"Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead!" I yelled as I burst into John's room and leaped on his bed. I was up at least an hour ago, and even put my favorite barrette in my hair. It was the barrette that John gave me for my ninth birthday and I only wore that special clip on special occasions. I was all ready for the day.
John, on the other hand, still concealed his head with his bed covers. He moaned in response. Although he wanted today to come so bad, he wanted to sleep in! Should I just let him be then?
Nah, I thought. I'll get 'im up sooner or later!
"C'mon, John, it's your day! Let's go!" I jumped on the bed again.
"How come yer always so cheerful in the mornin'?" John sleepily replied to my enthusiasm.
"It's a thing I have, and I see I didn't share any of it with you!" Leaping off the bed and gathering some strength, I literally pulled him out of from under all the sheets. He eventually got on his feet, then just fell back on his bed. That was actually a good sign coming from John. I knew he'd get up again in the next five minutes.
"I'll see ya downstairs, John!" Smiling, I dashed to my room, picked up the unfinished drawing of my brother, and ran downstairs despite Aunt Mimi's warning about running. It didn't matter though; I knew she'd forgive me. I had a good reason to be excited today, July 6, 1957.
Breakfast was waiting patiently at the table. Aunt Mimi already was done eating, and was busy putting things away. I greeted her happily with a quick kiss and ate breakfast as fast as I could. After I was done, I washed my dishes then realized I forgot my drawing pencils in my room! I ran upstairs to get them and came back down. Then I realized I forgot my special eraser. Sighing, but still bursting with energy, I ran back up the stairs to retrieve it. Upon coming back down the second time, Aunt Mimi was giving me a look.
"Dear child, you are going to lose it if you don't slow down!" Auntie was always looking out for me. "I know you are excited, Paulina, but please calm yourself."
"I'm sorry, Auntie, I didn't mean to look unprepared and hyper. I'm just really happy, that's all. But I'm okay now." Finally relieved that I had what I needed, I sat down at the kitchen table and began to work on my drawing again.
"I'm glad to hear you're a little better. Just remember, it's only a gig, and when you're there, Paulina, be careful, all right?"
"I will, Auntie, don't worry. John'll be there with me!" I said with confidence while I was busy concentrating. My pencil moved slowly but surely, shading in my drawing to make it more lifelike. I stopped and looked at it. Something wasn't quite right. So I erased a little bit here and there, and started shading again.
"Good mornin', how are you lovely ladies doin'?" John entered the kitchen, smiling and wearing his checkered shirt and jeans. I smiled back at him as he took a seat next to me and started to eat breakfast. "I know how yer doin', Pearl. A bit cheerful and chuffed today, aren't we?"
I blushed. "Yeah, you could tell from how I woke you up this mornin', huh?"
"I don't approve of those, John. I suggest you change them." Aunt Mimi placed a hand on her hip and pointed an admonishing finger at John's black jeans. They were those tight jeans that most boys were wearing nowadays. John, of course, didn't want to be left out. But he liked to wear them anyway; they weren't just for status anymore.
"Aw, well, why? I like 'em. They're just slacks, that's all."
"Tight slacks, might I add. I told you that you are eventually going to end up as the biggest Teddy in all of Liverpool."
"I know that. I'm trying me best to do so." John winked at me.
I giggled. "I thought he already was!"
Aunt Mimi just sighed. I added some more to convince her. "Auntie, 'sides, it's John's choice to wear what he wants, right? And go easy on 'im today. He's got to perform and he likes to wear them. No harm in that, right?"
She sighed again. "All right, but just for today. Later, I'm going to take those to the tailor and have them readjusted to what I think is appropriate."
John and I were just happy that she allowed him to wear the jeans at all. Auntie always worried about John's fashion statement and where it was going to lead him. But if she didn't allow him to wear his slacks, John would probably walk out of the house with them on anyway. He didn't care if he disobeyed her.
After that tiny debate, John was done eating breakfast and was ready to leave the table.
"Pearl, you wanna come and watch me practice? It'll be lots of fun," he joked.
"Sure! I'd love to! Just let me put these away." I put my drawing, pencils, and eraser upstairs, and met him outside on the front porch. I sat down in front of him, facing him, and took advantage of the moment. While he plucked various notes to warm up, I noticed how his hair flowed, his eyes darted from his left hand to his right, just little things like that. These observations gave me more angles and perspectives of John, and with those stored in the back of my mind, I could draw him more accurately.
