ladies of the strings

It felt like the start of a new circle. A year ago, it would never have crossed Cynthia’s mind to own a little art shop of her own, largely due to the fact that the project was too expensive for her to risk investing in it on her own, but as her roomate leaped at the idea, they both had decided to save as much money as they could and though that meant an entire year of cheap wine served to her friends when they came to her apartment, Cynthia felt positive that the store would give her some stability in her life. Of course, there was still a long way to go. The place still needed reformation, decorating, and most importantly, the art. The walls were plain white, the floor still in desperate need of sweeping, as Cyn’s sneezes often reminded her, but in her mind it was fair of them to celebrate taking the first step, which seemed the most difficult one. Besides, they were much too young to be bothered by the dust or the lack of decoration. For them, it was a party. As there was no furniture, the boys had placed a carpet in the middle of the room for everyone to sit on. She and Pattie had prepared snacks and the boys had been in charge of the wine this time, which Cynthia only pretended to drink that night.

As the oldest of them, she took to herself the role of being the host: Most of the times it was she who went to another room to get another bottle of wine or another tray with appetizers. It didn’t bother her, although Pattie should be sharing the job with her as the co-owner of the store, but she seemed to involved in a debate she and George were having about brands of cars that sounded too dull for Cynthia to pay much attention. A few steps away from them, the others formed a circle in amused conversation. Paul and Ringo had brought new dates whose names now escaped her mind, and John as usual seemed to be telling the most absurd jokes to the boys by the way they laughed loudly while the girls that accompanied them merely snickered quietly. Approaching them, she handed the bottle of wine she had went to get to Paul, before she leaned close to John, touching his shoulder and whispering in his ear. ‘Would you meet me outside for a cigarette?’, Cynthia asked, and before his answer she grabbed her coat and went outside.

Eager with anticipation, John hardly found a moment of ease the week following his son’s arrival in New York. Having a new found perspective on fatherhood served the man well; instead of searching for toys and gifts to shower his son with, John took a much reserved approach and decided, simply, to give him love this time around. Even the guitar he’d gotten him for Christmas was stored away, and he intended for it to stay that way until the day it was bought for. John had reflected many times since his call to Cyn on the ways Julian had attempted to connect with him, and he’d thought about all the times every one else had got inside with the little child. Even all those times Paul had done a much better job parenting than he had resurfaced, the ache of the memory not forgotten, but not nearly as bad. He’d found that the reoccurring theme in each tale was that John offered a cold, uninviting aura to his eldest child, while other people looked to surround him with love, with joy. Cynthia had always went out of her way to insure that Julian was joyful too, going as far as one could go to make sure of that. It saddened him that all he could succumb of his love displayed for Julian was a night when the child had gotten an earache, and Cynthia was out of town. By choice, John had decided to nurse his toddler to health; he took the place of the maid, and laid in the child’s room, telling him it’d be alright, patting down his soft locks. John felt like a proper dad then, but it was such a strange suit to wear. It didn’t take much for him to return it when Cyn came back, and he regretted it greatly.

As the time passed, and no call had come, John began to pace the length of his apartment. Worry begin to fill him, and he wondered if he should call the airport, or the hotel Cynthia had told him she’d be staying at. He had known Cynthia to be a punctual person: when she said that’d she’d be somewhere, she was prime and proper, right on time. The lateness of their arrival did not settle with him, but he couldn’t do anything except pace for the time being; Sean was too little, and the biting New York cold was too much for the infant. In a moment of severe anxiety, John debated asking a neighbor to watch his son. He had friends in the apartment, people he trusted, but he didn’t know whether he was being over paranoid or not. It took twenty minutes more of no calls or answers, and John fell defenseless to his thoughts. He bundled himself the best he could to face the cold, and knocked upon the door of Warner LeRoy. John had found a common hobby with the family behind the doors: child care. The LeRoy’s had a small handful of children themselves, one the same age as John’s own. He knew the family as kind, inviting, and safe–the perfect mix to drop his pride and life into. They accepted to do the small favor, and John hastily left the building, leaving a note for Yoko with the doorman.  

He had done all but sit at the airport which had landed him to fame so many years ago: upon arrival, John rushed to the desk, asking, tone indicating worry, about the flight his child and Cynthia were on. John was put to ease with the desk attendant told him the whereabouts of it. It quelled his mind to know that another happy event wasn’t stubbed short due to a tragedy. However, the information couldn’t settle him. He was far too excited to see his little boy. John had attempted to sit in the area, to wait patiently, but between the knowing stares and whispers of those around him–’that’s the Beatle, isn’t it?’–and the energy he had built up, he found he could not. Until they arrived, John stood by the large window, watching every now and then as an airplane descended into the cloudy skies.

