"This is certainly…odd." The girl stood in the middle of an unknown place. It was light and airy, but neither warm nor cold. And there didn't seem to be any sense of time, at least she didn't feel it. Not to mention peaceful. But just as she became accustomed and even comfortable in the cloud-like feel around her, the haze parted to revel a whole new aspect: A white-washed world.

"Excuse me, luv." A distinctly familiar voice bumped into her.

Looking up, her eyes became wide, "John? John Lennon? You're John Lennon!" Her voice rose an octave with every utterance of his name.

"Well, I'm certainly not Paul." He glared at her from behind the rim of his glasses. Just like everything else around her, he was in muted colours but showing no signs of death.

Despite herself she smiled, "Well, if you're John…where am I?" she pointed to herself.

He just stared at her, like the answer was obvious.

"It's gotta be Rock and Roll Heaven," she declared, watching none other then Janis Joplin strutting by, feather boa draped on her shoulders and liquor bottle dangling from her hand, "But I'm not dead."

"You sure?" John took a drag from the cigarette clasped between his lips.

She was taken aback by the frankness. She didn't remember dying, but what if she had? "If I am…I won't be here long. ‘Cause there's no way I belong with Rock and Roll Royalty. I've never written a song and I’ve certainly never made a record." She laughed at the very idea of her in a role of musical importance.

He only shrugged and started walking. And since he was the only on she sort of knew there right now, she followed.

"You know, I'm a huge fan of yours." Oddly she didn't feel nervous talking to the dearly departed Beatle. Just awkward because of how much she really looked up to him. His image was adorning her bedroom walls, for crying out loud. Not to mention filling her C.D. racks.

"Ooo…a fan who thinks they really know me because they've heard all m'songs." He didn't even look at her as he said it, just kept walking and smoking as the insult slipped out.

She was silent for a moment, knowing he meant to sting her, "No…but maybe because I've listened to what you've actually said, and not said."

John seemed to nod at this, as if considering what she had said. Or maybe merely sizing her up.

In a quick flash their scene changed and the pair were seated at a table. Although to her it felt like a normal transition – she had no reason to question it.

The whole thing was really surreal; walking around her were the Rock legends. Kurt Cobain, Joey Ramone, Buddy Holly…everyone was there. She was completely awestruck and couldn't really help but gawk as they walked by.

"Sorry, if I'm keeping you from anything," John spouted snidely through an exhale of smoke.

She looked sheepishly down at the table, then shrugged. The girl really didn't see a need to explain what she was doing, but she felt embarrassed that she was so star-struck. "So…" She faced him again, "You ever see Elvis around here?" A mischievous grin crossed her lips and lit up her features.

John didn't find it quite as amusing; his face was stone serious. Totally unresponsive to her little jab.

"Okie…" The girl slowly backed off of the question. "Have you seen Brian?"

That broke his face. "Epstein?" he chuckled to himself, flicking the cigarette butt away, "I `ear he spends quite a bit of time with Liberace."

She nodded, not finding as much humour in that joke as he did, "Is he happy?" She sipped from a coffee cup that magically appeared on the table.

"'Ear he's positively gay," he deadpanned.

This time, the girl laughed at the horrible pun, shaking her head. "Well, what about you? Are you happy?"

"If you're thinkin’ that all the answers come," he leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, "you're wrong. Nothin's explained and everythin's not resolved. But things do become a hell of a lot clearer. That's for damn sure." He let his hand rub over his face, clearly there was turmoil that was still evident in his existence.

She stayed quiet for a few moments, finding the tabletop incredibly interesting as she waited to give him time to recover from her barrage of questions. Even though all she wanted to do was flood him with more questions, not to mention affection. But she knew that wasn't the best way to interact with him.

"You've been here a while." He looked at his wrist as if it had a watch, "Are you sure you're not dead?"

Her head shot up to look at him again, "My, what a chipper fellow." She faked a British accent to tease him. "I can't be, I haven't done anything amazing for music." She defiantly crossed her arms over her chest.

"Then maybe this is a premonition…" John shook his hands to illustrate how creepy this could all be, "You're going to do big things."

"Knock it off," she said, smacking his arm like they were old friends. "You're bloody daft," she teased again, getting a free-hearted laugh from him.

"So tell me…" He put on a thick accent from his youth, "Which one of the Fab Four is your favourite?" He batted his eyelashes.

How could she not laugh at that display? He was positively adorable.

"Let me guess, you're a fan of the `cute one'?" His voice became snide.

"Actually, no," she replied smugly. "Can't stand him. I've always had a thing for the smart-ass one."

He cocked his jaw. "Am I what you expected?" He raised his arms in mock basking.

She leaned forward on the table, looking him over "The hard-ass façade, sure." She nodded.

He broke into a dry snort and shook his head. At least this girl was amusing.

"So…" She felt comfortable enough to drop her next question. "Do you keep track of what's going on down…on earth?"

He pulled out another cigarette from what seemed to be a never-ending supply, "Too depressing," he said as he placed the butt between his lips and lit it. "But curiosity gets the better of me," he exhaled.

She nodded thoughtfully. The girl only had ideas of what he meant by `too depressing': the state of the world, the lives of his loved ones or just the simple sadness of not being able to live it anymore. Just because it had been almost been twenty three years didn't mean he'd be adjusted to it.

"I miss you," she suddenly blurted, biting her bottom lip after the confession leaked out. She felt like she was slipping into rabid fan-girl mode.

He stared at her, his head supported by the hand resting at his temple with his cigarette dangling freely. He stared at her, then nodded. "You've gotta go back," he said simply.

"I thought you said I was dead." She swallowed, relieved that he let her comment slip.

He shook his head, dragging on the tabacco stick. "Never said that."

"Come to think of it, you never said much about why I was here." The girl crossed her arms over her chest again, working on the playful teasing they had going before.

He shrugged.

"I really need to go back," she nodded, understanding.

John rose from the table and started walking away, leaving the visiting girl. In mid-stride he stopped and turned. "Thanks," he said. An odd look of confusion fell over his features, but he maintained a sense of calm peace. If anything, John Lennon was still a complex man, even after death.

The girl smiled, feeling as if something had finally been settled for her. Maybe it was finally being able to tell him. The world around her began to shift into the haze again; the white-washed world was leaving her, or she was leaving it. Even the hazy clouds were changing – they were becoming brighter and shifting with colours.

"What the…" She rubbed her eyes as they slowly began to focus. Again, before her eyes was an image of John Lennon, but this one was frozen in time. It was the poster adorning her bedroom wall. The "Imagine" sessions, 1971. She laughed at herself. It was a dream. Just a dream.

She smiled up at the poster, "Morning, John."

Amanda Paweska, born two years after losing John, lives in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. Armed with a BA in English, she spends most of her free time scribbling out fiction and poetry – a welcome change to years of essays. As of yet the BA hasn’t brought her fame, and certainly not fortune, but she does ‘work’ as an editor and constant writer. She has been a writer since the second grade and a second generation Beatles fan since birth.

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