All of a sudden, he broke the tranquil warm-up with his strong, powerful voice and rapid strumming with the song 'Be Bop A Lula.' I've often heard that song on record and I loved it, but I think my brother sings much better than Gene Vincent, or anyone else for that matter. And I'm not being biased just because he's my brother either.
After he was done, he asked me my opinion of it. Of course I was brimming with compliments that came sincerely from my heart. He smiled and started another song. We followed this pattern for several hours until he glanced at his watch and told me we had to catch the bus or we'd be late. We went back inside and told Aunt Mimi we were leaving. She hugged me, told me to have a good time, and to be careful. I nodded. She told John that she wished the best of luck to him. He thanked her, and we were on our way.
~~~***~~~
"When do you play again, John?" I asked him as we were waiting in a shady part of the field near St. Peter's Church in Woolton.
"At around four o'clock," he replied. "We've got a couple of minutes to spare." He was scanning the field of the church when something caught his eye. "Oh look, the rest of the lads are here," he pointed to a group of fellows coming towards us. I knew they were his bandmates: Pete, Len, Eric, Rod, and Colin, but I didn't know them well.
"Hey, Lennon, how are ya?" Pete Shotton patted his leader on the back, then gave me a quick smile. I smiled back. The rest of the lads greeted John and I. Then they, including my brother, went over what they were going to do and how, and all that sort. I just watched them organize.
"Are you the ... Quarry Men?" a middle-aged man came up and asked them. They all nodded, and the man told them they were on. They scrambled to get on stage. John stayed a little behind, told me to sit in the audience where he could see me, gave me a kiss, then pointed to the little drawing I drew for him on his hand. I smiled, hugged him, and wished him the best of luck.
I tried to sit as close to the front as possible, but the only available seat left was five rows back. I had to settle for that one. But it was situated so that center stage was almost right in front of my view. John introduced the band at this time. He glanced around to check out the audience, then his eyes met mine. He smiled. Once he knew where I was, he was reassured and the band started to play 'Come Go With Me.' During John's vocal, I knew he improvised new lyrics to make up for the words he didn't know.
But that didn't matter, he was having a blast, and so was I. I was so overjoyed throughout the entire performance. In amazement and admiration, I watched him tame the hurricane of music; it was his to control, and he controlled it with unbelievable ability. He was in his own world looking out whenever he wanted. He didn't have to see the audience if he didn't want to, but he wanted them to see him. John got his wish; the audience watched him with unbounded attention.
The only downside was that the performance went by so fast even though they played for almost an hour and a half. Good moments last for such a short time. John and I were enveloped in the same reverie that ended at the same time. It ended once the audience, including myself, gave the band a standing ovation. They were the last act of the day, but I think the audience would agree with me if I said they were saving the best for last.
But all things must pass, and the performance was over. John and the rest of his mates were immediately shooed off stage with their equipment. I tried to see where John was, but the people standing up in front of me blocked my view. Since the entire Fete was over, all was chaos. People were getting up from their chairs, meeting friends to go home, gathering their children to depart from the church. I sprang from my seat and desperately looked all over for my brother. I couldn't believe I lost sight of him that quickly. Darting from place to place, from the stage, to the shady place we stood in earlier, to the white refreshment tent, there was still no sign of him.
I felt like a little lost ship, lost in a sea of uncaring people only looking after themselves. My heart raced along with me, my mind was frantic as I tried to sweep away all pessimistic thoughts. Rotating myself around in a 360-degree circle, I scanned the area like a watchful periscope to find him. No one I recognized came into my radius of vision. Saddened but at the same time frustrated, I fought back involuntary tears. They just came without my permission. I inhaled the late afternoon air to calm myself down, and thankfully the tears stopped. While thinking of where John might be, I hurriedly tried to fix my hair up a bit. Should I stay here and have him find me, or should I go and find him? I didn't know what to do.
Much to my surprise and dismay, my favorite barrette was missing. I needed to find John, and now fate had to steal my barrette away! So I had to find the hair clip too, because it was the one that John gave me!
I sighed and retraced my steps. "John, where are you? I can't find you ... " Maybe if I went to look for the barrette, I'd run into my brother. What was I to do? I didn't want to wait around because John might wonder why I didn't go looking for him. The sun started to sink and so did my hopes as I wandered around, looking here, there and everywhere.
I was in such a bind. Everything had gone quiet, no one was around, and the sun gave off that bronze, reddish color, the color that gives the early signal that twilight was going to arrive. I stopped and waited near the gate, the entrance to the field of the church where the Fete was held. All my thoughts were like lightning in my head, blaring different suggestions as to what to do next. I couldn't decide on any of them; none of them were good enough to follow through.