When the shuffle of new arrivals filled his ears, John turned around. He did not push his way to to get to the people unloading the plane, but he scurried, fearful of missing Cyn and Julian. As soon as he spotted the pair, he yelled,  ❛ Cyn!  ❜ before politely passing some friendly couple in front of him. He caught up with his ex-wife, grinning widely. It wasn’t her he focused on, though; John bent down and wrapped Julian in a warm embrace.  ❛ My God Julian–ye’r almost as big asme, aren’t ya? ❜ he ruffled his son’s hair, laughing.   ❛  What’ve been feedin’ ‘im then, Cyn? A hearty bowl of instant grow every morning? ❜

“I’m terribly sorry!”, exclaimed Cynthia in her usual tone of embarrassed politeness whenever she was late. She hated to keep anyone waiting for her, and he knew it. “Our flight got delayed because the weather was awful. I tried calling but I guess you weren’t home when I did”, she added, still with her apologetic tone. It was strange how things were, how the man in front of her had gone from a college boy who loved to make fun of her, to the man whom she had married and fathered her child, and now they didn’t even have enough intimacy for her to be casual about something so ordinary about a delayed flight.

“Hey, dad!”, Julian shouted happily, “I made this for you”, the boy said, giving him the piece of paper where he had drawn the entire family. He had erased the purposefully distorted image of Yoko and drawn her again in a normal way - as normal as a child could draw - upon Cynthia’s request, but there were still some marks of the first drawing which his mother, in all her tiredness, hadn’t noticed, and neither did Julian, in his innocent lack of attention. What mattered was that the new one as more visible, the boy assumed, and all was fine.

          john grabbed the box, shaking the contents inside, curious. it felt light,    and hollow, no thud indicating what was hiding behind the box’s wall. ❛ what’s    this, cyn? ❜ looking at his wife, john thought to search for some sort of clue,    but all he found was pure and radiant joy. it was a joy that he hadn’t seen in a    long time; a joy he hadn’t cared to seek out or nurture for even longer. whatever    it was in that small cardboard box, it must’ve meant the world to her.

with a grin of his own dancing across his thin lips, john untied the silk bow. his fingers removed the top and, at once, his eyebrows knitted together. it was only a pair of useless, plain baby shoes. what so awful important about something like that? what was she trying to tell him–that she wanted another?

          when the significance of the gift dawned on the younger of the two,    the whole world did a brief flip. all together, his heart came to a complete    halt and it wasn’t until julian tugged a bit too aggressively on his gown that    he realized he was holding his breath. he’d stopped grinning too, hadn’t he?    hell, she was going to think he was miserable about it.

❛ this is… ❜ he peered down at the shoes, a million feelings running wild in him. happiness conflicted with depression, depression conflicted with anger. ❛ julian! ❜ he scolded the younger boy who hung onto his gown in his small, chubby hands. john struggled to keep the cloth on, bending to get his son to release it. ❛ let go of it , ❜ he reprimanded him softly. the boy looked taken back, as if it was a stranger doing the scolding. his lip shriveled and john feared having to hear the weeping, so he did what he saw paul do, and scooped him in his arms. a soothing rub of the back and a slow bounce began to fade the sadness in the toddler’s amber hues. ❛ s'all ya needed was it? attention ? ❜ john grinned. ❛ bad as ye'r da’. ❜

          he looked back at cyn. all conflicts aside, all problems, situated, he had    nothing stopping him from finishing his prolonged sentence. ❛ –it’s lovely news,    cyn, really. another baby. ❜ the smile reappeared, kind and reassuring. he handed    the shoes to julian, letting him tinker with them, and he moved in to kiss cyn’s lips.    albeit brief, the intimacy was sweet, a rare act of affection. for a moment, no matter    how fear-filled and unsure john was, he did finally feel apart of a joke no one had    let him in on beforehand. ❛ i luv ya, hoylake. ❜

& he did too, he truly did.

             ‘all these years and you still call me that’, said cynthia with a gentle       smile. ‘sometimes it’s like we never left art school, isn’t it? being at home       like this, away from all the noises of the outside world’, just as she finished       her sentence, julian broke into a fit of giggles, one of those baby-ish, loud       and adoring laughters. cynthia looked around for the cause of it, finding him       pointing towards a butterfly flapping its colorful wings against the window. such       an endearing sight to see.

