They Won't See Me
A Tribute To John Lennon
I first saw him one month ago yesterday. Then I thought I was crazy. Now I
just think it's normal.
I was doing some last-minute memorizing of a Latin passage, my tounge
feeling like a wet rag as it stumbled over the foriegn syllables. He
walked by my window, grabbing my attention (which wasn't difficult,
considering).
"Excudent alii spirantio...no, spirant...no, that's not it..." A flash of
dull color caught my eye as I threw down my book in frustration. I peered
out the window to the right of my desk. I needed a diversion.
I dragged myself from my backwards perch on my desk chair. I peeked
through the curtains to see a man wandering through our yard, looking lost
and wispy. I thought maybe I had fallen asleep and was dreaming. He looked
so strange...then again, strange people walk through these suburbs, most
of them crazy. After a while, you get used to it. My mom wanted to move
once, but she calmed down. Most of them are harmless, anyway. Regardless,
I decided to take care of him before he did anything.
I left the warmth of my room to the cool of the hall, then out into the
frigid autumn air. I stepped to the edge of the front stoop, pulling my
sweater closer for warmth. He was about twent feet away, admiring the
fading colors of the leaves with a sad, far away look on his face. I
almost decided to leave him alone; he loked so peaceful. But no...
"Hey! You!" he turned slowly, gazing at me lazily over a pair of small,
round spectacles.
"Who? Me?"
"Yea, you! This is private property!" I pulled my sweater even closer. "Get
lost!"
I expected him to look slightly hurt, angry, or something. But instead, he
stared at me, his face the very picture of someone in complete shock. I stared
back with a look of equal emotion, but I put all my effort into looking
incredibly annoyed. He seemed to find his voice after a few minutes, clearing
his throat loudly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he
spoke.
"You...you can see me?"
'Uh oh,' I thought. 'Real fruitcake, this one.' I changed my mood slightly,
attempting to be a bit more hospitable. I thought carefully about my answer
before I spoke; the man shifted his feet nervously as he waited for my
response.
"Yea, I can see you..." I said slowly, licking my dry lips. "Does that
surprise you?"
The man blinked, his face blank. He coughed slightly and adjusted his glasses.
"Well, a little."
I waited for him to explain, but he merely wiped his glasses on his sleeve and
squinted at the sky. He looked about twenty, with shoulder length auburn hair.
He wore a corduroy jacket over a plain black turtleneck. He was relatively
handsome, but he seemed so sad...
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. "Uhm...why does that surprise you?" This
seemed the next logical question.
"Well," he started, replacing his glasses and returning his blank gaze to me.
"No one's seen me since...since..." He shivered, pulling his coat closer to
his body to block out some of the wind, but something told me that the wind
was not the only cause for his sudden shuddering. He shoved his long-fingered
hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.
I bit my lip. I couldn't decide whether or not to invite him in; my mother was
away, my sister was at violin lessons. "Why don't you come in?"
He looked at me for a moment, then began walking slowly with long strides of
his leather clad feet, keeping his hands deep inside their pockets. I opened
the door wide, but he paused on the threshold, looking unsure. I motioned for
him to enter, trying to look as friendly as possible, but he didn't move. I
shivered, wanting to go inside, so I offered, "It's cold out here; I could
make warm tea inside..."
That seemed to intrest him. I breathed out audibly, closing the cold wind
outside and enveloping myself in the swirls of warm air. I led the man to the
kitchen where I motioned for him to sit at a small round table. I put the
kettle on to boil and removed a pair of teacups and teabags from the cupboard.
I sat down opposite the man at the table. We stared at each other for a
moment, silence falling upon us. He sniffed, then asked, "What's your name?"
I wasn't sure of how much I ought to tell him, but after a moment of
hesitation, I decided he was harmless. This was not a man with malice on the
mind. "Paul."
He nodded with approval. "Paul? As in, McCartney?"
"Well, sort of. My last name is Falder, but Paul McCartney is my namesake."
"Really?" The man looked interested, leaning forward with his elbows on the
table.
"Yea. He's some big rock legend or something. My mom liked him around the time
I was born, so that's what they named me."
"That's interesting."
"Why, do you..." At this point, the kettle boiled, demanding to be noticed as
I turned off the stove and poured two cups of tea. I handed a cup to the man,
and he set it on the table to steep. THe steam from the cup wound around his
hands as he spoke, reminding me of my first impression of him; almost
ghostlike. I shook off the feeling and listened carefuly as he spoke. "He was
a good friend of mine."
