Today, BoingBoing reminded me that John Lennon died 28 years ago today. Since my first national sale was a story involving Mr. Lennon, I thought I would excerpt some here:
He turned to face me, and it felt like being cut off at the knees. Suddenly, I understood my mother’s Beatlemania in a completely new way. She had once confessed a high school crush on John Lennon, and I had thought it silly. But in the flesh, John Lennon was the epitome of all her sighing, nostalgic descriptions. My lungs went tight, and it had nothing to do with the cold air. I stood panting in front of him.
“Yes?”
“I…” He smiled. This probably happened to him all the time. I blushed and felt stupid for it. Here I was star-struck when I should have been thinking about how to save his life. “I’d really like your autograph.” I looked at Yoko Ono. “I mean both of your autographs.”
Lennon paused. He seemed to be expecting something. I gave my biggest smile. He looked at me carefully. “What would you like us to sign?” he asked.
I swear there’s more to the story than meeting John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Actually, there’s a whole parade of deceased rock stars: Buddy Holly, Robert Johnson, Kurt Cobain. There’s even a tidy Patsy Cline joke. Oh, and a lot of teens talking about sex. That too.