‘there are times when i look outside the window and right before i see the street ahead, i have the feeling that this house is placed in liverpool. as if we’d just saved some money and moved out of your aunt’s’, the wife added, not mentioning what a relief it would have been to have done that. ‘fancy that! as if we ever could purchase a house like this one, back in the day’, she laughed, ‘these random thoughts that come to mind....’               it was her pregnancy, and the act of telling him the news that made       cynthia so nostalgic. she felt renewed: this time they had a much more       solid foundation, they were more mature and more prepared to have a child,       but deep down she felt the same as the time she had told him she was       expecting julian. it was emotional and exciting, all the same.

        paddling through the kitchen unshod, john let the coldness of the hard wood adjust him to the cold, english afternoon that settled upon kenwood. sunshine peeked through thin white drapes, and john groggily reached for the tea on the stove, pouring himself a cuppa & sitting at the table, letting the steam fog his glasses. if he was being brutal with himself, john’d admit that this schedule was far beyond proper for a man in stage of life, but in light of recent events, he decided to give himself a fuggin’ break–a proper moment to slag off.

                 his mind still twirled from the after affects of weed, all ambition gained         during that session swept into the air as he laid his head on his hand &         focused intently into the void. thick, auburn eyebrows furrowed, creasing         his youthful skin; john was puzzled by the topic of life, & wondered what it         was he was supposed to derive from it. the death of brian had left him shaken,         confused & upset, & though it had been weeks since the event, the scene         still played vividly in his mind. like a record that no one flipped at the party,         it played round & round, the static of an end echoing. what’re we gonna do,         he remembered one scouse accent questioning, but he wasn’t sure what         doleful face had delivered the insensitive line. the burn in his throat made         him swallow, slow & painfully, and he forced himself to look at the others,         to except their sorrow with his own. that fuggin’ maharishi though–told         them not to mourn, not to feel bad. what the fuck were they suppose         to do? do a lil dance?

        shaking his head, john fell out of his reverie. it never did him any good to sit about & ruminate about the parts of life there was to be furious about; he’d found, simply, there was too much to be browned off about. if he sat like that, he’d only end up with a heart of stone & a bad mood to suit it. though the day was chilly for august & half over, john didn’t want to darken it. it was, after all, one of the rare occasions he got to isolate himself in his house, without the weight of plans weighing heavy on his shoulder. he cleared his throat, sat upright, and pushed his glasses upwards on his nose.

                 the sound of a child’s giggles rouse john from his chair, curiosity & a         faint fondness pulling him into the other room. tea still in his hand, & the other         stuck in the pocket of his robe, john made his way into the living room resembling         an old bloke. feel like one, he thought, bones doing all but creaking as he         shuffled to meet cynthia & julian.  ❛ morn, ❜ he spoke.

        sat in the corner of the living room, john felt like an outsider to his own life; a viewer looking in & ogling at the domestic life of john lennon. the child which played with his toys on his the carpet looked eerily like himself, almond orbs & thinned lips, with a head of auburn locks which were remarkably red in the sunshine he sat under. the only evidence of reality came from the warmth of the child’s hand on his ankle; it proved as a tangible confirmation that he was leading this life, that that was his child, and the woman was his wife.  

                 john peered into his son’s orbs, grinning softly. he only wished he knew         what to say to the little guy, but he didn’t, so he dismissed the boy, allowing         his touch but discouraging any interaction. ❛ no plans today, then? ❜ he questioned         his wife, his hoarse voice being utilized for the first time that day.

            the job of being a wife and mother was the hardest one she’d ever faced.      but being the wife of the world’s most famous rockstar was the hardest anyone      had ever face. it took daily attempts of  pacifying his unpredictable humor while      keeping a large home beautiful and cozy, her son healthy and happy. somehow      she managed, but sometimes something unpredictably terrible happened,  and      then there was nothing she could do to soften john. things such as brian’s death.      of course she had been devastated by that, john much more so, but it had been      a couple of months since and there didn’t seem to have much improvement.

The prospect of talking to his eldest son filled John with clear joy, the tone of his voice cheery as he carried on with the conversation. ❛ Good, ❜ he nodded his head, allowing a smile to hang on his thin lips. He wondered what the boy would think, now that his dad was calling him at a proper time. He wondered what the boy would think of his sibling, too; John remembered, despite that Jaq and Ju got more attention from his mother, that he always loved them, and dotted on them. He could only hope Julian would share the same affection and bond with the infant that laid in front of him.

She was right about settling, and as much as he wanted to deny it, say he would’ve felt fine, there was no denying that he would’ve wanted to flee. What happened between John and Cynthia wasn’t spontaneous: the couple had been together for a while before Julian came along, but it happened too soon, too quick and in the middle of something much bigger than they were all expecting. As Beatlemania surged through Britain, John was swept away, and Cynthia having Julian in the middle of that storm felt somewhat like being anchored down. Often times, he did feel that way; stuck in a middle of a tidal wave, wife and baby behind him, trying to push through it all with the ever perfect image Brian had pressed them to obtain and keep. It had all be so damned hard and depressing, but that was hardly her fault. He didn’t blame or hate his former wife for any of the trouble, nor did he regret her or their child. ❛ We rushed into it, Cyn, that was all. We were young and I did love ya–I married ya because I loved ya, but we weren’t meant for one another. Sometimes that happens; happened with my mum and da’. But I don’t and won’t ever wish none of it happened ❜ John let his grin fade slightly, a light laugh leaving his lips along with, ❛ Don’t mean t'be slushy or anything, but I don’ believe I would’ve made it without ya. ❜

