Hey, FanFictioners! So, Nowhere Girl is back ... again ... for the third time ... sorry. :P I deleted it accidentally last time, and didn't get around to putting it back up. But, yeah, here it is. :D I haven't changed this chapter at all since the last time it was put up, but I shall be changing stuff in the other chapters. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize.
Hello Little Girl
The club is full of people dancing and drinking. Guys stand close to the bar, holding their drinks and smoking. Girls dance - shit, those German girls can move. The bright lights of the stage reflect off the clouds of cigarette smoke that hang in the air. I can't see the crowd clearly, but I can hear them screaming for us, waiting for us to give them what they had come for: music. Music so that they can go crazy. So we do. Ringo taps his drumsticks together four times and then we start playing. Paul sings and I sing harmonies over his voice, and the crowd of people surge below us, yelling and jumping and dancing drunkenly. The high of performing kicks in - it just feels so good. It feels I'm opening the floodgates for the rivers of music running in my veins. I bleed.
George ends his solo on a high note and Paul and I sing the chorus one last time. Then it's over, and we're bowing to the screams of the crowd. I clap my bandmates on the back as we walk backstage and leave our instruments there, and then go to the club again. This is the second fun part of the night.
Girls crowd around us, pressing drinks into our hands and smiling flirtatiously. Now's when I get drunk and take some random girl back to the hotel. Just another ordinary night on tour.
I down one drink and a German girl gives me another one. She's kind of pretty: eyes done up with black makeup, blonde hair, tight dress. 'Wanna dance?' she says, leaning towards me seductively. 'Sure, baby,' I say - she looks good enough - and I almost go with her. I pause because on the other side of the room, through the haze of smoke and silhouettes of people, I can see another girl looking at me. Her skin is pale and her hair is long and straight and brown. She's wearing a green dress and she has a silver band around her head: she's dressed - what's the word? - bohemian. She's not like most of these girls in the clubs - she doesn't hold herself in a way that suggests attitude and walk with that hip-swaying knows-the-world's-looking-at-her walk. She kind of drifts through, beautiful and curious and in her own world. But when she sees me looking at her, she just smiles to herself and starts walking away.
I follow her. Halfway across the room, I tap her shoulder. She has a dove tattooed on it. She turns around and raises her eyebrow at me. I think she will stop and introduce herself, but when I wait for her to say something, she just continues walking. I catch her hand. 'Hey!' I say as she turns again. I mean for my smile to be flirty, but instead it comes out different - boyish and too innocent. Maybe it's because she looks innocent. 'Let's dance.'
'Okay.' She puts her hands on my shoulders - bracelets circle her wrists - and I put my hands on her waist and we dance. There's some other band playing now. She has brown eyes. All around us, the room is filled with the heat of bodies moving against each other. I don't know if she is, but I'm drunk. I pull her closer and she lets me. Alcohol courses through my veins, pumps my adrenalin, tells me to go father. I lean in and we start kissing. Her lips are intoxicating. She's clearly not as innocent as she looks. 'Come on,' I say, breaking away. 'Let's go someplace private.'
I consider going backstage, but then decide against it in case one of the other guys is already there. Instead, I decide we could go back to the place where we are staying - behind a theatre. I grab her hand and we leave the club. We walk through the dark streets, but as I start turning towards the street that will take us to the theatre, she tugs my hand. I look at her questioningly, but she just pulls my hand the other way. Maybe she knows a better place for us to go? She's taking me to the park. Oh, well, can't say no to that, just as long as no one sees us ...
But we don't have sex.
Instead, we walk through the park and talk and talk. Normally, I would feel cheated and leave her immediately to get some other bird from the club who's willing - there are enough of those - but this girl is intriguing to talk to. She asks me one million questions about things like what is outside the universe and whether I believe in God and whether there are spirits and what is the point of existence. She makes me talk like I've never talked before. And every time I try to ask her something about herself, she somehow turns my words around and ends up making me spill more. She somehow manages to slip under my witty words and open up the faucet of real words, the thoughts inside John Lennon's head. We talk about so many things. She's not just a city girl - she tells me she's traveled a lot; she lives for music and art and experiences. She doesn't believe in religion or God, but she's certainly spiritual and believes in the beauty of the world. The things she says about the world and about life, they make me think in a new way I don't think any girl - or any person - has ever made me think before. Most girls to me are just playthings, literally. This one's not: this one I can talk to. The things she says intrigued me as much as her long, straight hair that looks like spun coffee, her innocent but experienced face, the visions that play around somewhere inside her brown eyes.
The sky above Hamburg is beginning to lighten when she says, 'I have to go now. It was nice meeting you, John Lennon.' She kisses me, lightly as a feather, and then turns and walks away. 'Wait!' I shout. 'What's your name?' I know I'll never see this beautiful girl again, but I have to know her name. She smiles over the dove tattoo on her shoulder. 'Auri,' she says. And then she's gone.
Even if you've read this before- review? Please? Just to let me know you have. :) -Jen.