Visions Of Sugarplum Faeries

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Visions Of Sugarplum Faeries

by Jaina Winston

It isn't every day that one gets the opportunity to have a heart-to-heart conversation with a world-renowned musician. Particularly when this world-renowned musician is dead. In the long run, dreams aren't usually really conversations as much as the devious workings of the subconscious psyche, but my subconscious psyche can come up with some pretty intriguing things. I thought I would share this dream, because somehow I feel that in sharing it, I've shared something more that just a series of words and images I experienced one night.

I was sitting on the side of the road, my legs stretched out off the curb into the loose gravel that lay there. Beside me sat the one and only, indomitable John Lennon. This fact didn't bother me, because by now, he had become a recurring character in my dreams. It didn't even bother me that slowly, his appearance was evolving through all the fashions he'd ever experimented with in his life, starting at a rough and airy eighteen. We sat in silence for a few moments, while he lit up a cigarette, and we watched the cars go by. Then, rather abruptly, he spoke. "I never really wanted much, did I?"

"Pardon?" I hadn't been prepared for him to speak, and therefore hadn't really caught what he'd said.

John leaned back, watching the sky for a few seconds, and tapped ashes off his cigarette. "I never thought I asked for much. All I wanted was for people to like me."

I played with the gravel at my feet as I thought. "You could never have it, though, could you."

"No, I guess not, because I wasn't happy with just a few people. I wanted the World to love me, and that's never going to happen." He took a draw off his cigarette, curling the smoke back up through his nose as he exhaled with the thoughtlessness of long practice. "If I do something to please a certain group of people, then a different group of people is going to get angry with what I did. Then if I do something to please the second group of people, the first group jumps on my ass about it. Eventually, you're just a machine, running around doing things to try and please other people. They're never going to be unanimously pleased, and in all truth, it's probably not likely that any of them are truly pleased. You lose yourself in the mad scramble to keep others calm, and in the end I couldn't do that. I couldn't let go of who I was, I just wasn't able to become that mindless. Plenty of people do, I've seen them. But I couldn't be one of them."

I nodded, and swept the loose hair out of my eyes with a toss of my head. "There was more to it than that, wasn't there?"

A pause in conversation, another drag on the cigarette. "I suppose there was. I think I always wanted Love to be this tangible thing, something I could carry in my pocket and tack up on billboards for someone else to find. I always dug that idea, leaving little anonymous gifts for people, and have them be boxes filled with Love. It was only near the end that I had enough courage to say things like that. Before I was always afraid I'd be seen as weak, a pansy." He paused for a moment, watching the sky again, and then turned to look at me with a sort of rueful, crooked smile. "I never stopped looking for it, you know. That kind of Love you can feel and weave and toss about. The tangible kind."

"You never found it?" I was a bit puzzled.

"Nope."

"Not even with Yoko?"

There he drew a long breath, and tapped more ashes off of his cigarette. "Yoko was different. I found with her a Love like I'd never known before, but it wasn't exactly what I was looking for. There was a lot of time when it was hot. Really hot." He thought for a few more moments. "And there were times when it was really cold. There were two extremes and we were always at one or the other. I liked the one- the other scared the shit out of me, and I think she knew it. I think she did it because I have some sort of abandonment complex, and she wasn't about to have me running around like I did with Cynthia. So she tried to stop it by scaring me."

I made a little pattern in the gravel with my feet before wiping it out and looking at John again. "You never got over Julia, did you?"

He glanced at me, and I could see the flash of pain, accompanied by another flash of the cigarette's end. "Who would? I lost my mother twice, and I'd been close to her both times. It was like a deathblow, only it wouldn't kill. Let me tell you, one day, you're going to lose your mother, and it's going to hurt like hell and you won't get over it. The only difference is, you didn't lose her once at four, and you haven't lost her again at seventeen. It'll probably be years on down the road, on you have the rest of a family, and friends who understand you, people to lean on and get through it. I had no one, and it was hard."

There were long heartbeats of silence, and then a glance to his watch. "Look at the time." He mumbled, the cigarette firmly fixed between his lips. "I'd better be going." He stood from the curb, fully forty now, and tired-looking, worn.

"Until next time." I looked up at him, and half smiled.

"Until then." He called as he walked off, flicking ashes to the ground behind him.