The door knob moved, and the sound of keys rattling echoed through the apartment. John shifted his eyes nervously into the other room, keeping the phone pressed onto his ear. He continued to listen to Cyn speak, interested in the subject, but part of his focus now resided on his long raven haired wife who’d just crossed their threshold. As if he wanted to tattle, Sean began to break the tranquility with a handful of broken cries. John, unable to figure out what to do, said, ❛ ‘old on Cyn, tell 'im jus’ a second. ❜ John sat the phone on the table and rushed to pick up Sean. He knew for certain Yoko was to enter the room any second, and a pool of anxiety and guilt began to form. What for, he didn’t know; he hadn’t been doing anything more than speaking of his son to Cynthia, but it was there, evident as ever when he gave Yoko a sheepish grin. ❛ He needs his nappy changed,” he told her, rocking the child, ❛ And Julian’s on the phone. I know I said I wouldn’t do that, throw 'im at ya when ya got 'ome from work, but I hardly get to speak to him. ❜

When Yoko took the child from John, he half expected her to stay and linger in the room, but she didn’t. Instead, she traveled to the adjoining room, silently mumbling something to the infant. ❛ Sorry, Sean got a bit fussy–but ’m ready t’ talk t'him now! ❜ he huffed, running a stray hand through his long locks.

The heavy winter snow had delayed Cynthia and Julian’s flight for several hours. She was worn out and anxious, and although she expected her son to be the same, he was completely different. He didn’t enjoy airport queues nor long flights, but he was so excited about seeing his father that a minor setback such as this didn’t seem too much of a problem for him. He was sitting quietly with a pencil in his hands, a notebook on his lap as he made several drawings without paying much attention to anything around him. She wished only that Roberto would be there. It would make the waiting less tedious if she had another adult at her side. And she could use some emotional support in case anything went wrong - but he said he couldn’t leave work for this trip. A part of her didn’t believe him: he probably wanted to avoid being near John. There had been enough tension between the two in the previous years, when John had accused Cynthia of adultery with the italian man in their divorce process. It wasn’t true of course, but they became an item soon afterwards.

She wanted to sleep and her back ached from sitting so long in an airport chair. They weren’t particularly comfortable. “Look, mama--” said Julian as he handed her one of his drawings. “I made this for papa”. She widened her eyes at the picture. With his childish curves he drew Cynthia smiling next to John at her right side, and then Julian holding his hand, like a happy family. With Julian’s free hand in the picture he held a baby on his arms, which Cynthia identified as Sean - and then, far from the rest, he drew Yoko. She was the only one who wasn’t smiling, in fact he had given her a severely angered expression. He had exaggerated each one of her features, making it look deformed. It made Cynthia feel as if she had failed in helping him cope with the divorce. He had displayed terribly sadness during his parent’s separation process, but rarely did he express anger like he did now. She felt horrible for her little boy having such negative feelings about someone. It wasn’t what she wanted.

Get his hopes up. The sentence twirled around in his mind, causing an ache in his heart. Cynthia had no trust in John, no matter what kind of argument he offered to her, and that understandable; he’d proved be the type of man–the type of lack-luster father–who’d let his son down just when he got him excited. John pushed himself off the little table he was leaned against, and stood upwards, back towards his infant now. Laying the phone on his shoulder and leaning his face on it, John mindlessly began flipping through a little table book to keep his mind off the pain. He wouldn’t grow irritated, he wouldn’t be nasty–he was truly dedicated to appearing genuine to Cynthia.

As he flipped through the book, John answered Cynthia.  ❛ ‘Alright, ❜ he caved, albeit being hesitant. He would do what she asked of him, follow all the steps she wanted him to, call every hour if she asked for it. John missed his son, in a way that he hadn’t before. Seeing Sean all little and needy, staying up with in all hours and changing his nappies, and making his bottles, had caused John to understand how important relationships between children and their parents were. Before, when Julian was that small, it only seemed like a burden; John didn’t look upon Julian like he wasn’t worth the time of day, but he always felt he wasn’t ready for that, that he couldn’t do it properly. For a long time John did fear that his love would only cause the eldest boy to be mad at him. John was sure that, no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t fit to be a parent. It was with a painful thud in his heart that he pondered one day if truly, Julian even wanted him to be his father since he much preferred Paul when he came around. Perhaps that even caused for him to resent the little boy too, but it had changed–everything had. John was beginning to see the world the way he should’ve along time ago, and properly, that came with a wave of regret and sorrow.