Again, I sighed and leaned against the tall gate next to a white and blue bike, trying to think of any other place I could look. I was positive I checked everywhere for the two things near and dear to my heart.
Then, unexpectedly, something shattered the overwhelming, ambient silence and interrupted my speeding thoughts.
The sudden yet surprisingly melodic, soothing sound was a voice.
It was soft, gentle, friendly, and concerned. It had characteristics I didn't find in the sea of people I was lost in earlier. I was the lost little boat, finally spotted by the benevolent and caring lighthouse.
"Hello, little girl," the voice said sweetly. I turned my head to see who was talking to me.
As I looked at who the owner of the voice was, the first thing I came face to face with was a pair of eyes. A deep brown pair of beautiful eyes, copious with kindness. I started to look at the rest of the face. It was angelic, flawless. His cheeks were rosy, his eyebrows were perfectly angled to match his face, his hair was also deep brown and flowing. He was wearing a snow-white blazer, a plain white T-shirt, and tight black pants that resembled my brother's. Now my brother is, in my eyes, the most handsome boy of Liverpool, but the lad standing in front of me was handsome in another way ... he appeared more innocent, more boyish, cuter.
Taking an artist's point of view, I knew that if I attempted to draw him, his eyes would pose to be the most difficult to sketch. This would be a challenge for me, so my artist's eye absorbed all his features as best I could, particularly concentrating on his eyes.
But all this observing on my part all took place in mere milliseconds though.
The boy who just spoke was smiling. I smiled back timidly, but I responded to his earlier remark.
"Hello, little boy, you can't be much older than me," I told him teasingly. "I bet you're not even sixteen yet."
"Aw, sixteen, fifteen, it's s'all the same." His rolling voice was euphonious to the ear. "Anyroad up, little girl," he said playfully, "are you waitin' for someone? Or, what are you doin'?"
"I just stopped 'ere to think a bit," I told him honestly. "What about you? Are you waiting for someone?"
"No, I was 'bout to head home 'til I saw you 'ere, not to put you down or anythin'. You were standing near me bike, so I was just wondering, y'know, what you were doin' and all. So, tell me, why is a girl like you all by herself out 'ere? Shouldn't you 'ave gone home by now? The Fete was over almost 'alf an hour ago."
I glanced at the floor, trying to figure out a way to phrase how I got lost. He noticed my brief silence.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did I ask somethin' I shouldn't have?" He was so sweet. "Did you need help, or anythin' like that?"
"Well, sort of," I started. Maybe he could help me look for my brother and my clip. So I explained my situation to him; he listened intently and carefully, and he seemed trustful. But when I started to tell him about my barrette ...
"Wait, you said ya lost a barrette, or a hair clip?"
"Yeah, I did. I was hoping that you could help me look for it ... "
"I think I already have." He searched his white blazer pockets and brought out what I was searching for.
"Oh, thank you so much! Where didja find it!" I asked him gratefully and excitedly. I replaced the clip back in my hair.
"I saw it over there. I didn't know whom it belonged to," he told me while he pointed near the stage to indicate where he saw my clip.
"I want to give you a formal thanks, but I don't even know your name," I said slowly and shyly.
"I'm James Paul McCartney, but please call me Paul. And at least I could help you out ... " he drifted off because he didn't know my name.
"Paulina Pearl Lennon, but I go by Paulina. Only my brother calls me by my middle name," I giggled that this new lad's name was the masculine form of mine. "So, thank you very much, Paul, I'm really grateful for all your help."
"It was my sincere pleasure, Paulina. Now, you were also lookin' for your brother, right?"
"Yeh, I was wondering if you could also help me again, y'know, help me look for him, please?"
"Sure, I'll be glad to help you 'gain," he smiled sweetly. The both of us walked off together, looking for John. A few seconds later, Paul had a thought.
"Y'know, Paulina, I think I know where you didn't look yet ."
"Uh oh, what could I have looked over?" I asked, concerned that perhaps I wasn't as careful as I thought.
"I know where, at St. Peter's Church Hall, a lit'le bit off the fairgrounds. Maybe that's why you couldn't find 'im because he was way over there at the Hall," Paul gently suggested.
"Okay then, I'm trusting you on this. Let's go find 'im!" We picked up the pace with me following the cherub-cheeked lad named Paul McCartney, to the Church Hall.
"Here, he should be inside," Paul opened the Hall door immediately after we arrived there. I was hoping that my brother would be in there. I trusted this baby-faced boy, but I still made sure to be wary of his actions ...
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On to Chapter 3
