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The motion was quick and sudden as he was propelled forward into the air. The plane lifted higher and higher into the air. Though the machine soared at extraordinary speeds through the sky, it felt too slow. The anxiety of not doing something or anything for that matter crept its way down his spine.
Sighing deeply at the notion of not being where he needed to be George pressed his forehead against the cold window. He watched aimlessly as clouds streaked by and the land disappeared revealing only ocean. Visually he could see how quickly he was moving, however, mentally George felt frozen in time.
“Hey, Geo. Ya doin’ a’right?” His band mate, Paul asked patiently. “Is there anythin’ I can do fer ya?”
He shook his head slowly, not wanting to seem rude, but not wanting to verbally answer the question. Paul smiled kindly before speaking again. “Jus’ let me know if ya need anythin’, a’right?” George nodded as he watched his mate walke off toward the back of the plane.
As Paul disappeared from sight, George felt like letting go of the tears he’d been holding back. He kept fighting the emotion, ultimately losing in the end as a few stray ones escaped. His nerves were shot as he waited for the plane to land at the desired location. Unfortunately, the flight would take several hours and already he was done waiting and waiting had never been one of George’s strong suits. His hands felt shaky as the plane seemed to take its time.
Without warning a hand rested on his shoulder as he heard someone sit down beside him. The other person didn’t say anything, only sat by George as he, himself, fought with his inner turmoil. The hand on his shoulder helped keep George tethered to reality as he swam through his emotions. Too many possibilities passed through his brain and it all became too overwhelming. His tears streamed down his face without permission. The hand on his shoulder slid to his other shoulder as the person next to him started to lean him onto their shoulder. George accepted the head rest as he wept almost silently.
“It’s goin’ ta be alright, George.” A voice George recognised as John’s spoke. “He’ll be fine, but ye won’t if ya worry yerself ta death. Try and rest. I’ll wake ya when we’ve landed.”
George wanted to argue, but he knew John was right. As his tears dried up his eyes began to burn. To relieve the pain of the stinging he closed his eyes until his consciousness faded away and sleep overcame him.
**************************************************************
A rough shoulder shake woke George from his fitful slumber. Looking at who had awakened him, George was met by the sight of John still seated by him and Paul standing in the aisle. Stretching his stiff limbs, George moved from his seated position.
“Have we landed yet?” He asked the other two.
Paul shook his head, “Not quite yet, we land in five minutes.” He answered the question before continuing. “We thought ya’d want ta be awake so we can leave sooner.”
George appreciated the thought and smiled weakly at Paul. He knew John and Paul were doing their best to help him, even though they were equally worried.
The fasten seatbelt light flickered on as the plane began its descent. Paul quickly took a seat as the three Beatles bucked their safety belts. The plane bumped slightly on the tarmac as it began to slow and come to a complete stop on the runway. Being impatient, George unfastened his seatbelt as soon as the plane came to a stand still. John and Paul followed his actions to keep up with the guitarist. The door was opened and the three of them were greeted with hundreds of screaming fans waiting for them. For just this once George wished they weren’t famous as he did not have the patience to deal with the public at this very moment.
Reporteres flooded them with questions and others snapped photos of the three. The flashes blinding the lads as well as the questions tiring their already exhausted selves. John was in an extremely annoyed mood as he quickly pushed George and Paul through the sea of people toward their waiting cab all while sassing and mocking reporters. Finally they made it into the vehicle and it took off toward their desired location. George started tapping his thumb on his leg with further impatience. He knew he was almost there, but that did not quell the anxiety inside.
Pulling up to the curb the three of them jumped out of the car and ran into the building. Running right up to the reception desk, Paul asked, “Which room is Mr. Starkey in?”
The nurse looked up, obviously surprised to see the ever famous Paul McCartney right before her. She snapped out of her daze and quickly informed the band where to go. They took off as expeditiously as they arrived to get to the room as the nurse screamed something about no running.
