Gabrielle had an idea that to figure John Lennon out would be to solve one of the great mysteries of the world. There was something about him that made her want to either run away for fear of humiliation or sit and listen to him. That was a bit off since she’d only met him two or three times.
And what about Paul. He kissed her. That had been extending the realms of weirdness for Gabrielle there. Maybe it was because they were both pissed, but she could never recall being in the middle of a row with someone one minute and the being snogged by them the next.
Poor George, too. He had no idea what was going on, that he was being taken advantage of. Well maybe he did have some idea. She’d seen that look on his face when Paul and John ignored him that day. She could sympathize with George though. There was something about them that made you want to be within their ranks. The sad thing was she wasn’t sure if George would ever measure up to them.
She decided to write something. That usually was one way to get feelings out, to just ramble on and see what comes of it. As she pulled her purse up into her lap a small folded up note fell out onto her lap. It had her name on it in slanty writing where every letter was capitalized but in that way where the ones that should have been capitalized were bigger then the rest.
Gabrielle opened it carefully, as if expecting a bomb. Instead she found a full page of writing in the same handwriting as on the front. She giggled realizing who it was from, but the wondered why he had written her a letter.
Gabby,
I just wanted to let you know that you were right. That, and I’m sorry I kissed you. Yes believe it or not I do remember that. I chalk it up to my teenage hormones going out of control like they usually do. But I was just wondering… did you like it? Right, that deserves a slap next time I see you, I’m sure. Anyway, you are right, and you should know that this is taking very ounce of bloody dignity I have to write this. But listen, do you remember what I said about George and I not being mates. Er… I lied about that too. We are, I guess, and I don’t know what John thinks about it because he’s just as much of a bastard as I am, except he’s three years older so he can be a slightly intimidating bastard when he wants to. So, what do you say? Will you forgive me for fucking over George and for drunkenly snogging you. I’d like to be mates. Not even the kind that shag. We can be the kind that talk and rubbish like that. Please?
Paul
PS: Please write back with enclosed pictures of one, Ms Gabrielle Gallagher making out with one of her blonde/dolly/large breasted roommates. That or afore mentioned girl in the group showers.
PPS: Please don’t hurt me for previous statement.
Gabrielle ignored the stares of the other people on the train she was getting as she giggled quietly to herself over Paul’s letter and contemplated writing back. She pulled out a pen and poised it over a napkin, making a mental note to send it when she got to school.
Paul,
Yes we can be mates. But only because you asked so nicely. Neither of my roommates are the dolly birds you’re imagining unfortunately. The blonde one has no knockers to speak of and has never kissed a boy in her life. The other one, I guess is nicely endowed, but I think she may have syphilis. Oh she likes you and George. I showed her a picture. That’s kind of like your first fan. Aren’t you happy? I was just thinking, you know… Is John a very er… normal person? I don’t really know him but he kind of scares me.
Gabby
PS: Be nicer to George.