For John Lennon

It’s January 3rd, 1967, and Julia De Luca looks beautiful lying dead on her red Venetian rug. She died in her home and was buried alone with her name. Nobody came to her funeral.

* * *

It’s December 23rd, 1966 and Julia De Luca is walking past Jesus, as she makes her way through the nativity scene to the front of the bank. Julia walks through the labyrinth of line dividers, even though there’s no one in line. She approaches the teller and requests that her check be cashed for three twenties, three fives, and one single. The teller has firm cheekbones and symmetrical eyebrows. His short, trimmed black hair matches the distinct diagonal stripes of his tie, which is clinging to his white button-down like a parasite. Julia thinks he is handsome. She thinks he would be a good lover. She wants to say something to the man, but cannot think of anything to talk about besides the recent string of holiday murders. Julia thinks this is too morbid of a topic. The teller smiles at Julia as he counts out her money and her face turns as red as the ribbons tied to the thistles of the massive Christmas tree at the center of the bank. Julia thinks about flashing him a coy smile in return. She decides not to. She knows she has neither the tools to be provocative nor the confidence to succeed. She grabs the money from the teller and leaves.

* * *

It’s the autumn of 1965 and Julia is drinking Merlot in a bar. She gazes out the window into the thin orange haze of leaves falling gently to the ground and wonders how her bottle of wine is already half-empty.

* * *

It’s 1966 and ‘Eleanor Rigby’ is on the radio. Julia is in her bedroom standing in front of her Barrington Cheval mirror, both sides lined with ropes of mahogany ivy. Her body is naked, exposing every little ugly detail about her. She gazes into the six-foot tall mirror and judges her every feature. She lifts her left breast. Then her right. Then her left again. She pouts her lips and poses like the mannequin at the front of the wedding dress shop she so often passes. The shop is five blocks out of her way to work. Julia often wonders what it would be like to be married. To have kids. To be happy. Julia used to go into the store to try on a strapless, pearl-white dress very similar to the one the mannequin models. She is no longer allowed into the store because of an incident.

* * *

It’s Thanksgiving, 1966, and Julia has the TV on. “The holiday murderer struck again last night claiming his fifth victim,” the anchorman says. “As was the case with the previous four murders, this was a young, white female in her mid-twenties. Police are investigating leads, but have yet to come up with anything. If you or anyone you know has any information regarding the murders…” Julia turns off the TV and removes her Swanson’s TV dinner from the microwave. It consists of turkey, cornbread dressing, and frozen peas.

* * *

It’s mid-July 1966 and Julia De Luca feels like she is lost in a dream. Strangers are walking up to Julia to shake her hand. She imagines this is what Jackie Kennedy must have felt like as first lady. She is wearing fur and an artificial smile. She poses with a young fan who asks her mother to take a photograph of the two. The flash goes off and the light makes Julia feel like a star. She feels beautiful. The girl hugs Julia and runs back to her mother. Julia waves goodbye. Her every move is choreographed. She finishes mingling with all her adoring fans and makes her way to her dressing room. Julia locks the door and removes her oversized polar bear head. Julia is covered in sweat and the lights shining directly on her face expose every pore in the mirror. She thinks she looks hideous in the light. She takes off the rest of her costume and walks to her car. As she walks under the Cedar Point amusement park sign, she sees the young girl from earlier. The girl does not see Julia. Julia thinks it’s getting hard trying to be someone else.

* * *

It’s November, 1965, and Julia is in a dressing room trying on a wedding dress. Julia is not getting married. Her eyelids are painted soot-black and her lips lined a modest red. She is wearing a face that she keeps in a jar. Julia is trying to squeeze into a pearl-white dress, but the back zipper will not budge. The dress is far too small for Julia. Any previous conceptions she may have had of looking beautiful have been forgotten like a Victorian cemetery. Her eyes bleed black and she starts to rip the dress off of her body in a fit of misery. She barely manages to put on her street clothes and exits the dressing room. She throws the dress at the front counter, a pearl-white dress lined with thin-walled black veins.

* * *

It’s the summer of 1964 and Julia is losing her virginity. She is twenty-four years old. The man who is coming inside of her is forty-three years old and married.

“Goddamnit you’re beautiful,” the man says as he fucks her like a jackrabbit, eyes locked on the motel TV’s coverage of a riot in Harlem.

* * *

Julia is stumbling home from a bar on Christmas Eve. It is 1:45 A.M and the snow is falling in slow motion. The sidewalks are desolate and the fireplaces in homes are surely all but embers. Julia thinks about all the cookies and carrots that are sitting at the foot of these fireplaces and all the children tucked tightly into bed. Julia begins to cry, as she cuts through the park on her way to her lonely, empty house. Her head is buried deep in her olive-green gloves decorated with reindeers. She continues through the park and lifts her head to wipe away the tears. She notices a man with a dog. He is walking perfectly straight down the concrete path in her direction. He is wearing all black. Julia sees him walking down an aisle.

“Merry Christmas,” the man says jovially.

“Merry Christmas,” Julia replies.

“Now why might a beautiful young woman like you be wandering the park alone on Christmas Eve?” the man asks while his dog pisses against the massive oak tree at the center of the park.

Julia smiles and blushes. “It was forever ago that someone called her beautiful,” she thinks.

“It’s not Christmas Eve anymore and I might ask you the same question,” Julia replies.

“Just taking my parents’ dog out for a leak,”the man says. “I came from out of town to spend time with my parents for Christmas. But it sure does seem like the only time I’m spending is catering to this damned dog’s peanut-sized bladder. Oh, christmas. The season for giving.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Julia laughs.

“I suppose. Just doing my part to keep the spirit of Christmas intact. But hey, I should probably get going. Are you walking this way?

“Uh huh. My house is just on the corner of West 7th and Brooklyn street.”

“No kidding. My parents’ house is off of 8th. Mind if Buckley and I walk with you? I’m still trying to get used to these neighborhoods. Never have been very good with directions.”

* * *

It’s December 25th, 1966, and Julia is at the cinema watching “It’s a Wonderful Life”. There are nine people in the theatre. Four couples and Julia. George Bailey has crashed his car into a tree and is running to the nearest bridge to commit suicide. George wishes he had never been born. Julia thinks that she and George would make a fine couple. She can picture herself sitting next to him with their legs hanging off the old steel truss bridge of Bedford Falls. They would gaze into the distance and he would turn to her and comment how beautiful her eyes look beneath the silhouette of twisted metal. He would grab her hand and say, “I love you” and they would fall into the water like lovers on fire.