The Prank in the Park

                                    

                                          
    A month after John and Paul met, they decided to meet at the park a bit later than usual. They were going to meet up at eight, after the sun had gone down.
                          
    John sat on a park bench in the dark, lightly strumming his guitar. The park was deserted now that it was dark, but there was one figure approaching through the dim light of the street lamps and the crescent moon. 
                          
    "Paul," John nodded to him as he sat down.
                          
    "Hey, John."
                          
    "Right, put the guitar down."
                          
    "Come again?"
                          
    "I said put the guitar down," John snatched the instrument away from his friend. 
                          
    "JOHN!" Paul yelped. "Give it back, John!"
                          
    John leaned it up against the side bench and stood his own guitar beside Paul's. "After we do this,"
                          
    "What?" Paul sighed.
                          
    "I'm going to ask a question and we'll both answer it," John answered. "Then you'll ask a question and we'll both answer. Then the pattern just continues."   
                          
    "Um, why?" Paul furrowed his brows.
                          
    "We should know each other a bit better if we're going to be mates, don't you think?" 
                          
    The two has become closer than John had ever been with a person in their mere two weeks of really knowing each other. 
                          
    "Fine," 
                          
    "Okay," John rubbed his hands together. "Full name?" 
                          
    Paul sighed heavily. "James Paul McCartney,"
                          
    John gave him a quizzical look. "Your na- you - what?" 
                          
    "Yes," Paul spat. "Don't run it in, okay?" 
                          
    John shook his head. "It's just - just that you don't look like a James - "
                          
    "What about you?" 
                          
    John chuckled. "John Winston Lennon."
                          
   "Winston?" Paul looked curious. "Like Winston Churchill?"
                          
    "The very same," John nodded. 
                          
    "Okay, my turn." Paul said. "When's your birthday?"
                          
    "October ninth," John said.
                          
    "June eighteenth," said Paul.
                          
    "Okay," John thought for a few moments. "What's your mum like?"
                          
    Paul's face fell. "Well - well, sweet and kind and loving. So gentle, she would never hurt a fly. She used to sit in my room at night and song me to sleep when I was younger."
                          
    John frowned. "What's wrong, Paul?"
                          
    Paul shook his head. 
                          
    "What is it?" John persisted. "Does she not like the rock 'n roll image?"
                          
    Paul shook his head again. "No, it's not that. She - she - "
                          
    John waited rather impatiently. 
                          
   "She died last year," Paul blurted out. 
                          
    John's eyes widened. "Wha- I - what?! A month since we met and this never came up?"
                          
    Paul sighed. "Well, what about you?"
                          
    "Well, I just really met her for the first time since I was five about three months ago." John said as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. "She left me, see, with my Aunt Mimi. I'm still trying to build an opinion on her."