The Last Train to Yesterday | Groundhog Day

Deux

John wore the carpet down with his pacing, but Paul didn't say anything. He knew if he did, John would let all his anger out on him.

And while it would be helpful in letting off steam, he would get sad once again if he hurt another person with his words.

"What should I do?"

Paul didn't know what to say. He'd never really seen John like this, only before marrying Cynthia. But that was excited pacing. He looked like he would deflate and never get out of bed if something else happened. So this wasn't the same.

"You should explain yourself, is all. Just—"

"I wasn't wrong, though, was I?" John thought aloud.

Paul thought it over. Though he didn't go to church, even with being baptised as a baby, he kind of respected Christianity. There was just something about it that was so . . . big. But it was declining, for whatever reasons. And they were coming up, big and great and played all over.

"You weren't. I guess it just stuck a chord with the Americans."

"Exactly!" John shouted, scaring Paul into sitting back down on the bed. "What I said was right in the UK, it was meant for the UK! Those stupid Americans just poke their noses in everything, though."

John seemed to be losing steam now, sitting down on his bed, head in hands.

"Why do they have to be more upset?" John forlornly asked.

"Because they have the KKK and the Bible Belt and the UK don't," Paul replied.

"Yeah, so why don't they worry about the black people that they're such jerks to rather than what a rocker says?"

"You're a nice distraction. I don't think they want to talk about it. I don't think they ever will."

John hummed, but a scowl was present on his face. Right now, Paul didn't know what it was from.

"C'mon, stop feeling bad for the black people and yourself. You need to eat."

"Who will feel bad for us then?"

Paul raised an eyebrow and dragged him off the bed.

"I'll feel bad for you lot when you get some food in your mouth. George is probably awake by now, might've eaten everything."

John reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled to the kitchen, where George was sitting at the table.

"G'mornin'," George said through a bite of pancakes. "You okay, John?"

"Why do you ask?" Paul now asked, looking at George with questioning eyes.

"Just asking," George replied with a shrug and tucked into his food again. But one of the shoulders raised higher than the other, toward an object on his left-hand side. The newspaper.

Paul went over to grab it, not noticing John following close behind.

Beatle John Disrespects a WHOLE Religion!

"Oh crap," Paul said under his breathe. This was from the Chicago Tribune. The Chicago Tribune loved them. They could say that they hated deep dish pizza—which they didn't, especially not George—and the whole of the Chicago Tribune staff would work on a way to make them like it.

This wasn't good.

Paul balled up the newspaper, turning around to throw it in the trash, only to see a white as snow John. Paul couldn't help but feel something in him break deep down.

"Room service brought us up breakfast, John. You should have some with me," George suggested, getting up from the table and getting John. The elder didn't even put up a fight, finding his own plate and sitting down with George.

Paul looked around for a moment after he threw out the newspaper, frowning ever so slightly.

"Where's Ringo?"

"In bed. That candy we had last night really got to him. And the pollen. Chicago's got a lot of it, apparently," George said as he went back to his breakfast.

"And not you?" John asked.

"I'm George Harrison, of course not."

Paul snickered.

They needed a good moment.

●

Nathan got off the bus and ran to his house. Any field trip to get away from school was a good field trip to him!

He got to the door, placing his thumb on the scanner to open the door and it opened almost immediately.

"Hallo Mama, I'm home!" Nathan yelled into the quiet home. As he slung his backpack off of his back, the tabby cat of the house came to his side, rubbing against his ankle. 

"Hello, my little boy!" his mother called back. It sounded as if she was in the kitchen because a hissing sound and warm aroma came from that area. "How were your classes?"

Nathan pulled out the permission slip from his backpack, taking it and the small cat, Abby, to the kitchen.

"Deutschunterricht war gut," the teenager attempted, trying out his still struggling German. "And the rest were good too. I'm even going on a field trip soon."

His mother hummed a sound of acceptance at his words, nodding at every syllable with a smile. "I see that German was good, your teacher is helping you tremendously with it. But what about that field trip you were talking about?"

Nathan put the permission slip on the table and shifted Abby in his arms, getting her into a better position.

"We're going to learn about the Beatles!"

His mother stopped what she was doing and looked up. There was a sort of look in her eyes but he couldn't properly understand it.

"You do look a lot like . . . the one your dad is related to," his mother trailed off. She waved it away and went back to prepare the dish she was making. "Just leave the paper on the table. I will sign it when I'm done."

"Danke, Mama!"

With the small tabby cat still in hand, he walked over to the living room, with the TV turning on as he walked into the room.

The cat stretched on his lap as he slowly started to get sucked into the show broadcasted.

"Crap, nearly forgot."

Nathan ran to his backpack and pulled the outdated flip phone from there. He ran back to the living room, plugged it in and sat back down.

Now charging. Now charging. I am at 30%. I am still only able to do simple tasks. Please wait until the night is over and by then I will be fully charged. Hausa is still being downloaded. What a hard language.