"Hello. Me name's Paul," said the vision as he stuck out his hand for me to shake it.
He wasn't a vision though; it was him, Paul McCartney! What did I say to him? 'Hi. I've come from the future to meet you because you told me to in 2001'. No that wouldn't work; I probably should not scare him at the first meeting.
I reached out my hand to meet his. As our hands met, I felt the same semi-familiar physical jolt I felt when I had touched him in the future. I looked into his eyes, and saw that they registered shock. He quickly released my hand, and I realized that I hadn't spoken yet.
"Oh sorry. My name's Anne, with an E" I said softly, staring at him. John quickly pulled my attention away from Paul.
"So are you an American? We all thought Cyn was off her rocker when she came 'round yapping about meeting some American bird," John half-shouted from the front, he had the windows down and noise was stifling most sound.
It was a bit hard for me to understand him, but I got the basic gist of what he was saying.
"No she wasn't lying, I am from America. Texas to be exact" I yelled back at him.
"With cowboys and all that?" Paul asked.
He was cute, but not cute enough for me to stop my eyes rolling at his stereotypical question.
"No not with Cowboys and all that. I grew up in the city, and it's hard to keep cows on concrete. But, to answer your question, yes there are Cowboys in Texas, but the real ones live on ranches in the country." I answered as civilly as I could.
"So you don't all wear Cowboys hats and spurs and all that?" John asked, yelling again.
I once again bit my tongue "Oh, yes some people do. But, very few of them are real cowboys. You know guys who are out the range herding cattle, there aren't many of them left."
Both John and Paul looked a little crestfallen at my answer.
"Well, you know, Buddy Holly was from Texas" I said trying to perk them up, and doing the trick.
"Gear! Did you ever see one of his shows before he died?" Paul questioned.
Oh yeah! Considering he had died more than thirty years before I was born.
"Um no, never got the chance," Again their faces fell "But I have seen a Little Richard show," That got smiles out of them. It was the truth I had seen Little Richard in concert. Sandy had dragged me to it. I didn't want to go because the guy creeped me out. Not in an 'I've met him before' way, but I just thought the guy was kind of scary, Michael Jackson scary.
The boys began asking me all sorts of questions about his performance. I answered them the best I could, but I tried to be vague when they asked technical questions. I wasn't sure what was invented already, and what was not. Soon they realized that I didn't know much about how music was put together, and they stopped their questioning.
"Got a ciggie, Macca?" John called out.
Paul pulled his cigarettes from his pocket, took one out and handed it to John. As he was pulling his arm back to his side, it gently grazed my arm. That slight touch sent shivers down my spine. I looked up at him, once again surprised by my reaction, and saw him smiling at me. It wasn't a smile of happiness; it was a smile of understanding.
I was about to ask what the smile was for, when John pulled over and parked the car. I was a bit confused, I thought we were going to a club and we had pulled up in front of a house.
"Is this the place we're going?" I asked.
"Yeah this is the place. The club is in the basement of that house. It's our drummers' house. His mum runs the place," replied Paul.
I nodded in understanding, and we all clambered out of the car walking up to the entrance.
As soon as we walked in the door we were bombarded with noise. The sounds were of music playing, and people greeting John, Paul, and Cyn. The first person that came up to us was dark haired guy who I instantly recognized to be George Harrison.
"Eh, What took you so long Lennon?" he asked, his scouse accent thick.
"We had to pick up Cyn's American friend" John replied gesturing to me.
"Oh so she really is American, what part are you from? George inquired.
"Texas" I replied and waited for the onslaught of questions, but they never came.
"O, I've never been there. Me sister lives in Illinois, and I've been to New York." He said, and we proceeded to chat about places he and I had been to.
I had been talking to George for about five minutes when I felt a hand placed on my shoulder. I instantly knew it was Paul, and I turned to look at him.
"Hello Paul"
"Hello, Anne with an E. Would you like to dance? You don't mind do you Hari?" George gave his assent, as did I taking his hand and walking to the dance floor.
As we reached the dance floor, a slow song came on. It was "Love Me Tender" by Elvis Presley. I normally did not like Elvis songs, but I loved this one.
It was perfect timing, Paul slid his hands around my waist and I put mine around his neck. We danced close and slowly; I was just enjoying being held in his arms. If I had had any doubt about coming to the past, it was swept away with that dance. It felt perfect and wonderful being that close to him.
As everything was falling into place, Paul stopped it all with a few simple words.
"I've been waiting for you"
