Do not kill your self with grief. One of your best qualities is the fact that you get George out of me hair. I’m sorry that your mother died. That must really not be good. We don’t get along really well and I don’t know what you’re going through. But still. Don’t kill yourself.
From Pete.
PS: Don’t kill yourself.
Oh Pete. Such a fucking optimist. She opened the second letter and was surprised to see:
Gabbah bird,
Gabbah bird? Was that a new nickname she would have to endure? John no doubt.
Once upon a time, there was a bird (as in thing with wings, not girl) named Gabbah. She was a very beautiful bird and had gorgeous feathers and erm… tits? If birds had tits, they would be very nice. Any road, you see, this Gabbah bird had a best friend, he happened to be a beetle, you know. The thing about this beetle was he was a bit clingy. The beetle had a tendency to meet people and never let go of them. But thank the beetle-y gods that this beetle wasn’t completely useless. While maybe being only half useless he also had something to him that did not turn the other beetles completely away. He introduced the Gabbah bird to the other beetles. Of course, the other beetles, were quite low on the beetl-y scale. They were not worthy of the Gabbah bird, but one way, or another she liked them. The Gabbah bird brought out the best in those naughty beetles, and they never wanted her to go away. She was a very special birdie.
As it would turn out, the beetles got to the top of the beetle-y scale. And *everyone* loved them (beetle god willing). They were all so attached to this Gabbah bird, that they brought her with them, on all of their beetle-y travels. They loved the Gabbah bird. And as we said, she was a very special birdie.
Don’t go mad.
Lennon
She grinned. Yes. He was mad. But in a delightful way that made her forget about things. She read that letter every time her mind traveled to unpleasant grievous thoughts of her mother. The way John spoke was enough to get her away from that. Let alone daydreams about the Beatles getting famous. They would be the greatest band in Liverpool. But what was more then that… Was it even possible?
Gabby,
Well. Hi. I’m not going to go on about how you should cry and let all your grief out and all that shit. Really. I’m not one to be your emotional councilor since I’m probably as emotionally fucked up as you are. I know what’s going on in your head. I know it’s a load of bollicks. I can’t give you advice though. There’s this one thing. I wrote a song about you. That’s embarrassing. Not a whole song. I’m working on it. Part of the reason, sadly, I can’t stop thing about it. You know *it*. I’m ranting not. God, it’s so weird, and I know we aren’t going to talk about it but it’s so weird. I had sex with you? You’re one of my best friends and I don’t want to ruin that and you seem to be doing ok with the whole thing but I’m being a cunt and thinking about it every time I see you. I keep thinking about Dot as well, which I don’t know if you want to hear or not. It’s completely fucked up but is still want to see you. I’ll miss you like mad when you go home. Sleep and eat and sit around for about a week. That’s my advice. And Stuart’s right. You’re supposed to be the smart and responsible one. Get into a good university and when you’re off taking pictures of famous people try to remember us silly Beatles.
I love you. (but not in that way) and I’ll miss seeing your face everyday. Even if it is through a drunken haze. And that was a genuine McCartney line.
Love,
Paul
PS: I demanded everyone write something so you don’t go mad on the train.
She flipped through the letters a bit. There were only three. Her brow creased with confusion. Where was George’s? She stood up and turned to look around to see if she sat on it or it fell on the ground. There wasn’t any letter.
No letter from George.
Gabrielle sat back down and stuffed her hands in her pockets. One hand connected with the money and the pills. She pulled them out deciding to take one every two hours. Just for kicks. Sometimes it was funny to get high and then not do anything because it made you twitchy and antsy. Almost like a sick pleasure. The uppers were wrapped in the money. As she unwrapped them her eyes caught on to one of the two pound notes. There was a message scrawled hastily across the queen’s face. Slowly, she held it up to her eyes and instantly recognized George’s handwriting.
Gab- Please take care of yourself and I love you and I miss you and I’ll come home soon so we can sit around and be arses who talk too much and drink too much like we usually do. Love you.-George