Pausing in front of the room door, George took a few deep breaths as his sprint caught up with him. Suddenly feeling nervous, he completely froze up. He had wanted to get here so badly, but now that he was here he was feeling uncertain about what to do. What if his worst fears had come true and he not only lost a drummer, but also a brilliant mate?
John, being impatient once more, thrust open the door and dragged the other two inside with him. Not sure of what to expect, George hesitantly looked at the bed in the centre of the room. When he finally did look up, what he saw crushed his heart. Ringo lay in the bed with tubes and monitors attached to his body. Feeling his knees go weak George had enough time to say, “John…” before his legs gave out beneath him.
Moving with what appeared to be the speed of light, John caught Gearge before he could hit the floor. “Paul, a little help, eh?” Paul rushed over and the two of them set George onto a chair. They slid the seat closer to the bed so George could be by Ringo’s side.
Everything felt surreal as he watched Richard’s chest rise and fall while the monitors behind him beeped rhythmically. George felt a surge of tears wash over him again, but the numb feeling that creeped in overpowered the urge to cry. Behind him he could hear hushed whispers from John and Paul.
Reaching forward George took a hold of Ringo’s hand hoping it might squeeze back, however, it remained lifeless and cold. George kept Ringo’s hand in his as he didn’t want to let go. While he sat there he watched Richard’s breathing just to make sure he was still alive, even though there were monitors for that, it was more reassuring to see it. He looked up at Ringo’s face expectantly, hoping he would open eyes, or move, or anything really.
“Here, take this,” John’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Looking up, George was met by a bottle of water. He accepted the drink and was about to set it down when John stopped him. “George, take some sips, mate. If ye don’t take care of yerself, all ya end up doin’ is worrin’ poor Ringo. Now drink!” He made it seem more like a demand, but George knew that was how John showed his compassion.
“John’s right, Geo. Ya need ta look after yerself as well.” Paul agreed. Sighing because he knew they were right, George took a few sips of water. The slow intake helped him focus on something else and steadied his hands a bit.
“Feel better?” John asked, curiously.
George nodded, “A bit, ya.”
“Good. Well the doctor said it may take a while before Richie wakes. Anythin’ ya want ta do in the meantime?” Paul inquired, wanting to take all their minds off the subject on hand.
George only shook his head, he couldn’t think on anything else other than his bandmate lying in a hospital bed. He could tell Paul had expected that kind of response. Paul looked as if he were about to say more when John put his hand on Paul’s shoulder instantly silencing the bassist.
“Maybe it’d be best ta let Geo stay ‘ere as we get us a hotel.” John told Paul. “Anyroad, Georg ‘ere will tell us if there are any changes. Won’t ya, Georgie?”
“Of course,” George started, but didn’t get to finish as John continued. “C’mon Macca. We can all see yer just as tired as the rest of us. We can get some rest and check in on Richard later.”
“Alright,” Paul nodded, “See ya later, Geo.”
The two said their goodbyes and went in search of a hotel for the night, making certain they would call later to leave a number for George. This left George alone with their sick drummer. He stared at Ringo, noticing his grey streak of hair, which he’d told George he’d received when he was extremely ill as a child. He had slipped into a coma as a small child and almost didn’t make it. The drummer always seemed to get sick and take a massive long time to recover. George was fearful that this might be one time too many and Ringo wouldn’t recover this time around. His very real fear stuck with him as he thought about how he could lose his best mate.
“Hey Rich,” George spoke out very softly, clearing his throat before continuing. “I don’t know if ye can ‘ear me, but please be alright. I don’t know what it’s be like without ya, and I don’t really want ta know.” Silent tears escaped without consent, but George was too exhausted to fight it anymore.
The only sounds that could be heard were the constant beeping of the machine monitoring Ringo’s vitals, the repetitive ticking of the clock on the wall and the mixed breathing of George and Ringo. The steady noise slowly lulled George into a state of half consciousness.
