Ringo blinked a few times, took a few wobbly steps and passed out.
* * *
Consciousness returned slowly. For a short while, he remained in an aware silence, not moving, just trying to regain his equilibrium. Gradually he became aware of a soft humming noise, like the one an air conditioner makes when turned on low, and voices talking. He tuned in to the voices.
"... be fine, took a bit of a spill though..."
There was a clicking noise that he couldn't quite place, and then the voice again.
"...friend of his then? Really? He doesn't look the type that would hang out with a--He's coming 'round."
Ringo yawned and shook his head trying to clear it of the grogginess that remained. He opened his eyes found himself looking at a man dressed in a doctor's uniform. John was seated at a table nearby.
"You had a bit of a fall. Lucky your friend brought you in," The doctor explained to him, "Don't get up yet. Sit up slowly. You watch out for him. Reckless people." The doctor cautioned John with a slight reprimand and then left.
Ringo sat up quickly and caused a minor migraine.
"That was strange for sure!" Ringo grimaced slightly, "I haven't done that in a while, at least, not since that party over at your house..."
The clicking noise Ringo had heard started again, and he looked to see the source. It appeared to be small typewriter that John was tinkering with on his lap. It was about twelve inches by six, was quite flat and it was a tannish color. Suddenly Ringo's eyes were diverted to a small translucent screen above the keys. As John pressed the keys, letters formed.
YOU HIT YOUR HEAD HARDER THAN I THOUGHT, RICH.
"Hey where did you get that!" Ringo stared at the words.
GET WHAT? John typed. He looked at the keyboard in his lap. THE PORTO? I'VE HAD THAT AS LONG AS YOU'VE KNOWN ME....
"Well I've never seen it," Ringo explained modestly.
OF COURSE YOU HAVE.
"No, I haven't." He insisted.
ARE YOU SURE THAT YOU'RE ALL RIGHT??
Ringo paused a second at the darkened word, and then shrugged off the question and asked one himself, "So Paul and George decided that you got to escort me then?"
PAUL? GEORGE?
"Look man, I know we've a had a few rows, but come on. Don't do this again! That, 'I don't like 'em so I'm not gonna' talk to 'em bit.' You're a bit old for that."
WHO ARE THEY?
"Look, would you just tell me where the car is? You're no good like this."
THE DOCTOR SAID YOU SHOULDN'T DRIVE.
"Fine then. You drive." Ringo crossed his arms and glared at John.
ALL RIGHT.
Ringo walked to the door and went out into the hallway. John picked up the small typewriter and the screen vanished. He tucked it under his arm and led Ringo out to the parking lot. Ringo paused to look at one of the cars. It was long sleek and black, the kind that you'd admire just for it's shine. As he was looking it over, he happened to glance down at the tires. What he saw made his heart skip a beat.
Or perhaps it was what he didn't see.
The car had no tires.
It wasn't just a 'you-parked-in-the-wrong-part-of-town' no tires. The car was floating a good foot off of the ground with no supports at all.
Ringo backed away from the strange floating car--right into John, who was standing behind him looking concerned. Using his better judgment, John dragged Ringo away from the car into another, more conventionally propelled car.
He hit a button on the keyboard, and started to type.
RICH?? WHAT'S WRONG?
Ringo was far too preoccupied by gathering his own wits to answer.
"That car it was--"
YEAH?
"Something's wrong--" Ringo broke off as he chanced to look at the skyline. It was a mass of wildly colored buildings, with circular tops that were connected to the bases only by a transparent tube through which he could see people riding up and down elevators.
Ringo closed his eyes, shutting out the strange sight, and swore inwardly.
"John? What do you see out there?"
ALEXANDRIA
"What??"
ALEXANDRIA, I KNOW THIS CITY ISN'T THAT BIG BUT I LOVE IT HERE ANYHOW...
Ringo away from the window and faced John. Was he going crazy? Was John crazy? Every thing was changed. Everything in the entire world....except him, him and John. Ringo looked over at John, the only familiar thing around him. John's hair...wasn't it a bit too short? Weren't his clothes a bit stranger than normal? Hadn't he not said anything? Hadn't he not known who Paul and George were? At the time it had seemed that John had been joking, but as Ringo let himself remember it, he recalled that John really had looked puzzled. Now everything seemed to snap into place.
In one deft motion, Ringo pinned John to his seat, "What did you do with John!?" He snarled at the man who looked so much like his friend. The man looked up at him with innocent questions in his eyes, but said nothing. Ringo loosened his grip a little, of all things, the man didn't look dangerous. Ringo held a locked gaze with him for a few moments, then released him.
"You're not John. Where is he?"
MY FRIEND, the man typed, picking up the keyboard from where it had fallen, I AM JOHN. WHAT IS THE MATTER?
"Where am I?"
HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THAT MUCH? YOU FELL DOWN OUTSIDE AND I BROUGHT YOU TO THE HOSPITAL. THEN YOU...ATTACKED ME.
"What year is this?" Ringo asked, dwelling again on the floating car and city.
1969 OF COURSE
"Who are you?"
JOHN. DON'T YOU REMEMBER??
Ringo watched the man tell this strange history involving him, then looked at the man curiously, "Why haven't you said anything?" he asked softly.
John cocked his head at him and typed in his answer I TOOK A VOW SILENCE. I'VE GOT TO GET YOU HOME. John started the car and drove out of the parking lot.
"Oh boy," Ringo took a deep breath and started to talk to himself "John not talking? This crazy city? The floating car?! Something very strange is going on! There are too many things being thrown at me, it's impossible to keep up! That car...John not John...." Ringo paused as his mind percolated, finally he came to a conclusion, "This is a dream-- Nothing this crazy could happen in real life, even in a trip!"
The car screeched to a stop. John walked out of the car, and around and opened Ringo's door.
"That was rather quick... but I suppose that in dreams anything can happen!" Ringo said rather cheerfully, "Bye John, see you when I wake up!" Ringo walked up to the house and opened the front door. It was unlocked. He waved from the doorway as John drove away.
Ringo walked into the house and explored around it for a few moments, reviling in the detail of his subconscious. Finally tired of exploring, Ringo thought of a way to end his dream. Pinching had never worked for him, it just seemed as if you pinched yourself in the dream, and so the dream continued. But to go to sleep in a dream must mean that you would wake up in reality. Ringo walked over to the couch and lay down. He put his hands beneath his head and stared at the tiled ceiling. Sleep would come soon enough.
