The Ghost at Strawberry Fields

Part 4: The Finale
By Kayla Bauer

Luckily the accident wasn’t as bad as it seemed, I was just knocked unconscious. However it has brought me to a strange place, I awake in a studio flat filled with abstract paintings, photographs, and assorted art supplies. A young man with a mop of hair and hands covered in paint smiles at me as I awake.

“A Beatles fan?” he asks.

“Yeah, I was just crossing the street. I guess I was daydreaming again.” I reply.

A woman with sandy blonde hair comes to my side, the photographer perhaps? She points to my camera bag and asks if I’m a photographer. To which I can only muster a nod as I feel myself drifting off into sleep again.

Hamburg Germany 1960, a photographer arranges her model, combs down his hair and starts photographing him. The couple, looks exactly like them: Stuart Sutcliffe and Astrid Kirchherr. Stuart was one of John’s best friends at Art College and Astrid was the photographer the band met in Germany . Stuart and Astrid ended up getting engaged, but he passed away shortly afterwards.

I awake again and realize all the pain John must have went through, finding out his best friend died just at the point he was reaching success, it must have been bittersweet. I had always thought of John as such a strong person, but Stu’s death surely stopped him in his tracks. Weak or strong, John persevered throughout his life and although the deaths of those around him surely haunted him, he still proved to be an inspiration for millions, including myself.

I venture put of the small bed and explore the flat, the couple must be out. The photographer has set up a darkroom in their loo and the regular living space is an impromptu art studio filled with both painted and empty canvasses. As I look over her various photos in envy-she can capture any face beautifully I hear the couple return with a few bags of groceries and a surprise for me. The young artists hand me a train ticket.

“We want you to have this, for you must see Liverpool ,” says the photographer.

Liverpool -my final destination is where all my answers shall be found. The train ride proves to be dull, no window seat for most of the ride either. I rub the bruise on my head from the accident and then bite my lip in anger and frustration. Look at all the terrible things that have happened to me; everything at school, the incident in New York City , and the car accident. Is someone trying to stop me, warn me, or just make me so upset that I give up? At least the two artists I met were a spot of hope for me; they truly cared and wanted to help me.

I turn up my music to calm myself. I may have doubts and uncertainties about everything, but at least I know that I’ll always have the music.

\ “Let me take you down cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields.”

The Cavern Club, where John met Paul, the Art College , and Penny Lane: Just a handful of places that I could spend days visiting, but what if I find nothing?

Where would I find a “spirit?” It wasn’t a place of trauma, like where he was murdered. Perhaps a place where he was happiest? I recall as a child I loved to wander around my small town, which is very much like Liverpool and I enjoyed going to an old run-down cemetery. It may seem morbid, but there was a part of the cemetery that wasn’t like a cemetery at all; it had a few trees, a rusted gate and it was a happy place that I enjoyed visiting. I wonder if there was a similar place for John.
“Nothing is real and nothing to get hung about, Strawberry Fields Forever.”

I can’t believe it slipped my mind, that’s it, Strawberry Fields. Rushing through the streets I search for the old orphanage. Although it was an orphanage, during the summers there used to be parties in the garden, which is where I want to go now. John loved those days enough that he immortalized them in song.

The red gate comes into view and the tattered sign tells me that I’m in the right place. It doesn’t look like much, the gate is closed, but I know that I just have to enter. I throw my bag over and proceed to climb over the fence. No one’s in sight as I sit myself down under a large tree and wait for something to happen.

I sit for hours and hours until finally night comes, I take out a blanket and cover myself and turn my music back on. A cold wind rushes through the trees and my music cuts out. I hear a soft voice all around me.

“Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see. It’s getting hard to be someone, but it all works out, it doesn’t matter much to me.”

It’s John, but as I open my eyes in hopes of seeing a specter of some sort, there’s nothing. I think about what I heard and I realize that I have found what I was looking for, an answer. After all that has happened to me, I finally have the answer I spent so long looking for, and it was within me. So I close my eyes and fall slowly into slumber.