Suddenly, the machine behind his head changed from its rhythm to a single steady note. George bolted upright at the change and noticed how motionless Ringo was. Panic rose inside of him as nurses and doctors rushed in to do their job.
“Stand back!” One of the nurses instructed the Beatle as another one wheeled in a defibrillator. George barely had enough time to get up from his chair and over to the corner of the room before they started their procedure.
George watched in silence as the hospital staff did their best to revive his mate. Waiting was agony as every second slowed down and felt like time had stopped. All George could do was watch as a doctor pressed the paddles down on Ringo’s chest to shock him back to life. He felt helpless as Richard’s life hung in a delicate balance.
The doctor tried until it seemed futile, then he called it. “Turn it off.”
“Should we call it?” One of the nurses asked. The doctor responded with a small nod of his head.
Those words caught George’s attention and his mouth moved before his brain could register what he was doing. “What do ya mean? Are ye given’ up?”
The lead doctor sighed, “I’m sorry for you, but there is nothing more I can do for him. He’s gone.”
The cruel news was like a slap to the face. “No… no… no…” George muttered to himself. How could this have happened? It shouldn’t have happened! What was he going to tell the others? For that matter, would he be able to? How would the Beatles be a band without him? As the terrible news sunk in, George’s legs gave out beneath him as he collapsed from shock to the floor.
“George… George!” Someone shook his shoulder gently. Looking up, he realised he was still seated in the chair. Upon further examination George saw his waker.
“Rich!” He cried out in relief. “Yer alright!” Throwing his arms around his mate.
“Of course I am, mate,” Ringo smiled brightly at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He returned the embrace.
“No reason,” George assured. “Just don’t go dyin’ on me, eh?”
Ringo laughed softly, “I’ll try not ta.”
George released his best mate so he could look his friend over just to make certain that he was alright and that this was not a dream. He really wanted Ringo to be fine, but with such a real feeling dream he had to be absolutely certain that this was reality. Ringo just smiled and waited for George to respond.
Finally accepting what he was seeing was real, George asked, “Did they figure out what was wrong with ya?”
Ringo nodded, “Nothin’ serious. Just somethin’ like pneumonia. A rare strand tha’ hit me lungs.”
“Ya certain it wasn’t anythin’ serious?” George frowned. Ringo got sick too easily and it stayed with him for far too long.
“Ya should stop yer worryin’” Ringo reached out his hand to grasp George’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Really, I’m alright.”
“And we’re glad ye are.” John’s voice spoke out of nowhere.
Both boys turned their heads in surprise to see John and Paul walking fully into the hospital room. Though they seemed happy and relieved to see Ringo, it looked as if they too had little to no sleep.
“Wouldn’t be much of a band without ya,” Paul agreed with John’s earlier statement.
Ringo shook his head, “Ye could always find another drummer…”
“NO!” The other three shouted in unison. Cutting off the startled boy. He cocked his head slightly, waiting for an explanation from the others.
“What we mean, Rich, is no one can replace ya.” George spoke up, not aware that he was still holding the drummer’s hand.
“Don’t forget we had another drummer once, and we ditched ‘em fer ye.” John reminded the band.
“There is no better drummer than ya, Ringo.” Paul added. “We also could never find anyone who plays the way ye do.”
“Richard, yer not just our drummer either,” John stated adamantly. “Yer our mate and don’t ye go forgettin’ tha’.”
Ringo was at a loss for words as his band mates and good friends spoke such kind words. He could feel tears of joy welling up and threatening to spill out. “Yer all too kind..” His voice cracked with emotion.
John and Paul moved closer to their sick band mate so they too were circled around him. George remembered he was still holding Richard’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze of his own. At that moment Ringo felt safe and secure as he had a sense of belonging. It felt right to be here with George, Paul and John. He couldn’t form the words so he sat up and pulled them all closer in an attempted hug. The other three responded by embracing him all at once, locking Ringo in their arms. It was almost like a promise that no matter what happened to one of them they’d still be friends and there for each other.