When I woke up, all was quiet. Aunt Janice must have gone to work a while ago. In the kitchen, I found a note.
Well, sleepyhead, I'm off to work. I might not be home until to late, so feel free to have supper without me. Have a fun day!
Wow, usually if she left a note it was of things that needed to be done. I had a free day! After a few minutes in which I contemplated going back to sleep, I threw on a pair of jeans and a blouse, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair, then grabbed my purse and keys and headed out. What better way to kill a few hours than in the shopping district? Luckily, there were some good stores a few blocks away.
I didn't have a lot of money on me, so much of my time was spent window shopping. The only exception was when I went into the bookstore and found a novel called A Case Of Need, which I thought looked interesting enough to buy. But while I spent the money in the bookstore, more of my time was spent in the music store. This place had more guitars than I could even count, and by this time I was a familiar face to the owner.
"Well, what are we going to try today?" he said as I walked in.
"You know I can't decide what to play until I've stared at all of them for a few minutes!" I laughed.
He chuckled and said, "True, true. You know, you're welcome to come in and play whenever you like. It seems that the customers feel more comfortable when someone is playing here."
"Yeah? Groovy. Oh, hypothetical situation. If I were to stay here instead of going back at summer's end, what would my chances of getting a job here be?"
"Are you going to stay?"
"I don't know yet."
He considered for a moment. "If you could legally work in Britain, then I think your chances would be very good. You practically work here, anyway. But you would need a work permit."
"How would I go about getting one?"
"I have a few forms here, actually." He dug around in some papers behind his desk til he found them, and handed one to me. "Now, you fill out what applies to you, then you bring it to me, where I finish the bits that apply to which store and all, and then I send it in and we wait for approval."
"Is it pretty much certain of being approved, then?"
"Pretty much."
"Wow, thanks!" I scanned the sheet, which all seemed pretty straightforward. "Okay, I'm going to go commence staring now!"
He laughed and said, "Okay, then. Ooh, customers... get going, girl!" A group of younger boys walked in as he said that, and I found a Martin in the corner and started playing.
My fingers ached as I walked home later that day. I had played for almost three hours, during which time the store had sold five guitars. I oughtta get commision, I thought as I walked. Of course, there were few who could understand that the chance to play some of these guitars that I'd never be able to afford was enough compensation for the occasional blistered finger or broken nail.
Four blocks along, I tuned left instead of going straight, and after another couple blocks came to a park. I sat on a bench near a playground and watched the kids play for a few minutes before I pulled my new book out of the bag and started reading.
"Aren't they great at that age?" A male voice behind me said.
I looked at the children. There were seven of them, all around six or seven years old. "They sure are," I replied. The man who had spoken was still behind me, but the voice had sounded familiar, and I wanted to try to place it before I turned around.
"It's kind of strange," he said, "but sometimes, in day to day life, you forget that there are so many different people..." he trailed off. "That probably sounds crazy." He dropped onto the bench next to me, and I had an impression of long hair and a beard on a thin face.
"Not crazy at all. There's sort of a wish you could be that young again, combined with a feeling that they have no idea what they've got to go through yet, plus a little bit of a feeling of responsibility, a desire to make it easier on them than it was on you."
"Yeah, that's it... I think!" He laughed, and I couldn't help smiling. As I did, I turned my head a little and suddenly placed the voice. It had that similarity to Mark's, who was from Liverpool... I decided to say nothing, as if I maybe didn't recognize him. Fat chance, true. I couldn't help but shooting occasional sideways glaces at him as he spoke.
"The world just seems so big," he said. "There are so many people, and we all have to care for each other. Sometimes it all seems so hard."
There didn't seem to be much I could say to that. Finally, though, I gave it a shot. "Maybe it's not as hard as it seems. Maybe we all have a purpose in life, but since we can't know for sure what that is, then maybe we just need to do what we can with what we have, and accept that no one man can change the entire world."
Silence. For a few moments, I was afraid that I had upset him. I hadn't tried to sound superior, but I'd been told some time ago that I often managed to.
"You know," he finally said, "you look quite young, but you sound... my friend would say you are an old soul."
"So I sounded like I knew what I was talking about?"
He laughed in response. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Eightteen. I just graduated from high school last month."
"And you're American."
I nodded. "I'm spending summer vacation with my aunt. She lives a couple blocks from here."
"Are you enjoying England?"
"Very much! My aunt is so cool, we've gone on all these fun sightseeing trips. Last weekend we went to Liverpool --" Oh, shoot. "-- and visited her old college roommate," I finished quickly. I could almost feel his eyebrow rise.
"Liverpool, eh? Familiar territory. What did you see there?"
"Oh, this and that." I glanced over at him. He looked about to laugh very hard. He knew. "Okay, the Cavern and that area, we drove by the Quarry Bank school... actually, I think that's it."
"Yeah, not many more Beatle sights to see there!" He laughed. "Okay, so you know my name. What's yours?"
"Janice Miller," I quickly said.
"Well, Miss Janice Miller, I'm pleased to meet you." He offered his hand, which I shook, hardly able to believe it.
"Okay, as every fan must have at least a few moments of gushing, I'd like to simply say that never in the world did I imagine that I'd be sitting on a park bench next to George Harrison. Okay, I'm done!"
"What, that's all?"
"Oh, I'm sure I could manage lots more, but I'll spare you!"