"Really?" this piqued my interest. "You met him?"
THe man blew on his tea lightly, a slight smile twinging his thin lips. "Yea.
You could say that."
He removed the teabag from his cup, squeezing it expertly between his long
fingers and the spoon, not flinching even slightly at the scalding tea that
dripped down his fingers. He seemed more and more familiar the more I watched
him. "I think I've seen you before..."
He peered at me over the spectacles perched on his pointed nose. "I've been
places." I had no *idea* what an understatement that was.
I stard at him hard, my brow furrowing. That hair, those glasses...he was so
familiar! Why can't I...this was bothering me, to say the least!
"Where have I seen you? I know I've met you. What's your name?" I kicked
myself for not asking that sooner.
"John."
"John, as in..." I wracked my brains for a famous John with which to place
him. My breath caught in my throat. "No way. As in, Lennon?" It couldn't be.
John Lennon was shot a few years ago! This wasn't possible. I ran to my
mother's room, desperately seeking to prove myself wrong. I wrenched open a
drawer filled with old dusty records. I pulled out a group shot of the band -
The Beatles (with an 'a')- and raced back to the kitchen. I held the pic up to
his face; he remained calm, as if he knew what was coming as I compared his
face to that of the late rock star.
It was a perfect match.
"But..."
"I'm dead?" He finished my tought, looking forlornly into his tea as if it held the
answer. "Yea, I know." He gazed at me, almost through me.
I was speechless. I mean, I was talking to a dead man! "How..."
"I dunno." He cut me off again, reading my mind. He sipped his tea thoughtfully
before continuing. "One minute, I was shot, dying. The next, I woke up in my own bed.
I was thrilled; I was alive!" His face dimmed. "But then I went outside. I expected
thousands of fans, cheering for my recovery, but no one so much as glanced in my
direction. I danced, I sang, I ran around like a man possessed, but no one blinked.
So I tried the next logical thing, standing directly in this guy's path. I figured,
'That'll show 'em' but he walked right *through* me."
"So you're a ghost." he shrugged.
"I guess."
"But I can see you. And, you're drinking that tea."
He looked sheepish. "Well...sort of." He gestured under the table. A small brown pool
of tea was forming on the floor. He looked at it, frowning.
"Sorry. Forgot about that."
"Nah, it's ok." I wiped it up with a paper towel before my mom came home and freaked.
Tossing it in the trash, I returned to the table and to my previous question. "How is it
that I can see you, but no one else can?"
He began to bring the teacup to his lips, but I grabbed it away before he could take a
sip.
"Sorry again. I don't how you can see me. I've travelled the world, but no one's ever
seen me before."
"Travelled the world?" I was even more interested now.
He smiled at my curiosity. "Yea. When you're invisible, plane fare is actually pretty
cheap." he smirked. "I've been almost everywhere. Customs, security, police lines. They
don't matter anymore."
"Nothing? Nothing matters?"
"Not to me. Obviously they wouldn't be happy when you waltzed through a shootout.
Actually, you wouldn't be happy, either."
"No, I suppose not!" I replied, laughing.
We sat in silence, staring at each other. He had a little smile on his face. He seemed
happy to have finally found someone to talk to. He seemed to be in deep thought, his long
fingers tapping the table. Neither of us spoke for a long time.
"I'm home!" My head snapped up.
"Shit! That's my mom! You have to hide or something!" He laughed uncontrolably at my
stupidity, his glasses sliding down his pointed nose.
"You're joking, right?" He said as he compsed himself.
"Oh yea..."
"Unless..."
"Who are you talking to, dear?"
"Nope." John answered his own question.
My mom entered the kitchen with an armfull of grocery bags. She turned to look at me after
placing them on the counter. "And why do you have two cups of tea?" She felt my forhead. "Are
you feeling alright?"
She couldn't see him. He looked at me, then stood and walked over to her, waving his hand in
front of her face. "Yet another who can't see me. I thought maybe you were a special family
or something, but no, just you."
"Are you just going to stare at me?"
I realized I hadn't answered her question. Clearing my throat, I answered, "Uh, sorry...no,
I'm...fine..." I answered.
My little sister came prancing into the room, dropping her violing with an unhealthy clunk.
She danced in circles around me, not seeing John, either. "He's finally lost it, Mummy! We
could all see it coming."
"Shut up, Matty!"
