Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Trixi walked back to her dorm room -which, thank God, she didn’t have to share with anyone- in almost pitch-darkness and the beginning of a snowstorm. Her head was full of thoughts of the Beatles, remembered conversations, still images that had caught her eye.
But mostly, she thought about John. John, who was every inch a captivating person: even more so than she had dared to dream. She remembered -not without some embarrassment- when she used to hang blankets down from her roommates top bunk in her freshman year of college (back in ‘64) and make up romances starring the Beatles and herself, and always with John as the hero on a white horse. A gallant crusader who fought by wit and not by the sword. Lord, she was a proficient writer in those days...she supposed other girls might have done the same. With a bitter grimace, though, she figured that they might have had a chance to experience some of those stories. Trixi had never had a real social life. Still, she mused, they hadn’t actually met the Beatles! And I have!
She still couldn’t believe she had actually met the Beatles.
Suddenly, her face broke into a wide grin and a chill went up her back as
she supressed a hysterical shriek of delight:
“Yahaa! I met the Beatles! I met the Beatles! I met the Beatles! Hahaha!”
A policeman passing on the other side of the street looked up and, evidently mistaking her for some crazy homeless hippie-type, walked over and took her firmly by the arm.
“Miss, are you alright?”
“Me? Oh,” she considered how strange she must have looked, dancing in the middle of the sidewalk at 10:30 on a winter night, screaming about the Beatles. “Yes, I guess I am. Thank you.”
“You sounded like you might have been having some problems. Maybe you should come down to the precinct for the night.”
“Thank you, sir, but really, I’m fine. I just got. . .a little excited. We’re all a little excited, aren’t we, these days?” He didn’t answer. “Yes,” she continued, talking to herself as much as to the policeman, “I think we really might be crazy.” She removed her arm from his grasp and ran off down the street.
“Good night!” she called back over her shoulder as she turned the corner. “Happy holidays!”
By the time she reached her rooms and gotten the key in the lock, her face was bright red from the cold and from sprinting most of the way from the theater. Twice, she had almost slipped and fallen on the roads which the snow was making increasingly slick. The key didn’t fit. Trixi took it out, breathed on it a couple of times to melt the layer of ice which had been forming on it, rubbed it on her coat, and tried the lock again. This time, she got in with no more than the usual trouble, and thankfully took off her sodden coat and squishy boots.
She prepared herself for an evening sitting in front of the radiator: big plaid blanket, hot chocolate, winter pajamas, and even her bunny slippers that she had received for her 7th birthday, and which still fit.
As she was making her cocoa, she became aware of a strange sound coming from the vicinity of...the bathroom?
“Oh God,” Trixi thought, “not those pipes again.” She put her ear to the wall and, hearing nothing, moved a bit closer to the door. Still nothing. But as she put her ear against the door itself she heard-
“Humming? Humming, in my bedroom at this hour? Pipes don’t hum!” She opened the door.
“PAUL!” For it was Paul who had been humming, sitting on top of the sink.
Trixi was shocked beyond words.
“Paul, what are you doing in my bathroom at 11 o’clock at night?” She wasn’t so much upset, as surprised, and...well...
“Disappointed?” asked Paul.
“What?”
“You thought I was John, didn’t you?”
“What? I- well, I-”
“No, tell me.” Paul was indignant. “C’mon, I’m not blind, girl!"
“James Paul McCartney, what in the name of all that is holy and unholy are you talking about? Are you insinuating something?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? That sounded like more than a ‘maybe.’” Trixi’s face was turning red, and if she intended to convince Paul that she was not expecting John Lennon to be in her bathroom (of all places!), having a red face wasn’t going to do the trick.
She tried again. “Paul, at this moment, what do you want me to tell you? What are you looking for from me?”
“I want you to tell me that you love my friend.”
Trixi gaped. “What?! You want me to tell you that I love John?”
Paul nodded. “Yes. That’s what I want.” Trixi was going to say something, but Paul cut her off. “If you can’t see it, I can. If you don’t love him now, you will tomorrow. Or the next day. Maybe the day after that, or the week after next. Maybe not for a long time. But I can see that you love him, and I want you to admit it to yourself. Before I go.”
Trixi didn’t know what to say. “You want...just a plain confession?” Paul nodded again, seeming strangely choked up. “Alright, Paul.” She took a deep breath, feeling the air fill her lungs and give some kind of meaning to this strange confession.
“I love John Lennon.” And as she said it, all her feelings beat down on her head. “You’re right,” she said to Paul, more than a little amazed. “You’re really right. Thank you.”
“Thank you, luv.” He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead gently. “Good night. Goodbye, luv.”
He closed the door quietly behind him and walked off into the night,
leaving Trixi and her new-found truth to contemplate what all this might
mean, for all three of them.