And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 42: One Man's Trash, Another Man's Treasure

Hi! Martin is back! funny story this wasn't intended at all but I'm so glad it came out that way. No more spoilers now, but please let me know what you think in the comments :-)
ALSO 15k ILY ALL!!!!!!!

<3<3

The fact that my prediction was actually correct stole the life out of me. I was very ready for him to call the police on my account of Harassing More Old People but he didn't; he barked out a short "I said we're—" before the realization sank in. "You're... you're... Cora? Yelling-at-me-in-front-of-library Cora? Nurse Cora, who bandaged me up so well that one night? Cora, who, let me see—"

    "Yes, Martin, remember 1960? New Years? Your grandfather? John banging on the door—" I said as I attempted to justify myself, although his last mention wasn't rendering itself familiar to me.

    "If it is you, Cora, you're going to give me bloody palpitations. This is purely coincidental." The door remained shut but I could see his hand on the doorknob debating to twist it, letting us in.

    "Come on, Martin, I want to see you."

    "I'm old now," he said.

    "I've seen you before."

    "He hasn't."

    I took an upwards glance at John in confusion. "That doesn't matter."

    "I don't care, mate," John said kindly, calling through the door. "I'd like to see you too."

    "Ha! Well in that case, come on in," Martin laughed, something seeming to give way when John spoke. The door was flung open and I saw the same thin face but with white hair now, wearing the same Buddy Holly glasses and a plaid sports jacket over khaki pants.

    I took a step inside, waiting for John to follow, but he just stood there, gaping at Martin. I gave him a jab in the thigh. "Come on."

    "Well, Lennon?" Martin said dryly. "This is what it's like being old."

    The situation felt very unbalanced; there was a hum of potential danger in the air. I wasn't sure I was ready to pull the two of them apart (oh yes, twenty year old John Lennon fighting a seventy year old man!) and so I pulled John firmly into the shop. The bell tinkled behind us and John suddenly stumbled forwards. Martin moved around him and shut the door, locking it again. "I've had a good seventy years to think about life and as much as you'd think it gets easier, it doesn't. But you do learn a lot of life lessons along the way, and my, when I think back to our days at Liverpool Art College—" he laughed. "What a time. What a time to be alive."

    "What happened after that, Martin?" I asked, gripping John's hand tightly. "You lived through such interesting times, if only, I—"

    He laughed again, cutting me off, facing John. "Look at him. Can't get a word out."

    John wasn't being purposefully rude, but I did think it odd that he hadn't spoken yet. "I'm sorry," he said, abashed, a blush spreading across his face.

    "Do I remind you of your mortality? I suppose I do," Martin sighed, walking behind the counter and unlocking a cash register. "Look at you, so young. So much life ahead of you. I don't even know why I'm talking to you or how. But I'm a senile old man, I suppose." He cracked a grin at his self-deprecating joke and started to count bills. I too gaped, but kept it inside: Martin was so different, his walk, his speech, but then again it had been a couple of decades. I didn't like it, it was unnerving.

    "Now why are you here?" Martin asked. "I mean, I suppose I can infer that for myself—to come visit! Cora was kind to me," he said, pointing at me. "And you, by the looks of it," he continued, pointing at John, "You got back together with her. You got back into her good graces. You don't deserve her, by the way."