Any true Beatles fan knows that Stu Sutcliffe was the original bassist, who died of a brain embolism before the Beatles became famous. But what if it had not been Stu with the deadly weakness, but ...?
There is no time left now. The meeting will take place in a matter of hours, an event so significant for future generations that nothing can be allowed to change in any way. I found the boy a 'happy soul, with eyes wide open the question of the world with fun. He still does not know the path that is set for him, or what inside his tiny brain that leads me here through the oceans of time. We agreed that is a task that needs to be done for peace of souls worldwide.
From my hiding place I look across the square to appear in this cloudy day. I see a vortex in the sky that promises more storms, but the people around me, simple people with low levels of accommodation that do not understand, pass on their life patterns. Once the boy is in sight, my timing allows me to meet him at the shop window where it stops, without exception, every day to stand and admire. Are programmed with all traces of memory from the projection taken from the best minds of our universe. There are not accounted for randoms: no changes can not be calculated to infinity.
Now I see. The boy is around the corner, whistling a tune by himself, with his eyebrows in delight as high activity in the plaza greets his vision. For a moment you slow down while passing the shop is called the baker, but then resumed its journey through the Square in close to me, where I am near the store that intrigues know HIM. Each step is more important than he can ever know, but her cheerful smile shows none of this as it gets to the window of the store that sells music instruments and stands with hands in his pockets looking into the family routine.
If he was watching me, he would have seen only one other boy his age, but his attention is on a steady and full of the items in the window. He leans forward until his nose touches the glass. Hofner ... said aloud to no one. Loovely, says he and his focus is so complete that I take three quick steps toward him, shake the mantle of change at him and you're done.
I turn from the window and return to my journey. Random thoughts in my mind are how to obtain money for the musical instrument, with spontaneous bursts of melody in the background. Part of my mind sees the images of playing a guitar sitting on a bed in a small room but comfortable. I keep walking.
It is 30 minutes later and came to an open field that filled a small festival with music, banners and the chatter and laughter of two hundred people. I just reached the stable first when someone calls me and I turn to see my friend Ivan smiles, while the activity flows show around him.
Come here, he says, someone I must meet. I follow him deeper into the fairgrounds to stop in front of a small, ramshackle stadium just three feet off the ground.
Sitting in a corner with his legs dangling over the edge is a thin young man with a black shirt and jeans with his hair slicked back in sculpture and extravagant cigarette in the corner of his mouth with thin lips. His left hand is to regulate the tone of the guitar strings on his legs while you cradle her eyes measure me with care.
Hey, Johnny ... Ivan says with some excitement to the casual lean figure ... but I should meet someone who ... he's a guitarist too ...
Johnny peering through cigarette smoke on me.
Oh yeah? ... Says.
Yeah ... says Ivan and throws an arm around her shoulders.
Johnny said ... Ivan ... meet Paul McCartney ...
Copyright - 2005 Dollar Bill
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