❛ Is he ‘ome?  ❜ John asked, taking his chance. It had felt like weeks, months even, since he heard the boy’s voice. John wanted to spill to him all of the plans, but like Cynthia had requested, he would reserve himself if she allowed him to speak to the child. He’d only ask the mundane questions like ‘How are you?’ ‘Do you like school?’ Nothing that would invoke any excitement or cause for him to make any empty promises. Maybe Cynthia was correct to make him wait for Julian anyway. John still had Sean, who was only weeks old, and for a beat, as he cast a look at the little boy, John worried he wouldn’t have enough attention to give to the both of them. The last thing he wanted was to make Julian feel as if he was second to his youngest brother.  ❛  I won’t say anythin’ t’him yanno, ‘bout this. I only want to see how he’s doing and how he’s liking the school, ❜ John licked his lip, pausing as his eyes looked down at the book he was flipping through. It was a picture of himself, younger, posed in the backyard of Cyn’s mum’s flat. He looked on, showing little emotions, with little Julian sat upright in his arm, sharing the same expression. John had forgotten about this photograph, forgotten he’d even had it until this moment. With a smile, for he thought this to be significant, the stars or whatever it was Yoko said, aligning.   ❛ I don’t want ‘im to go t’ a school he doesn’t like, ❜ he continued,  ❛ I used to hate wearing those school uniforms, & they make ‘im, don’t they? We’re payin’ for him to be tortured, all because of me. Sometimes I wish I’d never done that t’us, never put you two into that madness. He would be attendin’ some less than posh school in Liddy, wouldn’t he, Hoylake? ❜

“He’s on his way, should be here any minute”, Cynthia replied, checking the time on her watch. It was currently 5:15pm. His classes ended at 5 sharp, so he should be there soon. It wasn’t very easy, after all these years, to keep a casual chat with John. Not because she was resentful of what had happened between them, but there was a heavy awareness of how difficult it was for John to keep this kind of contact with her, thus making it difficult for her to be completely spontaneous as well. She wasn’t too pleased at the prospect of a conversation between the two so suddenly. Last time Julian had visited John, he had made some cruel remarks about the boy’s giggles that made him terribly self-conscious of his own laughter. Since then she hadn’t heard him giggle anymore. She did not think John would do such a thing right now, at least not yet, but nonetheless it might be better for Julian if he was allowed some time to process the news that John was looking for him, with Cynthia preparing him for the meeting. Alas, she also felt it wouldn’t be right to decline his request.  He was his father, after all, and the lingering awkwardness between the two of them as they tried to make small talk almost made her wish he would arrive earlier.

“You can’t possibly wish that”, her voice became soft at these last words, as the memories returned to her. It wasn’t easy from the start. Everyone warned her that it would be difficult, being Lennon’s girlfriend. And she knew it, too. They were just too different, bound to fail as a couple from the very first moment. But for a while, it was sweet. “Maybe he wouldn’t have, and maybe we would have never even set foot out of Liverpool. But you would never have settled”, she spoke with certainty, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He couldn’t really mean what he had said. In hindsight, he was bound to be where he was. Maybe it did not make him as happy as he thought it would, and the consequences of his unprecedented fame certainly caused a lot of misery to other people around him, but he would never had stopped until he got there. Somehow, that was where he belonged.

John wished that he hadn’t been so careless with Cynthia’s trust. As he clutched the phone, and watched his youngest gawk, John wished that he hadn’t been so absent, that he hadn’t been so careless with his affection. She had once been so trustworthy of him, even in light of all the rumors that fled around Liverpool about his affections laying elsewhere. She had stood by him, ignored them, and loved him. She had raised his child, withstood the harsh Mimi, and dealt with his irritable self more than most could. Had he knew what he knew now, he would’ve loved her back, the way she deserved it. He wouldn’t have messed around, and despised her for having made him a husband and father. He would’ve been grateful. But he was scared then, unsure of how to be someone’s father and husband because he himself hadn’t an example of what that looked like. It was cowardly, everything he ever did in order to escape the household her and their son lived in, and he knew that. John just wished Cynthia would clue on to that fact, that he did know, and that he was changing, and willing.  

