Work Text:
The morning after Christmas, 1965.
Twas the night after Christmas, and all throughout the Lennon home, nothing was supposed to be stirring, but alas, the disturbance twas the very master, who was stoned. The man who paid for this very grand structure, and all it’s fancy furnishings, was up, unable to make himself go to bed. The husband and father of the large house, said he wanted to stay awake for a bit longer, perhaps have a drink, but then agreed to join his wife Cynthia in their shared room. That was four hours ago, and nothing has changed. Now alone in the dark parlor, with the lights brightly flickering between the expensive ornaments covering the bushy shrub that was granted the privilege to be in such a Castle, a wearily John Lennon found himself sitting on the floor. It was rather undignifying being on the carpet, as if he were a child, but a part of the Christmas holiday was lingering incomplete, or at least that’s how he felt.
Deep inside Master Lennon’s very heart, was an aching that was growing, and the grown man didn’t know why. Today was full of family and friends. Everyone came over, both he and Cynthia’s kin arrived, and stayed throughout the day. A large feast was served, and everyone brought and received Christmas presents. All went well, and ended peacefully, with no one lingering longer than they should. Now that the celebration was over, John studied the bottom end of the holiday plant, which was barren. A vast contrast from this morning, which had an abundance of paper covered parcels, in an array of colors and sizes sprouted out from the tree, in the overabundance of status this man created.
John was proud he could give his family so much, but something still felt empty inside him. Being on the floor, staring at the tree, the boy in him recalled the many joyful years he had, celebrating this holiday at his aunt Mimi’s house. The food, the décor, his family, and the gifts, were all pleasant memories for the man who had so much, all his life. He just had more now! There was a lot of excitement for most of the day, but now the musician was in his large mansion as the only one a wake. All of the other rooms were empty, except for the two sleeping heads. The guest were gone, and his wife Cynthia and son Julian were asleep by now.
Everything was quiet! The lack of sound was deafening, and at this moment John felt lonely, as a part of the holiday will always remain unfulfilled. Deep down the big rock and roll star was still mourning his mother. Lennon recalled as a boy, Christmas was a guarantee day of the year he would definitely see her. It was the greatest highlight for him during the holiday, and now he would never have such a hope again! Never again! No matter how rich or famous he becomes, Julia would never see his success, walk into his beautiful home, meet his wife or hold his son. The long full motherless son, would give up all his fame and fortune, just to see his mum again! But he knew that was a fantasy. In the blackness of night, with a heavy sigh escaped his lips with this emptiness weighting heavily upon him. John had always loved the holidays, but he couldn’t deny, missing his mum was apart of its ritual now. Along with the tree, and the dinner, there was always the lack of Julia his mum, present in her absence.
Turning away from the decapitated plant, the grown man remained on the floor, trying to figure it all out. What could fill the void that Julia left behind? Fame certainly didn’t do that for him. Money helped, but it could never be enough to fill the hole in the man’s heart. Then out of the corner of his eye, John noticed something was not In it’s rightful place. Upon focusing his orbs of sight better, the man found a little box by the large television set. The foreign object clashed with the décor, in it’s contrasting colors, while it stood outside it’s realm, in the brown tone parlor. This was one of Julian’s toys. Cynthia must have over looked the item, before going to bed. No big deal, the father thought to himself. He could put it away when he passed by his son’s room, right next to his own. Lennon did really intend on going to his room, where his wife was sleeping, eventually.
Crawling a few feet in front of him, John was able to grab hold of the toy, and examined it in his hand. The little plaything was a dull cube, with white clowns in different poses printed around the outside of the item. On the side of the children’s box was a tiny metal handle to be turned. Instinctively the man gave the bent knob a spin, and it played a music box tune. “Pop goes the Weasel,” was the name of the familiar song. It caused John to smile, as he had one of these pop boxes, when he was a child himself! The musician found the noise to be a great relief from the silence, while he attentively listened, as the handle twirled with the sound. The tingling melody echoed throughout the empty rooms. Then a clowns head suddenly popped out of the box, at the completion of the verse. With the arrival of the top half of the little clown doll, a child’s giggle magically rang out from the darken corridor, causing the man to look up.
In the shadows of the doorway a little figured clung against the wall, trying not to be seen. John’s two year old son Julian, feared he would be scolded for leaving his bed. His father certainly didn’t like that, however, John wasn’t feeling like a disciplinarian in this tender mood he was lost in. The heartbroken son heart was too heavy for that at the moment to be anything less than gentle with his own son. Instead, he felt sorry that his son was afraid of him, and wanted that feeling to end for the child, at once!
“It’s alright Jules.” John said in the darkness. “You can come out. I won’t be angry with you.” With the promise to behave, young Julian trusted his father, although, he did hesitate before approaching. “It’s alright lad.” The father coaxed in a sweet and gentle tone. “Come to Papa.” He encouraged warmly. Little Julian first bit his little pointer finger, as he slowly walked towards his father’s open arms. John reached out, and pulled the little tot onto his lap, and gave his son the toy the man had been playing with. The boy responded by closing the lid, trapping the surprise back into it’s cube. So John turned the little crank again.
“Half a pound of tuppenny rice.…” the musician sang with the little harmony, ringing from the toy. “Half a pound of treacle….” John continued. “That’s the way the money goes…” then the clown leapt from its enclosure.
