I Am (Not) the Walrus Read Online Free PDF Page A

room as if he’s searching for the right word. “ Bummed out.”
    I gaze down at the Fake Book by my feet. I read through the first lines of “Ticket to Ride” as if they might have a solution to this problem. I mean the Bible was once supposed to have solutions for all human problems. Maybe the Beatles’s Fake Book is the new Bible. Maybe the solution to all our problems is concealed within the lyrics of the Beatles. “I have a naturally bummed-out expression,” I say. “It’s who I am.”
    â€œWould it kill you to smile just a little?” says Zack. “Even if it’s only when we’re playing in front of people.”
    â€œBut it’s a sad song?” I say. “See. Here.” I point to the lyrics. “The first line goes ‘I think I’m gonna be sad.’”
    â€œYou’re going to be sad,” says Zack. “You can’t be going to be sad if you’re already sad, and anyway you look more hostile than sad.”
    â€œLook,” I say, “we have less than five days to put together a killer set. Can’t we just figure out the words and the music for now? Maybe we can work on my demeanor for the next gig.” I tap my foot again, but Zack unhooks his guitar strap.
    â€œJust wait.” He props the guitar against the side of the amp. “This is important, Toby. Please just try and look a little less morose.”
    When Zack gets an idea in his head there is no shifting it. I’m going to have to sit this one out. I tip the bass sideways onto my legs, lean my elbows on the sound board, and stretch my mouth into a grin. “How’s that?” I mutter through my teeth.
    â€œIt’s like Heath Ledger playing the Joker,” says Zack. “Do you have something a little less demented?”
    I stretch my mouth wider.
    â€œBetter,” says Zack. “But it’s more like Jabba the Hutt now. Show your teeth.”
    I stretch my mouth so much my cheeks hurt.
    â€œNo. Now you look like you’re going to bite me,” says Zack. “You know what I think?”
    â€œNo,” I say. “What do you think?”
    â€œI think,” says Zack, “that you spend too much time tormenting yourself over what happened with Katrina.”
    â€œKatrina! I haven’t thought about Katrina for––I don’t know—ages.” I prop my bass back up into a playing position, thump out the descending notes that lead into the first chord, and then stop. “Look. I don’t think I can deal with this right now. Let’s play.”
    â€œYou were thinking about her when we played rugby this afternoon.” Zack picks up his guitar and puts the strap back over his shoulder.
    â€œI was not!”
    â€œOh really?” says Zack points a long finger at me. “The whole time you made that long run, you were staring at those two girls on the touch-line. You were thinking about how one of them reminded you of Katrina. That’s why you tripped.”
    â€œThat’s completely out of order,” I say.
    â€œThen … ” Zack wags his finger. “Then you were thinking the same thing when you crossed Portland Road.” He spreads his arms. “That’s why you almost got hit by that car.”
    â€œThat’s not true,” I say.
    â€œThen just now, when we were playing, you were thinking about her,” says Zack. “You’ve got to let go. Come to terms with rejection. Move on. She’s ruining your life.” He scratches his chin. “Well. To be honest, it’s not Katrina who’s ruining your life. It’s your memory of her.”
    â€œMove on to what?” I say.
    â€œNot all girls are like Katrina,” says Zack. “That girl you bumped into isn’t Katrina.” Zack prods himself in the chest with his thumb. “You know what? I bet you misjudged her. I think she had a soft spot for