We Can Work It Out - (LENNISON)

When I Get Home

GEORGE POV

"George, why are you on my lawn?"

John's jostled speaking jarred me from my rest. I pushed myself up and felt the sting from my scraped hands. I rubbed my eyes while the light streaming from the doorway. I could see the framed outline of John's hair, but not the frames of his glasses.

"Or whatever, you could be some fan that broke into my house again," John yelled out to me, "I can't bloody see."

I stood up and walked toward John until I stood in front of him. He didn't move as I gained ground, both of us still dead drunk.

"Well," John mumbled when I was in right in front of him, "I guess you are George, come on in."

He turned and entered my house. 

"John, this is my house, what are you doing here?" I called out to his back.

"Geo, you really need to stop drinking," John replied without turning back, "This is my home."

I opened my mouth to shoot back but I tripped over the door rim and yelped as I fell against the wall.

"I got you, Geo," John yelled, swaying forward but not moving his feet at all.

The coolness of the white walls against my wounded palm felt good, but my walls are a light shade of blue. Still leaning into my left hand, I held my head with my right hand.

"Shit John, I'm sorry, I must have told the cab driver your address," tears slipped through the cracks of my fingers, "I can't do anything right."

I lightly sobbed into my hand for a few beats before I felt John's arms wrap around me. I pulled the hand away from my face as John burrowed his head into my shoulder. My cheeks flushed.

We stayed in this position for a few moments. I wasn't going to complain. John smelled nice, like smoke and melted candy on a hot day. It reminded me of the simpler days in primary school.

"I uh, guess you should probably sit down or something," John mumbled as he broke apart from his embrace, "that way you can stop swaying like flowers in the biting wind."

I laughed as John swaggered over to his living room. When he got drunk he tended to get more poetic. I just get dizzy. So, in other words, I'm jealous that I don't have his drunken tendencies. I pushed off from the wall and realized the state of my surroundings. 

The couches in front of me were strewn with loose paper, hardcover books, and a few articles of clothing. The kitchen to the left of the carpeted sitting room was packed with unwashed dishes and stains. The overflowing bin made me cringe a little and bile rose in the back of my throat which I promptly swallowed. 

"Hey Johnny, how long since you've last cleaned this place?" I asked my host as I walked to meet him. He was furiously throwing things to the side of a couch to give me some space to sit. His face was so concentrated. Beads of sweat fell from his brow and got tangled in his fingertips when he brushed the hair from his forehead. 

"Here," he gestured to the newly cleaned spot or almost clean spot. 

I reached forward past him to pick up the picture frame he hadn't tossed to the side or to the plush carpet underneath us. I recognized the face and my heart sunk.

"Oh, I'll take that," John yelped upon seeing me pick up the framed photo of his former wife, "you uh, just get comfortable here. I have to put this away."

He limped off cradling the picture to his chest. I sat onto the cushions and let my arms hang loosely at my sides. Of course, it was his ex-wife. Who else would he have a photo of in his on house?

For some reason, it bothered me that he wasn't over her. From what he had told me, they left on relatively good terms. I thought they had both decided that this wasn't the best for both of them. Was there something he wasn't telling me?

"Ah fuck!" I heard John swear from far behind me. The next thing I heard was a large thump and then a few bangs. I sighed and followed the source of the disturbance, fumbling in the corridors.

I found John sitting on the floor inside a doorframe, cursing under his breath, and trying to stack some books back up. Glancing around, I saw that a few glasses had fallen to the floor and some glass was strewn about the shags of the multi-colored rug that sat on the floor.

"You alright?" it felt good to finally be able to ask someone else that. And another thought, I might vomit is I try walking quickly again.

"Yeah, well no not really," John replied dejectedly  from the floor, "I tried to stop the glass from falling but I wasn't quick enough and kicked over these damned books and I don't even know why I have all these books, I can barely read."

I squatted down in front of the desperate man and looked into his eyes. 

"And furthermore!" he threw up his hands, "I don't know where the fuck my glasses are!"

I laughed and reached out to hold his face in my hand, "It's fine John. Without those hunks of glass, I can see your eyes better. Have I ever told you how fucking pretty your eyes are?"

His eyes widened at my words. In the moonlight streaming in from his open bedroom window, you really could see his eyes sparkle and shine. 

"Now, I'm very sorry, but I have had a rubbish day and I need sleep," I laughed as I stopped my hand from his face and stood up.

"Um, right!" John jumped up, but far too fast causing him to stumble backward and land unceremoniously in his bed behind him. 

"I don't think we've been able to walk or stand at all this whole bloody night," I chirped before climbing into the bed next to John. 

I pulled the blankets over my head and rested on the pillow. 

"I'm gonna sleep here, I hope that's alright," I told John who was still sitting on top of the blankets. I fell asleep without waiting for his reply.