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6 July 1957.
A young Paul walked into his shower room. He knew he needed to shower today, even before his father started getting on his ass about it. The shower was one of the most private places in the house. So, naturally, his unfiltered thoughts would materialize in the shower, as he washed himself.
Today was a strange day. I met this fella. He is a tad older than me, but frankly, he is the coolest looking guy I’ve ever met. He looked like Elvis up there on the stage with his group, The Quarrymen. He watched him perform with such confidence to the song “Come Go With Me.” This confidence came from his natural charisma but also the fact he had forgotten half the lyrics. Despite that, he was still up there not even seeming to care.
He had shampooed his hair while this was going on, and now he rinsed it out, and reached for the bar of soup beside him.
I know I’ve seen that guy before…. on the bus and around town. I never talked to him, didn’t know he had any musical ability at all. But I talked to him and played for him. There’s no way I couldn't, right? Can’t believe I’m in his band now.
He was rinsing off now preparing to get out.
His name is John Lennon. It has such a good ring to it. I have a good feeling about that guy.
10 January 1969
It had been a long day in the studio. Long might be an understatement. George left. Paul got into the shower to collect himself.
It's okay, it's okay, we can work this out. Who am I kidding? Nothing has been the same for years now. You drove him off. It's all your fault. This is all your fault.
He let the water run down his back as he stood there playing with his now wet beard. He looked at the ceiling running his hands through his hair.
Nothing is the same. Everything is changing. We might be broken up by the end of the year. I just have to hold this together. I have to. What will everyone do? What will I do?
His head was racing, he couldn't even process his thoughts. He dropped to the shower floor putting his knees up to his chin.
I need to call John. If he'll even pick up. He's been so busy lately…he doesn't even have time for me anymore it feels like. I wish he would ask how I was. Linda tried cheering me up, but it didn't work. I love her dearly, but I need John to tell me. Maybe then I'll be ok.
He raised his head up and turned the water off. He didn't even wash himself but that didn't matter. He just needed to call John.
8 December 1980
Paul rushed into the shower room. He looked in the mirror. He was still here. If he was here, John can't be gone can he?
He sped through into the shower and turned the water on. It was cold.
It can't be true, I know it can't be…Could I even live without him? “Lennon shot dead” load of gibberish! The world was somehow playing me or maybe I was dreaming…right?
He tried to rationalize the news that hit him so suddenly. It would be commendable how he denied what happened earlier that day, if he believed a word he was thinking.
How could I begin to live without him? I love him. Despite it all, I love him. He’s my mate…my deepest love…
He collapsed to the freezing linoleum floor.
No one will hear me if I weep now.
He couldn't tell how much he cried, maybe that's a good thing. He couldn't tell apart the tears mixing with the water. At this moment all he could feel was raw pain. Pain that he wasn't there, pain that he didn’t get to say goodbye, and he was gone.
He cried for what felt like an eternity. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel better. But he needed to move on, for right now. He had things to do.
The soup lathered on his face. He felt fresh, despite it all. He exited the shower.