❛ ‘Course I do, Cyn. ❜ He nodded, despite the fact that she couldn’t see it.  ❛ I know I’ve not proved t’be the best da’ in the world, Cyn, but ‘m real fuggin’ tryin’, y’see. ❜ He knew that perhaps he was just talking to talk; that this speech wouldn’t probably get him anywhere because she had no faith, but he had to ease this, to make her understand where he was at with this.  ❛ I’ve pushed him for so long, you know, because I didn’t get it. In the midst of all that fuggin’ madness I pushed us into, I didn’t want to be held down by anythin’ & he felt…he didn’t feel like a real thing, an actual person, y’know? He felt like yours, jus’ yours, and I was always fuggin’ gone, so it wasn’t hard to pawn him off on you and keep it that way. I never got ‘im the way a dad should, Cyn, and I know you don’ believe in me – rightfully so, of course–but I’m beggin’ ya t’ give me a chance. I’m doin’ this myself, y’know. No May, no Yoko – jus’ me, because I want ‘im. He’s my son. My son. ❜

❛ I want ‘im regularly Cyn, as much as we can have ‘im with us livin’ in different places. I don’ want to take him from you, but I jus’ want him. He can stay with you, stay at the same school and all that, I jus’ want him to visit for vacations and the like. ❜ John paused, and breathed, calming himself.  ❛ I know ‘m asking a lot, Cyn, but really, I’m beggin’ ya to fuggin’ consider it good. You know, don’t you, how it feels t’ miss a parent, and what’s worse is ‘m still fuggin’ here! I don’t want ‘im to hate me, as it were. Though God knows I’m worthy of it, huh? ❜

There was really no need for John to give her this speech anymore. She had heard similar before, he had always promised to change, to better himself for Julian, and for a while, he had made the same promise for her, too, when she still mattered to him, even if only a little. It was still painful to think about how he had left her behind as if they had been nothing. Not longer before that she recalled they wanted another child, and soon afterwards he had disappeared from Julian’s life because of a woman. Years had passed but the pain still weakened her whenever she brought those memories back, but she wouldn’t let him know, of course. She couldn’t refuse him a visit from Julian, not when her son wanted that, too. Truthfully Cynthia wanted the same - for her son to reconnect with his father, that would be enough to mend the hurt from the previous years, only she always kept one eye open for any display of kindness. Unlike Julian, Cynthia was more aware of the ways of the world, and thus less often hurt by the abandonment.

“I know he’s your son, John, I was there when he was made”, she remarked as an attempt at humour to lighten the conversation, even if her tone was neutral, neither harsh nor friendly. She agreed with the visit, but once he mentioned wanting it to be regular, a motherly instinct warned her that maybe that was where she should draw the line. “Look”, her voice was cautious, knowing how easily he could become agitated and make her his target again, “for once in our lives, let’s try taking things slow, okay?”, Cyn suggested, reflecting that it was something they had never truly done: Perhaps if they didn’t initiate a physical relationship so soon, then they wouldn’t have rushed into a wedding, which lasted for only a few years before he decided to rush into a divorce. Thinking it over, it was worth it, because even if they’d had a child, it wouldn’t be Julian, and that was the best thing he had ever given her. 

Quickly a frown embedded into his countenance, for the conversation already had begun to take a turn he didn’t expect it to. Why Cynthia sounded so cross when she spoke about his current wife wasn’t something he had to take into question; she had quite the reason to sound that way, but it threw him off because it came from her. John remembered her being so kind, never harsh, even when he did things that deserved a great amount of disdain. It made him uneasy, fearing the worse and filling him with anxiety.

Going into the conversation, he had been confident. Not completely sold on the idea that he’d certainly get another chance with his son, but certainly not disillusioned by the idea either. Now, with the way Cyn was speaking, he wasn’t exactly sure how to feel.

Swallowing, John tried to figure out what to say. Should he lie, would that beneficial? She never seemed to catch onto his little fibs before, but then again, he wasn’t sure if she had done that for the sake of masquerading the ugly truth or simply because she wasn’t smart enough to catch on. Fearing that she would though, John decided to tell the truth, leaning against the wall before the words spilled.  ❛ No, ❜ he began,  ❛ she doesn’t. But that doesn’t matter much does it, Cynthia. I hardly think she’ll object though. She was talkin’ about him meetin’ Sean, y’know? Thought it would be good for me to take them on a trip to Long Island for a week or two. ❜

He felt uncomfortable and sightly agitated, having to answer a question such as that one, and feeling the need to defend his wife. John felt Cynthia was a better women than that, much more above the games he played. To hear her take such a bitter tone towards the subject of his wife set him off, unsure of how exactly to feel or what to do. It made him want to hang up again, to never call her house or check up on the son he had abandoned, but the flashing memories of a little Julian walking about Kenwood flashed through his head, and his heart yearned to see the little boy his mind remembered. The more he thought of Julian, the more he began to miss him, and although he was now indifferent towards the conversation, John wasn’t going to completely run away from it. This was all for Julian he told himself, tightening his grip on the phone. All for Jules.

After his answer, Cynthia sighed deeply. She doubted that John would fully understand the resentment in her tone. Had they been a childless couple, it would have been much easier to forgive how horribly their relationship had ended, but Julian was deeply hurt in the process and Cynthia verily doubted that Yoko had any disposition to be nice to her son. John maybe lacked the ability several times, but at least he tried, after all, he was still his son. She was never mad or angry over the fact that her husband was “stolen” from her, especially since he had never been hers in the first place, but in spite of her gentle nature, like any other woman she could become a lioness in order to protect her cub.