"Okay, now that that's out of the way... so, are you off to college next term?"
I grimmaced. "Everyone keeps asking me that, and I keep saying, 'probably'. But I just don't want to, for some reason or another. This is something that I just can't explain."
"A feeling that there is something else that you're supposed to do, perhaps?"
"Yes, like that! For some reason, I'm just uncomfortable with the thought of going to college. Like I'm not supposed to go."
"It's possible. I've heard that, for the most part, women have a higher psychic awareness than men."
"So you think that it's possible that I feel uneasy about going to college because I am actually supposed to do something else?"
He shrugged. "Possibly. Of course, I don't know you. Maybe you just don't want to go because your friends are staying at home, or because you didn't get accepted to the college you wanted to go to, or your parents want you to go and you're just being contrary... there's an endless amount of possibilities."
I gave a rueful smile. "Well, I can say for sure that my friends aren't staying in town." How are you, Alex? I thought. Did you make it alright? I tried to clear my head a little. I realized I had been silent for a little too long, so I said, "and parental pressure... it's not that they're pressuring me to go to college, they're pressuring me to go to a certain one, rather than the one I'd rather go to."
"Ah. Well, what are your alternatives?"
"Well, I could stay at home and go to the junior college, except that I'm not too crazy about staying at home. It's not that I hate it or my parents, but I just feel like it's the time when I need to get out on my own. I could also stay home and work, which raises the same issue. Then there's moving out and working, which sounds okay, except that I'm not sure where to move to, unless I move in with my aunt here."
"And the problems with that are..."
"Not sure of my parents' approval, not sure how well I'd survive here, having lived in California all my life, and not sure if I'll have the courage to go back to school in a year or two, as I know I should. Which would be true of anyplace I went, if I took the time off from school."
"What kind of job would you get?"
I shrugged. "The owner of that music store nearby said he'd probably hire me if I stayed. I'd like something like that, or working with music in some capacity."
"Any capacity?"
"Pretty much. Even that could be too much to ask, of course, but music... that's... I dunno, it's just what seems to keep me alive sometimes." I felt like I was babbling, so I stopped then. God, here I was, talking to George Harrison... but it felt like I was talking to a normal person. He was a normal person. For over six years, he had been an idol, a god... and now I talked to him as one person to another.
"Do you play an instrument?" he asked suddenly, snapping me back to reality.
"Um, yeah, I play guitar. Well, that's my favorite one to play. Piano, clarinet, flute, my friend even once showed me how to play violin. I can't guarantee that I could actually play anything on it, but I remember the fingerings and stuff."
"What are you, a musical prodigy?" He asked with a smile.
"God, no!" I laughed. "I'd just rather have music around me all the time, even if I have to do it myself!"
That got a good laugh from him, and he said, "Do you write music?"
"I've written a few things, but I don't care for them very much. I guess a couple are okay, but I just can't seem to express exactly what I want to."
There were a few seconds of silence after that, then he said, "Well, I don't know if this will sound encouraging or not, but for me, that element of frustration is very familiar... it's not often that you're able to say exactly what you want, especially if the record is going to sell. You'd be surprised."
"And the weirdest part of this conversation now is that I hear so many songs that seem to express exactly what I'm feeling. Many of them written by you, may I add!"
"Well, if my songs speak for you, maybe your songs will speak for me!"
As he said this, I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye and saw a small group of young teenagers on the edge of the park, whispering excitedly and shooting occasional glances our way. I was directly between them and George, so I doubted he'd seen them yet. But from the way they were talking, I was sure they'd seen him. The days of Beatlemania were long over, but I didn't think George would appreciate being surprised by them.
I quietly said, "Don't look, but over to my right are a group of kids who look like they recognize you. I just thought you'd like to know."
I leaned forward a little, as if I were just relaxing my elbows on my knees, so that he could get a glance. He sighed and stood up.
"I don't quite feel like dealing with questions of a reunion right now. And by the way, thank you for not asking any." He stood up to leave. "It was nice meeting you, Janice. Oh, here's something to think about. Would you like to work at a recording studio?"
"What?"
"Work at a recording studio. Stop in at Apple sometime this week and we'll see if we can find you something. I've got studio time lined up, but just have tell Grace, the secretary, your name and tell her that you're there at my invitation."
"Um, okay then, I'll do that! When's the best day?"
"Any day, it doesn't really matter. I'll see you there!" He left, and not a moment too soon. The kids obviously thought that he would be there for awhile, because they had huddled together to talk and hadn't looked up for a minute or so. When they did, George had just left the park and walked out of view.
They weren't happy that he had slipped away like that, so a couple of the girls came up to me.
"Where'd he go?" one said abruptly.
"Where'd who go?" I tried to sound completely innocent.
"You know who! It's not fair to keep him all to yourself?"
"Who, my uncle Albert?"
"Uncle Albert, my foot," the other girl joined the conversation with. "That was George Harrison, and you know it!"
"Oh, come off it. My uncle? Wait til I tell him that you thought he was George Harrison!"
The girls looked confused, but they refused to believe that they were mistaken. I calmly started walking away, and just before I turned the corner, I turned around, saw them still looking at me, and called out, "Never automatically believe what you hear!" and ducked down an alley and into a doorway until I was sure they weren't following me.
I smiled and headed for home. As much as I'd like to work at the music store, I simply couldn't pass up an opportunity to possibly work in a recording studio.