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Eventually, Tali’s hand left mine as she moved down the wall, reading all the messages and taking pictures of the ones she liked.
I stopped at one that said, “If we sleep together, will you be my friend forever?”
“Those are lyrics,” Tali said, coming to stand next to me again. “From a band called La Familia.”
“How do you know every fucking thing about music?”
She shrugged. “It’s my life. I love it.”
I grinned at her. “And you are what you love.”
Tali leaned her back against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. In all black, she stood out against the vividly colored paint, but also looked like she belonged there. The John Lennon wall started when the Czech Republic was still Czechoslovakia, and half of Europe was behind the Iron Curtain. Teenagers used The Beatles lyrics and John himself as a symbol of freedom and subversion. Music had freed Tali too. I could picture her here in the dead of night with a can of spray paint and a hoodie hiding her identity, painting music on this wall.
“It’s funny how we seem to keep coming across The Beatles,” she said.
“Yeah.” I tucked my hands in my pockets. “Wonder what that means.”
Her lips turned up in a wry smile. “Seven certainly thought I was Never Again’s Yoko Ono.”
“Seven was an asshole.” With an edge of frustration, I braced my hand on the wall next to Tali’s head, bending so I could look in her eyes. “Whatever he said to you wasn’t true. He was in my ear all the time too. He had his own agenda, and it was purely selfish.”
“He said I tore you apart.”
“Nope. I tore myself apart. You were the best part of everything.” I was vehement in my denial because there wasn’t even one grain of truth to that.
She peered at me, unblinking. Her wide, chocolate eyes always got to me without fail, and time hadn’t changed that. “Say something, Stripes.”
Her mouth quirked, and she tipped her chin up. “You’re taking a lot of liberties with my personal space, Jude.”
I was close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes. “Apologies.” I dipped my head toward hers, our foreheads grazing. “Just give me a second.”
She nodded, her eyelids shuttering. “Yoko Ono didn’t break up the Beatles,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice.
I watched her with interest. “School me, Stripes.”
She shoved at my chest until I took a step back and she straightened. “It’s a misogynistic trope. A myth fan boys told themselves because it’s easier to place the blame on the interloper than the man they looked up to as a god. Did you know that “Imagine” was mostly Yoko Ono’s idea? She didn’t get credit for it until almost fifty years later.” She shrugged. “Sorry, I’m sure you know that, I just couldn’t let myself perpetuate the Yoko Ono myth.”
“Never apologize for fighting the patriarchy.” I pumped my fist in the air, earning a little laugh from her. “I probably heard that somewhere along the way, but I’m glad you said it in front of John and me and all the fanboys.”
She snorted and dragged her hand along the wall. “We should head back.”
I might’ve imagined the reluctance in her voice...then again, I might not have.
The walk back seemed to go faster, but neither of us rushed.
“You still have five questions,” I reminded her.
“Do I? I wasn’t keeping track.” She rubbed her hands together. “I have to make these count.”
“Give it to me. I can take it.”
“Okay. What was your favorite part of being in Never Again?”
“Wow, I’m gonna have to think.”
“Come on.” She tugged the sleeve of my shirt. “I know there was a lot of bad, but I also know there had to be some good.”
She was right, there had been. Most of the time, I got bogged down in the everyday minutiae, but there were moments of magic.