	Follow The Sun \| home Back to About The Beatles Visions Of Sugarplum Faeries Visions Of Sugarplum Faeries by Jaina Winston It isn't every day that one gets the opportunity to have a heart-to-heart conversation with a world-renowned musician. Particularly when this world-renowned musician is dead. In the long run, dreams aren't usually really conversations as much as the devious workings of the subconscious psyche, but my subconscious psyche can come up with some pretty intriguing things. I thought I would share this dream, because somehow I feel that in sharing it, I've shared something more that just a series of words and images I experienced one night. I was sitting on the side of the road, my legs stretched out off the curb into the loose gravel that lay there. Beside me sat the one and only, indomitable John Lennon. This fact didn't bother me, because by now, he had become a recurring character in my dreams. It didn't even bother me that slowly, his appearance was evolving through all the fashions he'd ever experimented with in his life, starting at a rough and airy eighteen. We sat in silence for a few moments, while he lit up a cigarette, and we watched the cars go by. Then, rather abruptly, he spoke. "I never really wanted much, did I?" "Pardon?" I hadn't been prepared for him to speak, and therefore hadn't really caught what he'd said. John leaned back, watching the sky for a few seconds, and tapped ashes off his cigarette. "I never thought I asked for much. All I wanted was for people to like me." I played with the gravel at my feet as I thought. "You could never have it, though, could you." "No, I guess not, because I wasn't happy with just a few people. I wanted the World to love me, and that's never going to happen." He took a draw off his cigarette, curling the smoke back up through his nose as he exhaled with the thoughtlessness of long practice. "If I do something to please a certain group of people, then a different group of people is going to get angry with what I did. Then if I do something to please the second group of people, the first group jumps on my ass about it. Eventually, you're just a machine, running around doing things to try and please other people. They're never going to be unanimously pleased, and in all truth, it's probably not likely that any of them are truly pleased. You lose yourself in the mad scramble to keep others calm, and in the end I couldn't do that. I couldn't let go of who I was, I just wasn't able to become that mindless. Plenty of people do, I've seen them. But I couldn't be one of them." I nodded, and swept the loose hair out of my eyes with a toss of my head. "There was more to it than that, wasn't there?" A pause in conversation, another drag on the cigarette. "I suppose there was. I think I always wanted Love to be this tangible thing, something I could carry in my pocket and tack up on billboards for someone else to find. I always dug that idea, leaving little anonymous gifts for people, and have them be boxes filled with Love. It was only near the end that I had enough courage to say things like that. Before I was always afraid I'd be seen as weak, a pansy." He paused for a moment, watching the sky again, and then turned to look at me with a sort of rueful, crooked smile. "I never stopped looking for it, you know. That kind of Love you can feel and weave and toss about. The tangible kind." "You never found it?" I was a bit puzzled. "Nope." "Not even with Yoko?" There he drew a long breath, and tapped more ashes off of his cigarette. "Yoko was different. I found with her a Love like I'd never known before, but it wasn't exactly what I was looking for. There was a lot of time when it was hot. Really hot." He thought for a few more moments. "And there were times when it was really cold. There were two extremes and we were always at one or the other. I liked the one- the other scared the shit out of me, and I think she knew it. I think she did it because I have some sort of abandonment complex, and she wasn't about to have me running around like I did with Cynthia. So she tried to stop it by scaring me." I made a little pattern in the gravel with my feet before wiping it out and looking at John again. "You never got over Julia, did you?" He glanced at me, and I could see the flash of pain, accompanied by another flash of the cigarette's end. "Who would? I lost my mother twice, and I'd been close to her both times. It was like a deathblow, only it wouldn't kill. Let me tell you, one day, you're going to lose your mother, and it's going to hurt like hell and you won't get over it. The only difference is, you didn't lose her once at four, and you haven't lost her again at seventeen. It'll probably be years on down the road, on you have the rest of a family, and friends who understand you, people to lean on and get through it. I had no one, and it was hard." There were long heartbeats of silence, and then a glance to his watch. "Look at the time." He mumbled, the cigarette firmly fixed between his lips. "I'd better be going." He stood from the curb, fully forty now, and tired-looking, worn. "Until next time." I looked up at him, and half smiled. "Until then." He called as he walked off, flicking ashes to the ground behind him.