanting for The Beatles throughout their performance.
All of a sudden an announcer was on stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, here are the Beatles!”
Emma and Laura were in the fifth row. They had perfect view of the stage.
Emma watched as they ran on stage. John was first. Followed by Paul, then George and last was Ringo. They plugged their guitars into the amps and Ringo took his place behind the drum kit. She could feel tears coming to her eyes when as she watched John strum his guitar and smile at the audience. He looked so happy. Paul stepped up to the microphone, but it was impossible to make out what he was saying. The drone of girls screaming drowned out the sound coming from the stage. Emma thought she could make out the words to ‘Can’t Buy Me Love,’ but she couldn’t be sure.
“This is amazing!” Laura cried into Emma’s ear.
Emma turned to her and smiled. She was glad her sunglasses were hiding her tears.
A girl beside Emma was holding binoculars. She asked if she could borrow them for a moment. The girl handed them to Emma and she brought them up to her eyes.
She focused on George first. He was smiling and laughing at something John had said. He’d sure grown up since the last time she had seen him. He belonged behind the guitar. She’d laughed when she read that he was the “quiet” Beatle. If they only knew! He could talk your ear off sometimes!
She moved on to Paul next. A lump rose up in her throat. He was still gorgeous. A little older, but he looked the same. When she’d seen him at the coffee shop, she didn’t really look at him. His hair was a little longer, a few more laugh lines. Looking at him brought a pain to her heart, so she moved on to Ringo. She vaguely remembered him from Liverpool. He’d been in another group but she’d only been interested in one band back then.
She’d saved John for last. He strummed his guitar and smiled. His hair was plastered to his forehead from the heat. He was playing his Rickenbacker. She remembered when he’d gotten that. It had been his pride and joy. She watched him sing and interact with the other guys. They worked so hard for so long and they deserved every last drop of what they had now. Just then he looked in her direction. She dropped the binoculars from her eyes.
“You okay?” Laura shouted over the screaming.
Emma smiled and nodded her head. She was okay. For the first time since she left Liverpool, she felt okay.
The next day at breakfast, Emma told Laura that she needed to go home.
“Well, we can go later today and get you one ticket to New York,” she replied.
“No, I mean my real home, back to Liverpool.”
Laura set down her coffee mug and the paper she was reading. She’d been waiting a long time for Emma to say those words. She smiled. Emma smiled back. “We can go this afternoon.”
Two days later, Emma was getting off the train at Liverpool station. She scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Just then, she spotted her mother. Maneuvering her way between the people on the platform, she ran into her mothers arms.
“It’s good to be home,” she tearfully said into her mother’s shoulder.
Her mother hugger her tighter. “Let’s get you home.”
Her room was just as she had left it that New Year’s Eve. An unfinished painting stood in the far corner by the window. Books and art supplies and photographs were scattered on the bed, left behind from her packing. She walked over and pushed aside some books and sat down on the bed taking a deep breath as she took everything in.
This had been her home, but she felt like she didn’t belong anymore. Everything was different. Everyone was gone.
She’d been home for a week. That was how long it took her to go.
She stood on the step and rang the bell. Moments later, the wooden door opened.
“Emma!”
“Hi Pauline.”
“When did you get back?”
“Last week.”
Pauline stepped aside. “Come in!”
Emma walked past Pauline into the familiar house. She got choked up when she saw his picture hanging on the hallway wall. He was seven in that picture.
Pauline took Emma to the living room where they sat down on one of the couches. There was an awkward silence for a moment.
“I’m really sorry I didn’t make it to the funeral.” Emma apologized.
“It’s okay,” Pauline replied. “I understand.”
Emma still felt horrible for not being there. “I really wanted to be there.” She quickly wiped away the tear that slipped down her cheek.
Pauline smiled. “You were with us in spirit. He would have understood.”
They sat and talked for a while. Then Emma had to leave.
“I have something for you,” Pauline said as she went upstairs. Coming back moments later, she was carrying a large cardboard box.
Emma took it and glanced down at the lid. Her name was written in black, familiar handwriting. She looked up at Pauline. “What’s this?”
Pauline shook her head. “I don’t know. I found it in his closet when I was cleaning.”
Emma thanked Pauline and promised that she would come by again before she left and headed back to her place so she could open the mystery box.
Emma took the box home and went up to her room where she sat down on her bed. She took a few deep breaths, then removed the lid. Right on top was a letter addressed to ‘Emmie.’ She took it out and opened the envelope, pulling out the letter and unfolding it.
Dear Emma,
Death has finally grasped me by its fingers. I wish you weren’t reading this letter, but things can’t be helped. I’ve always thought that I would die young. It was just something that was always at the back of my head. It’s not something I’m really scared about either. I believe that there is something there. Somewhere you go, whether it’s heaven or hell or whatever. I’ll wait for you there and when you come, we can paint the sky. My only regret is that I am not going to be there to see you make it, be there when you sell your first painting. Don’t be sad Emmie. We had fun when we were together. You’ll always have good memories. Can you remember a time when we ever fought? Well, there was that time you stopped speaking to John and I for a week because we told Andrew Dawson that you were really hot for him, which you did! But other than that… .
