And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 9: Mach Schau!

The book.

    "What happened?" I heard John's groan to my left. I wasn't too sure myself. I sat up, strangely unfazed, and gazed into an unfamiliar orange sky, outlined by ships floating on a sea of sunrise colors. The backs of my thighs were rough against a cold cobblestone path. I caught my breath, realizing my heart rate was spiking not only from the time travel but from my encounter with John back in my room.

    Kiss me.

    I hesitantly took a glance at him. He was sitting in a fallen position staring at the sunset as well, his mouth slightly open. He noticed me staring and opened his mouth to say something but stopped as someone walked by us and yelled, "Idioten... Verdammt betrunkene kinder." An older man carrying a crate, dressed in baggy pants and a large coat which flapped in the winds by the docks. He entered a nearby building and disappeared inside.

    "German," John said. "German... we're in bloody Hamburg! Fuck you too, mister!" he yelled at the nearby building. "Idioten kinder my ass!" And suddenly he was standing and jumping, the sudden happenings giving him a bout of energy. It was contagious. I stood as well and dipped into an Elvis impression, singing You ain't nothing but a hound dog, crying all the time!, dipping my head back and running my fingers down the neck of an imaginary bass. John joined me and grabbed my hands and we did a strange dance, kicking our heels up and laughing at the foggy, gray sunrise.

    "Hey, hey, Cora, love, let me introduce you to the rest of the band." He said, suddenly stopping and putting an arm round my shoulders, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. "You've heard enough about them and now it's time to meet them."

    "The Beatles?" I squeaked, time spiraling into my hands, my eyes wide at this sudden gift. "I'm going to meet the Beatles?" My mouth snapped shut, I was sure I had given too much away, but John nodded in excitement. I could see his pride at this band reflected in his eyes and I melted a little inside at this raw energy. A true smile, teeth showing, a grin so wide I'm sure it hurt. Mine did, watching him, feeling his arm around me, my excitement growing as well.

    "You're gonna bloody meet the Beatles!" He gripped my hand and pulled me away from the docks and squawking seagulls towards a curved cobblestone lane. St. Pauli, the party district. There weren't many people around, save for a few late partygoers, two women brushing past us, their arms around each other, singing something in German drunkenly, singing their way past the mazes of teetering houses and strip clubs.

***

    Once the initial shock of our landing in Hamburg died down a little, I couldn't stop thinking about John's hand in mine, the rough calluses of his fingertips against my knuckles. As we walked in silence I was sure he would bring up the kiss. And so I waited.

I could have traced the light blue of his veins if I wanted to, right up his arm and down his shirt, playing with each rib as I made my way downwards...

    Stop that, Cora! He just wants to get in your pants...

    But maybe he didn't. Maybe he wanted something more. I felt it, when we played off of each other's jokes, a look in his eyes more than lust. His leather jacket looked suddenly very, very attractive, somewhat contrasting with the joyous expression on his face at being home.

    Hamburg wasn't helping. It held the permeating smoke of sex, lighting up neon signs with the three letter taboo, neon signs of wide hips and curved waists and nine inch heels. Picture shows, posters, winking eyes, posters advertising women wearing corsets, women wearing brasseries, women wearing nothing at all. Men wearing the tiniest piece of underwear, some men wearing a tutu skirt, some men—