“Pop!” Little Julian added, as he clapped his hands. “Weasel!” the child further said in his broken English dialect, with a smile.
“Very good!” his father cheered, as the child shut the clown into the box again. “Would you like to turn the handle?” John asked his boy.
“Yes!” the child cried excitedly, then immediately reached down to turn the little knob as the song played again.
“Up and down the City Road,” John sang the next verse of the song, in the repetitive melody. “In and out the Eagle,” he clapped with the harmony now that he didn’t need a hand to crank the noise. “That’s the way the money goes,” the Beatle continued
“Pop!” Little Julian called out. “Weasel!” He repeated his line.
“Very good!” the man praised, in which the little boy repeated the action. Immediately the song was playing again. “Every night when I go out,” Lennon continued the little nursery rhyme. “The monkey’s on the table,” That line made Julian laugh, causing him to stop turning the knob. So John cranked it to its completion. “Take a stick and knock it off,” the famous singer performed for his child.
“Pop!” The toddler said with a clap. “Weasel!” he proudly said his little part, and was rewarded with a kiss from his father on the cheek. Then the little boy took hold of the crank, and resumed turning it as before. Again the song played, and John continued to the next verse.
“A penny for a spool of thread,” the famous voice sang. “A penny for a needle,” he joyfully went on. “That’s the way the money goes,”
“Pop!” Julian came in, right on cue, with the appearance of the silly little clown head. “Weasel!” the child proudly exclaimed.
“You’re gonna be a big rock and roll star like your dad!” the elder Lennon declared proudly. Julian just replied by turning the metal handle again. “All around the cobbler’s bench,” the next verse went, as the man continued the final part of the song. “The monkey chased the weasel;” sang the rhythm from John’s mouth. “The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun,”
“Pop!” rang the little voice accompanied with the clown. “Weasel!” John’s own flesh and blood cried out completing the little melody. In which the child and father applauded each other. Then John scooped the boy close to his chest, and went from sitting to sprawling his body on the floor, almost under the tree. He was tickling the toddlers belly, who laughed, then wrapped his small arms around his father’s neck and hugged him tight. John found himself returning the hug, and resting his son’s head under his arm, while the two drew in close.
Little Jules squeezed his father’s long nose, as if he were expecting a squeak noise sound effect. No such chance but the toddler still found the action funny, as he laughed looking into his father’s eyes, and poked his teeth at the same time.
“I love you.” The man of the house said to the little man in his arms.
“Papa.” The child responded, then a yawn escaped the tots mouth, and his small head became heavy on Lennon’s elbow joint. Naturally the two year old saw nothing odd about just going to sleep, right here on the floor. The father allowed it, and watched as son closed his heavy eyelids, and drifted off to peaceful rest, like a little angel. John relaxed his own head along side his child, intending this to only last a moment before bringing little Julian to bed. However, as the father was enamored by the flickering lights from the tree, mutely dancing on his sons round cheeks, the man of the house, too succumbed to his bodies need for slumber. Soon John’s eyes closed while he was watching his son sleep, and in the mist of a deep dream, the father drew his child close to his body, and the pair remained in that position until morning.
As the sunlight brightened the room in the master suite, Cynthia Lennon arose in her large luxurious bed. She wasn’t surprised to find herself alone, just disappointed. John probably slept in one of the guest rooms or the couch, possibly his reclining chair. Arising from her empty marital bed, the wife and mother decided to make coffee, before retrieving her son from his room. In the realm of repetition, Cynthia wrapped her house coat around her body and left her quarters, and the second floor, expecting to find her sleeping husband in her travels.
As her feet left the final step of the stairway, she turned to head towards the kitchen but stopped as the lady of the house reached the opening of the parlor. There shocking the wife and mother was the sweetest sight before her. John was sleeping soundly with little Julian in his father’s arms, underneath the Christmas tree. Just like a gift! The very sight was more than the woman dare hoped. The wife and mother had no intentions of waking either of them. Regretfully she didn’t think to pull out a camera to immortalize this moment. Instead, she made the coffee which aroused her husband, which Cynthia knew it would.
Soon John waltz towards the breakfast nook, with little Julian in his arms. He placed the toddler in his highchair, and accepted the hot beverage prepared by his wife. Cynthia smiled as she gave their son some dry cereal, then took her place across from her husband with the ladies cup waiting for her. Not wanting to upset her spouse, Cynthia thought hard about what she should say.
“So what were you and Julian doing last night?” Missus Lennon asked, before she took the next sip of her drink. John looked up from his beverage, first at his wife, then to his son eating a fist full of puff cereal, from the chair that came with it’s own table. Then returning his gaze back to his wife John lifted his cup, as he began to speak.
“We just cranked out some tunes together.” The man answered, then sipped his coffee. Right after clearing his mouth, John turned to face his son. “Isn’t that right Jules?” he asked the child.
“Pop!” little Julian replied. “Weasel!” Then both father and son laughed.
John always knew the void of losing the woman who created him could never be filled. However, with his own flesh and blood, the man who lost his mother too soon, realized new holiday traditions could bridge the gaps in his heart. Traditions may change, and life will never be the same, but there was no reason for Christmas not to be better than the ones before. Jamming with his son so young, was not expected, but a gift the father always cherished, even if the man never found the words to tell him.