I sat on the rug in the music room. It wasn’t a big room, but had what I needed in it. I sat still with my guitar on my lap and stared through misty eyes at a picture, one that always tore at my gut. I remembered it as if it were yesterday. John was standing there with his auburn hair just above his eyes, looking at me with one of his joking faces. Me, I was laughing at what he had just said, and Ritch had taken the picture. For posterity, he told us, which made the two of us laugh even harder.

I picked up the picture and studied my mate’s face, our faces, laughing, loving and enjoying each other’s company. A movie flew through my mind, making my heart ache. The pictures started from 1957 when we met, just two poor Liverpool teenagers who loved rock ‘n’ roll and playing guitar. Two teenagers, so different, yet so alike, writing songs and playing in the water closet. John always swore the acoustics where never better than there. Climbing up a mountain from a slipper bottom called Liverpool. The frames passed to Hamburg and how we struggled over there several times. A dank and dreary place, with strippers and prostitutes, an 18- and 20-year-old young men’s dream. Sure, sometimes we went hungry, slept cold, pulling a ripped up Union Jack over one of us to try and keep warm. Introduced to sex, booze and a life of Prellies to keep our dragging and withering bodies going. We were in training and didn’t even know it. We didn’t know we were at the beginning of the train that would pull full speed ahead into Beatlemania.

The train was always going faster, taking us on a ride that would change us forever, yet it was grand at first. We laughed at the press, the fans and how we had become kings. We cried about things that we could no longer keep inside. We were there for each other, John with his quirky smile and me always enjoying the show. When it started to spin out of control, one by one we dropped off. I hated the ending of the ride. Us all fighting, my friend and I not able to talk to you without a fight or sarcastic remark, I never thought it would go that far.

Growing up in the fish bowl was over and we all went off our own ways. John went to NY and I to Scotland, starting a family along with a new band. Through it all I would always think of him, even during our worst fights, slinging songs and pictures at one another. Words were always John’s greatest weapon, yet I understood him and him, me.

Staring at that picture took me to another one. One taken in ‘74 where we spent time together and started to mend. I enjoyed the time we spent together. I remembered the picture in California. He was going to help me on an album. I didn’t care, I just loved playing together again, talking, teasing and the love that I still could feel shining from him. I knew at that time that no matter what we’d always find a way back to each other. As I stared at that picture I remembered how he had told me we were worlds apart. I laughed and told him it might be true, but I still knew him well. He just passed another drink and smoke my way. We were getting it back, ringing each other, visiting and I always loved his cards with you scrawled handwriting and scribble pictures that he knew would make me laugh.

The journey took us both so far. He jumped off the train and then later on decided to try a slower one. I loved his new album and was so happy to see the music finally emerging from his soul that could no longer keep it inside. He was made for music as I was, making things come full circle

We started out knowing each other through the music. Meeting friends and losing them on the way, I just never knew that I’d lose the most important mate, brother, in my life. John taught me a lot and I hope I did the same for him.

I put the pictures down and wiped my eyes with my shirtsleeve. I never knew the music would bring us so close. My heart shattered with those five bullets as it did to your family, fans and the rest of your friends. But as I sat there I realized we had a history that not even death could take away. That you had a presence that even dead couldn’t erase.

I turned on the tape recorder, me with my naked emotions, my guitar and thoughts of John. I took my pencil and the words just wrote themselves, as the music swirled around in my head.  I got up and walked outside. The dark sky sparkled with stars and I looked up to that heavenly image, no longer afraid to cry and show him how I felt as I whispered “I love you.” and was so glad he had come into my life.

I turned and laughed through my blurry eyes at what he’d say to me about the song I wrote for him, and about me finally letting my emotions out. He’d tell me I wrote another one of those daft, soft Macca songs. He didn’t always tell me, but I knew he loved them.

I ended up recording this song with some trouble, but everyone told me it was lovely, especially my Linda. Years later I’d sing it in memory of John and hope that the pictures in my mind while I sang it wouldn’t make me break down. Sometimes the tears came a bit, but I didn’t care anymore. Maybe he’d say I was older and wiser.

Suzanne McNiece has been writing fan fiction for two and a half years. She has loved the Beatles since she was 3 and saw them on Ed Sullivan, and grew up on them. She just adores reading and writing about the Beatles in fan fiction. She is a college graduate with a degree in Liberal Arts.  She also loves to sing and is currently the lead singer in a new group.  

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