I’m sorry this happened. Just remember that no matter where you are, I will always be with you. We made a promise and I don’t intend on breaking it. Keep an eye out for John.
Love always and forever,
Stuart
Emma wiped away a tear and set down the letter beside her on the bed. Peeking inside the box, right on top, was a picture from Hamburg. Emma remembered that day like it was yesterday. All of them had spent the day at the beach.
“Picture time!” Astrid smiled, waving her camera in the air above her head.
“Only if you’re in it, too!” Emma laughed as she dodged John, who had been trying to throw her into the water for the past five minutes.
Astrid started arranging everyone so that the sea and sky were the backdrop.
“I know!” John cried. “We can set ourselves up like a pyramid!”
“And how am I supposed to set camera up, run back, and get on top?” Astrid asked.
John scanned the beach and spotted a man and woman walking towards them. “We’ll get one of them,” he pointed.
So Klaus walked up to the couple and asked if they would be ever so kind and take the picture. They agreed and so the pyramid was built. John, Paul, Klaus and Pete were on the bottom row. Next came Stuart, George and Jurgen. On top of them was Emma and Cyn and on the very top Astrid.
“Smile,” the German man cried and the picture was taken.
Emma set the photo down beside her and picked up the next thing in the box. It was a folded piece of art paper. She drew in her breath when she unfolded it. There was a picture done in pastels. It was the picture she had been working on the first day she met Stuart. She couldn’t believe he had this.
Next she pulled out a package of letters tied together with a red ribbon. They were the letters she had written him through the years. Emma remembered they would write them even before he moved to Hamburg and she to New York. She never thought she’d be seeing her letters again.
Emma glanced at her clock above her door. It was 4 o’clock. She wanted to make it to the cemetery before dark. She put the lid back on the box. There would be time later to go through the rest. She grabbed her coat and her bag and left her room. Twenty minutes later she was at the cemetery.
She has no idea where she was going, but somehow she found herself standing in front of his grave. She stood there for a moment, unable to believe that this is where her best friend now was.
Emma slipped her bag off her shoulder and kneeled down on the ground, setting her bag down beside her. She hadn’t even been there for five minutes and already she was in tears.
Emma leaned her head against the cool stone and traced her fingers along his name carved in the black marble. Stuart Sutcliffe. Underneath that were the dates; born. 23rd June 1940, died 10th April 1962, age 21 years.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. Overcome with emotion, she pulled her hand away and covered her mouth to hold in the sob that was threatening to escape. She took a shaky breath and reached into her bag, pulling out a thick white envelope. With it, she pulled out the letter that was inside. She needed to do this.
“Dear Stuart,
When I came to Liverpool, I knew not a soul and I always wondered if here would be the place I would finally fit in. I remember the first day I met you. I was killing time before my interview at the art college. That morning I had bought a box of pastels, something I had never used, and was unsuccessfully experimenting with them. You came up to me and the first thing that ran through my head was ‘IT’S JAMES DEAN!’ You saw into me that day, and I knew we would be great friends. It was also on that day that you introduced me to John. God, I was so intimidated by him! I had a napkin that I must have torn into a million pieces! Once I got to know him, though, I realized what a teddy bear he was. From there I met George and Cyn and Pete and Paul. I had never felt like I belonged anywhere before, but when I was with ‘the gang,’ I felt I belonged, knew I was loved. You always believed in me. You never let me give up, and god knows how I would have given up hundreds of times! It’s because of you that I am where I am today.
“I always looked up to you. You were older, more experienced, wiser. I always felt special when I was around you because when you talked with a person, you always had this way of making them feel distinct, like you actually truly cared what they had to say. I think one of the best things that ever happened to you was meeting Astrid. You two were soul mates in every sense of the word. And I don’t care what anyone says, you were an amazing bass player. God could you play! I will always have this one moment etched in my brain. It was just after John had asked you to join his band and we had gone to that music store and spent hours choosing just the right bass. When we found it and you had bought it we went back to your flat. You plugged it into the amp that you borrowed from John and you put on this amazing jazz record and started playing along with it as if you knew how to play all your life. After the song finished, we looked at each other with these amazed looks on our faces and then we looked down at the bass and then back at each other and then we started to laugh! God, I miss things like that.
“There are so many things I want to say to you in this letter, but I just can’t seem to find the words to express what I want to say. I miss you, Stuart, more than anything in this world and I still can’t bring myself to believe that you are really, truly gone. It’s just not fair, or right. I lost so many things when I came to New York. Friends, love, faith. I want everything back. I need to get myself into the future, but to do that I know I need to let go of my past. And I’m trying to do that. I just want you to know, that no matter what happens throughout my life, I will always remember you. You will always have this special place in my heart. I love you Stuart. You were one of my best friends and I won’t forget that. Wait for me where ever you are and when I get there we can paint the sky.
Love always and forever,
Emma”
Emma took the letter and dug a hole in the loose dirt by the stone and placed the letter in it, covering it over and patting it down so no one would know what she had done. It was time for her to go. She picked up her bag and slung it around her shoulder the got up from the ground, brushing the mud and dirt from her knees. She kissed the tips of her fingers and then placed them down on the stone. And then she started singing softly to herself as she walked away. “Love me tender . . .”
