GagaLennon: Just Like Starting Over

From 40 years of marriage came a pretty deep understanding of the intricacies of a relationship, its patterns and its weaknesses, and in his time with Yoko, John had learned that breaks were not a bad thing. Breaks were sometimes the savior of his marriage, he'd said over and over again in interviews all the way through the 80's, 90's, and into this decade old millennium. After his famous Lost Weekend with May Pang what seemed like forevers ago, he had gone through two other breaks, two other "lost weekends," though only the second one, in 1989 (after a particularly bad series of recording sessions for their then-new album, Dreaming Still) had been with May Pang again. The following, 7 month break happened in 1997, and he had mostly spent that trying to recatch glory days that the Beatles Anthology series had reminded him of. In short, lots of drinking and smoking, though he'd endeavored to give that up back in '92. In between all of those fast blurs were years of marital bliss, raising a son, and more and more music and things to stand up for and opinions to give.

2010 had found another Lost Weekend, however. He'd hopped a plane to Europe and left her in New York. Just the usual stuff this time, he'd told the press when they found him at some pub in London not 6 hours since he'd arrived at Heathrow. Just time for a break so he can go back to loving her again, as it always happened. She had her things to do, and he had his, and sometimes they didn't always work, and that's why mummy and daddy has to be away from each other sometime, dears, don't worry, we aren't divorcing. 40 years is just too much of an effort to give up on, isn't it? and he, at 70 years old, was set in his ways. He was going to go back, as he always did. And though a year has passed, and 2011 has come as his 71st birthday had (and gone), he knew still he would go back to Yoko. Eventually, eventually.

He spent most of it travelling Europe, but for the past few months had returned to London. Fancied writing songs, a new album, something. Considered going back to Yoko for a bit, and pushed it away for something later. A bit further down his to-do list, after putting out the dishes and washing the trash. He didn't know what it was that had him in this way, apart from something niggling deep inside of him, a visceral rebellion against the well-worn roundabout he had travelled the past 40 years with his lovely, difficult, wonderful wife. Something that told him he was bored of the scenery there; that he needed a longer break to appreciate it again. But even now, London had started becoming dull and boring.

He'd first heard of Gaga a long time ago, but like a lot of modern acts, paid little attention apart from catching a song or so on the radio and halfway listening to television accounts of her wardrobe. She was a phenomenon, he had heard, and he had wished her luck on the television once on Larry King. Good luck, he knew what it was like, that superstar gig. Good fucking luck. He hadn't met her, though a little bit after he had left, he knew she had performed with Yoko and the rest of the band for one of their Peace charities. Well, that was how it was in this business. People think all famous people are friends, apart from the ones that steal husbands from the other, or something like that.

It was through Elton that he met her, though he hadn't known beforehand it would happen. It was an invitation to dinner, after Elton had returned to London, and John hadn't seen him or his husband in a long time. They had gone out to eat and dinner was of to a nice start (John had started to drink early in that night), when Elton had stood and started waving someone over.

John didn't notice her until she was right beside him, with a hand on the back of his chair, introducing herself. Lady Gaga, in the flesh, blood, and sparkles, was joining them for dinner.

...And to be honest, for the first ten minutes of her bein there, John wondered if he would get anything out of her presence apart from the challenge of keeping his eyes on her face when she talked. Her outfit didn't make it easy. But as the night wore on, things changed a little, and with every laugh, and smile, and swig of whiskey, it changed just a little bit more.

"How long are you staying in London?" John asked after a while, somewhere between a small-talk question and an actual curiosity.

She took a drink of whiskey and pursed her lips, thinking of her answer, and for some reason, that roundabout and Yoko seemed to be pushed a bit further away.

But he'd wait until later to feel ashamed about that. He had a Lost Weekend to attend to.

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An Alternate Universe in which John Lennon hadn't died, and the only way Lennon and Gaga could meet without strange-ass time shenanigans.

So yeah, he's 71. I sort of wanted to look at John as if he evolved in old age (looks wise) the way Eric Clapton did, in that he's a bit closer to lookin "normal," though imagining him with long billowing Billy Connolly silver hair would also be pretty cool. I have a whole damn story playing in my head about this scenario. It's more about feeling young again than anythin else, and mostly one sided.

BUT THAT'S A RAMBLE, THIS IS MOSTLY ME TRYING TO SEE IF I CAN MAKE SOMETHIN LOOK SLIGHTLY LIKE A SCREENSHOT. STILL WORKIN ON IT.