As of now, however, she could feel that he intended well. Although she hoped for a more positive answer than the fact that Yoko had no idea Julian would be stopping by. Not that she feared that she would be directly mean to Julian, but his presence could certainly cause a row between her and John, and if John got angry, then Julian would be nearby as an easy target - and that was her greatest concern. With a sigh, her tone softened, as if to make him understand her point of view. “John”, said she, “you must understand the big picture. Every little scratch at Julian is a stab at my heart. Do you understand?”

John hadn’t sleep the night he called Cynthia, much too in his own thoughts to attempt resting. He’d sat in Sean’s room, watching over him for a good part of his night, allowing the nanny to take a much needed break. There was a white rocker by the entrance of the baby’s room, and that’s where John sat, holding Sean as he sleep, rocking him as he whined, and singing to him when he woke in the morning. It was a nice feeling, being all alone with this son, sharing a moment he never really got to share with his other one in England. All through the night, the thought creep on him–you’ve screwed up, John, it’s too late–but he tucked it away, aware of his actions and completely ready to start to change them. Julian deserved a father, one who wanted him at all times, not just when it was convenient to him.

John did enjoy his eldest son’s presence when he wasn’t in a mood, finding him especially interesting and perceptive. In L.A. he found that Julian took an interest in music and he hoped that if Cynthia did allow for Julian to come visit, he’d be able to bond with him over the common interest. There were many other things John thought up, of ways he could reach his son despite not exactly knowing him all that well. He had to do this, had to scrounge up every bit of last chance the two of them, Cyn and Julian, would give him, because this relationship was something important. Not only to himself, but Julian as well. John didn’t want to be the cause of suffering like his own father was; the thought of Julian feeling empty because he felt abandoned and unwanted was one that didn’t settle well in his stomach.

When the clock rolled around to 12, John started to get the jitters, and the overwhelming feeling to not do as he said he would. He was positive it was only fear that tugged at him, trying to pull him away because the coward inside of him was afraid of rejection. For thirty minutes he struggled with that inner turmoil, making tea and watching Sean sleep quietly in his carrier on the ground so it didn’t consume him completely. When the big hand landed on the five, and the small landed on the six, John walked over to the telephone, pushing fears away and braving it. The ringing of the phone allowed for a mini panic, and when it stopped, John straightened up.  ❛ Punctual too, now, y’know, ❜ he laughed into the phone, checking the clock once more to make sure his joke held truth (it did).  ❛ It’s John, your ex, if you were wondering. ❜

A part of her had hoped that he would forget, change his mind, anything but to go through with his idea. Not that she didn’t want her son to reconnect with her father. Quite the opposite: Knowing how badly Julian craved it, it became too her greatest desire. Alas, Cynthia had lost the innocence that Julian still maintained, and along with her hope that things would turn out to be just fine, there was a lingering fear that the opposite would happen. 

Whenever she looked at Julian there was an obvious blend of John and herself, though in his eyes Cynthia saw only herself. Many years before she had been a child too, still naive and dreamy just like her son when she fell in love with his father. Cynthia, however, had stopped being a child the moment her pregnancy test turned out to be positive, and the first deadly strike to her naivety was when she had to go through a long, painful birth all alone, then John showing up to see his son only four days after his birth.

Cynthia pushed those thoughts aside immediately as she recognized his voice. There was no need for him to present himself - the tone itself gave it away. “Hello, John”, she spoke politely, though far from friendly. Many things she could say to make the situation a little less tense, and yet, Cynthia decided simply to cut to the chase. “So, is she aware of your plans?”

It didn’t take long for John to get that he’d said something wrong to Cynthia, but what it was he hadn’t one clue. He wanted to be naive then, allowing himself to think she was just emotional because he was finally making an effort, but he’d spent too many years with the woman to know that wasn’t the truth. Although he was distant & seemingly uncaring in their last few years as a married couple, John hadn’t always been that way. Once upon a time he’d cared very much about her, & he’d taken the time to know her just as well as she’d known him. So, when he heard obvious emotion in Cyn’s voice, he knew that there was something wrong. He’d said something to upset her, he knew he had. That’s what he always did with her, upset her & make her cry.

❛ Alright, but Cyn before I let ye go…are ye alright? ❜ John inquired, furrowing his eyebrows. Not until the words escaped his lips did he think that maybe this was inappropriate, him questioning his ex-wife about her feelings. These conversations weren’t meant to be had between divorcees, it was the unwritten law of a failed marriage. When you signed along the dotted line, you insured that your ex-partner’s belongings - including feelings - were no longer yours to worry about, & for a very long time John had followed this rule. But he was different now; the baby boy placed to his right in an innocent blue colored cot had made him softer & more considerate. Perhaps, John thought, a little too soft.

