The Vietnam Beatles
"Thank you, Mr. Lennon, for joining me today." The bespectacled woman spares the aged man a quick glance before staring down at the mess of files on her desk.
Lennon smiles, "It was no problem, love. There's something strange happening and it seems you are the only one who knows what on earth is going on." He takes a seat across from her, setting his cane across his knees.
"Seems so." she responds. She leans over a recording device and mic set up at the corner of her desk. As an after thought, she turns to him, "Do you mind if I record this conversation?"
He shakes his head and she continues setting up. Once done, she pulls a paper from a loose pile in front of her.
"So Mr. Lennon..."
"Call me John please."
She flickers her eyes up to him and gives a half smile, "Mr. John Lennon, can you describe your occupation?"
The man leans back in his seat, glancing back at his past. "I'm retired now. But I was a photographer for Life Magazine. Some of my more popular works are... were part of the Vietnam War."
The woman gives a small hum in understanding, scribbling in a tattered notebook. "Can you describe what has recently occurred to change that is to was?"
For a moment, he is quiet and his smile fades to a frown. "Well love, a lot of people think I'm dead."
"Do you know why?"
He shakes his head, "Not at all. Mostly, I see the looks of shock and confusion from people who once recognized me. I know I am up there in age, but... the act as though I died a long time ago. Do you know why Miss..."
"Clappsy. And this meeting today can possibly help me find that reason."
Lennon nods, awaiting her explanation.
"Did you ever meet men by the names George Harrison, Paul McCartney, and or Ringo Starr?
Her eyes meet his as she searches for a flicker of recognition. It is some minutes later that his eyes snap and he pulls a photo from his wallet.
"I have... once, during the Vietnam war. They were part of the Special Forces unit. I took a picture with them March of 1964, several days before they were deployed elsewhere and I returned home to New York. For months before that, I worked and talked with them, bonded with them amidst the rubble and war. I reported and recorded their lives in the trenches. You are talking about Sergeant Harrison, Lieutenant McCartney, and Captain Starr. They were great men; though I clearly remember how horribly they sang." He chuckles.
Carefully, as though grasping a relic, Clappsy takes the photograph from Lennon's outstretched hand. She leans forward, eyes wide.
"Sir. Have you ever heard of the Mandela effect?"
"Vaguely... why?"
She glances up at him, her eyes lost in a daze.
"The Mandela effect is when we collectively misremember certain events in history. The first noticeable event was the supposed death of Nelson Mandela in his prison cell in 1980. You and these three soldiers are now victims of the effect."
Lennon grips his cane as though it is his last life line.
"What do you mean?"
She sighs, placing the picture at the center of her desk, "I mean to say, many people remember who you are differently. They all believe you and these three men, were part of a band called the Beatles. Perhaps, in some alternate time line, you were and when you were, you were murdered in Central Park by a crazed fan."
"That can't be!!! I'm right here! Alive and well! I never saw these men after that last encounter. They died!!!"
Standing, she walks round the desk and places a hand on his shoulder. "I know sir. I just don't know why."
*****
Clappsy sits alone at her desk in a darkened room. Her eyes pour over the paper again and again. Looking for just one clue that will connect all the dots and explain the mass mis-recollection of Mr. John Lennon and his Special Forces friends. As she sits there, head falling into her hands, a song is drunkenly sung just outside her office window.
"Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won't you please, please help me?"
Won't you please, please help me?"
~ Brandi Clappsy