"He's finally lost it, mummy!" John's voice squeaked. He pranced after her, looking terribly
stupid. Eventually she stopped, and he stood behind her, sticking his arm through her head. I
tried my best to mask my laugh behind a cough as his fingers poked out of her ear.
"Bwahaha!" He laughed evily. "I am the master of the universe! None can see me! Bwahahaaa!"
"'Cept me."
"What, dear?"
"Uh...nothing, mom." John made a face, making me snicker as QUIETLY as possible. My mom put
her hands on her hips, looking at me disapprovingly.
"And what is so funny?" John stood next to her, mimicking her stance.
"And what is *so* funny?" His voice cracked terribly, sending me to the floor in a fit of
laughter. My mother sighed, shook her head, and continued putting away the groceries. I wiped
the tears from my eyes and put the cups in the dishwasher, still giggling. I made some lame
excuse about homework and retired to my room. I shut my door, then realized John wasn't in.
As I was about to open the door, he just walked through it, a smirk playing on his thin lips.
I smiled at him, waggling my finger. "You're going to get me into some serious trouble
someday."
He shrugged and sat down at my desk, stretching his long legs out to their full length. "I
wouldn't do that if I were you. You'll trip me if I'm not paying attention, any I'm usually
not." He peered at me over his glasses.
"Yea, right. Just try it."
I smacked myself. "I keep forgetting! I'll remember eventually...maybe."
I pondered this a moment, pacing the room. I walked over to him and waved my hand through his
shoulder. Usually, in books, the character feels cold or strange when he/she encounters a ghost,
but I felt absolutely nothing. No temperature change, nothing. "Weird." I paced a little more.
"Wait a minute..."
John looked up lazily. "What?"
"How is it that you walked right through my door, but you're sitting on the chair? Why haven't you
fallen to the floor?"
He tilted his head back, his spectacles tipping over his closed eyes. "I found out that if I
concentrated, I could pick stuff up if I really wanted to. It took alot of practice at first, but
now I can do it without thinking. It's like tensing a muscle; I can't do it for long periods of
time."
I nodded. This seemed logical. I'd never read this in a book before, but I figured that an actual
ghost would know what he could and couldn't do. "So you're just going to hang around here?"
He brought his head forward slowly, his glasses sliding to the tip of his sharp nose. "If it's 'k
with you." He looked at his feet. "No one else has talked to me since, and it gets lonely."
I walked over to put my hand on his shoulder, but it just passed through. I furrowed my brow.
"Alright, try 'tensing' your shoulder."
He gazed at me lazily in a sort of 'do I have to' kind of way, and I nodded. He sighed and
shrugged his shoulders. I placed my hand on his shoulder again, but instead of feeling nothing, I
felt the soft courduroy of his jacket. I smiled. This was so cool! He was my guardian angel, of a
sort!
"That's so cool! Wish I could do that..."
"No you don't!" He cut me off angrily.
I blinked. "Huh?"
"Being this way is not as great as you may think!"
"What do you mean?" I couldn't believe my ears. "You can do anything you want! You can go
anywhere, you're immortal, forever young..."
"Forever lonely." He got up and started pacing for a moment, then turned quickly towards me, his
longish hair swirling about his face. "Do you know what it's like watching your friends and loved
ones grow old and die, knowing that you can't do a thing about it? I can't comfort them when
they're sad. Hell, I can't even TALK to them! I have to wander the earth for all eternity!" He
sank down into the chair, breath escaping in a sharp burst. "With no one to talk to." He added
softly, sadly.
He looked old and weary, absolutely nothing like the young man that had mocked my little Matty
only moments ago. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything for a moment. He stared at
the floor. I coughed, then said, "You've got me..."
"Yea, but what happens when you die? I have to see you age, too. You're no different."
I wracked my brain. "There're no other ghosts or anything like that?"
"No." He answered plainly.
"No one else who can see you?"
"No."
I shifted nervously. "Are you sure?"
He looked thoughtful. "Well, I thought I was, then I found you." He paused. "I guess you're just
special."
We sat in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say to the other.
"I'll be here if you need me," I said quietly. He looked up and smiled.
"Same here."
John Lennon - 1940-1980 @--->--
What do you think? Email me! I'd love to hear from you!
I'd also love it if you'd vote for me in the summer Beatles Fan Fiction awards!!! What are you waiting for??? Voting closes May 30th!
This is a work of fiction (duh!). I don't know and have never known John (or any of the Beatles, for that matter), so this is only from my head. Please don't use this story without my permission.
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