Before Cynthia had a chance to respond, John cut in, feeling too overwhelmed by guilt to let her answer.  ❛ I ‘ave t’ go Cyn; Sean needs his nappy changed & I have t’ make supper before Yoko comes home. ❜ He didn’t like lying to her like this but he thought it to be the only escape from his previous question. Besides, John didn’t think Cynthia would be willing to answer that foolish question anyways. It was too personal & he wasn’t close enough to be asking that stuff anymore.  ❛ I’ll call ye then, Cyn. Tell Jules that I luv him before ye send him off t’ school in the morn. Goodbye. ❜

With those finals words having been said, John allowed the phone to fall back on the receiver. That had to be the most stressful thing he’d experienced in weeks, but he was happy he’d gathered the courage to do it. Pattie was completely correct when she told him that there was no wrong time to reconnect with children, & the happy feeling that gathered in his stomach was only proof of it.

John’s inquiry left Cynthia taken aback, so that she wouldn’t know how to respond, had he not interrupted her before she could speak. He did not fool her in any moment - Cynthia knew John far too well to be fooled by whatever lie he told her, whether it was about seeing other women when they were still together or about having to do other things so that he could avoid an unpleasant conversation with his ex wife. His voice tone, she had found, had always been much more sincere than his words. Good thing though, for to answer such a question would have been to lie to John as well. Whatever hurt she kept inside from how he had treated her and their son was locked inside her chest and kept to herself. He was, after all, the last person to whom she would trust such confidences. What a sorrowful thought to have about the father of your son.

And though she did not bother to respond to his farewell, in the following day she was overwhelmed by a feeling of anxiety and restlessness. After many years of dealing with emotional pain from many different factors, Cynthia had learned how to master her emotions so that the outside world wouldn’t be bothered by a change in her attitude given whatever she was facing at the moment. Julian, being the main source of this strength, was also her biggest weakness, and thus, whenever his own emotions were concerned, it was impossible for her not to be distracted the entire day, wondering whether John would keep to his promise or not. Knowing him, she did not want to raise any expectations: She came home, as usual, made her tea and sat by the phone, fully expecting that he would forget all about the promise he’d made to call.

       ❛ well that won’ get me anywhere t’ sleep will it? ❜ he perks his arch brows, a hint of a smile painting across his lips. ❛ what kind of photos do ye take, luv? can i be naked in ‘em or do ye require clothing? ❜

          Admitting he wasn’t of any position to father Julian was a task too far out of John’s reach. It was too responsible at first – an idea his immature mind couldn’t even begin to wrap itself around, because it was too fogged with self-pity & selfishness to see past anything but he & Yoko. Now, it was just silly to the Liverpool Native. He knew he was capable of fathering a child, he’d proved this much with his newfound responsibility in becoming a full time father, and he wasn’t going to let Cynthia tell him any different. Sure, Sean was a different child, made in a completely different lifestyle, but John was positive that Julian could share the same affection he gave to Sean if Cynthia gave this proposition a chance. In fact, he knew his first born would because John was determined to make a true effort this time around, one that he owed Julian.

       ❛ Me luv fer him ‘as never changed Cyn, I’ve jus’ never been very good at showin’ it, ❜ the man admitted, swallowing his pride for a second to let the real truth slip past his twin-flesh. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders in that moment, but there were still many more to go. He shifted in his spot, crossing one leg over the other as he let his fingers trace over the side of the table. John was trying to calm himself so he could speak like an adult to the woman on the other side of the phone. She deserved that much, he supposed, for she hadn’t hung up on him yet & he knew she had every reason to do so.  ❛ I know it’s late, ‘m sorry I called so late, but I had to. This is fer him now, not me or Yoko or anybody, jus’ him. I want him to meet Sean & spend a few days with me, & maybe even have ‘im come back fer Christmas, if he likes it enough ‘ere. ‘ell Cyn, I’ll pay fer y’ t’ come too if y’ jus’ agree t’ this. That’s all ‘m asking – fer y’ t’ give me another chance because God knows we all fuckin’ need y’ to. ❜

          Cynthia had not expected it, but John’s words touched her deeper than she would admit. To hear him admit so plainly that he had loved Julian all the time, and that he had not been good at demonstrating that, it hit her like an avalanche. She recalled plenty of times that she had doubted his love for their child, although deep down Cynthia felt that she knew John well enough to know better than that. In spite of everything that happened, she still felt that the sensitive man that he could be was still lingering there somewhere---he had not been a lie. And then, as she felt the warmth of the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks, Cynthia had to cover the phone with her hand, hopeful that he would not hear.