It Seems Like Just Yesterday

Baked beans on toast?

Why she had to go, I don't know, she wouldn't say 
I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday…

Fifty-nine years ago this summer, everyone’s favorite ballad of lost love was released.

“Yesterday,” by the Beatles, began tugging at our heartstrings in 1965, and it just never stopped.

Rolling Stone named it the top pop song of all time. There are 2,200 cover versions, making it the most covered song, ever.

At that rate, Paul McCartney, who wrote it, just might become rich.

But here’s the thing. For all of that hoopla, it remains a mystery why the couple in the song parted ways. All we are told is that the guy “said something wrong.”

I’ve always wondered what the hell this man might have said. I mean, “something wrong” covers quite a bit of ground, ranging from, “Hey, I got your little sister pregnant,” to, “Hey, I brought back your Lamborghini. Was that big scratch on the door always there?”

Don’t we, as listeners, deserve an explanation? This is just like painting the “Mona Lisa” without telling us why she’s smiling.

It seems to me there are only two possibilities. Either his girlfriend was dangerously unstable, just waiting for something to set. her off, or else this fellow was an insensitive chowderhead who couldn’t read the room with a magnifying glass.  

Surprisingly, I got a chance to solve the mystery last week when I ran into McCartney himself. He was at that Starbucks on West 56^th Street, in Indianapolis. You never know who you’re going to meet there.

He was inconspicuous, wearing cargo shorts and a Colts sweatshirt. It was so out of context it took a moment to register, just like that time I saw Jackie Onassis going into an airport ladies’ room.

I was very cool about it. “Excuse me, aren’t you Sir Paul McCartney, the former Beatle?”

He jerked his gaze furtively from left to right, to make sure no one else had heard me.

“Shhhhhhhhh! Keep it quiet. What do you want?”

“May I sit here?”

“I guess so, but I don’t want to talk about The Beatles.” He took a long slurp  from a tumbler of strawberry acai and coconut milk.

“Thanks,” I said, planting my latte across from him. “I wanted to ask you about The Beatles.”

His forehead made a thud as it hit the table top.

“I  was wondering about that song you wrote, ‘Yesterday.’ Do you remember that one?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I do remember it. I’ve been knighted, you know. Here’s my ring.”

 “That’s very nice. Gosh, just look at all those rhinestones!  So, I want to know what you said to the girl in that song. Why did she leave?”

“I don’t know, she wouldn’t say.”

“Well, yes, the song tells us that much, doesn’t it? I was kind of hoping we could dive a bit deeper. Let’s talk you through it. How did you begin that ill-fated day? Tell me everything, just like it was today.”

“But it wasn’t today, it was ‘Yesterday.’”

Gee. This might be tougher than I thought. Who’s on first? “Let’s start at the beginning. What was the first thing you did, that day?”

“I used to start every day with a good old-fashioned English fry-up. You know, bacon, sausage, fried eggs, fried mushrooms, fried tomatoes, bubble and squeak, black pudding, baked beans on toast…”

“Sweet Little Baby Jesus, Paul! I just threw up a little in the back of my throat! I thought you were supposed to be a vegan!”

“I am, and I’m passionate about it. But back in 1965, I was still all about the meat. Me girlfriend made the fry-up, but I told her me mum always arranged the baked beans in a heart shape on me toast. I said she should learn to do it like me mum.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. Before she could say anything, she accidentally pushed the whole plate onto me lap. It was horrible. The bacon grease was still hot!”

“That sounds awful. So that’s when she left without saying why?”

“No, she didn’t leave then.”

“Really? What happened next?”

“Erm, she had some new pink bell-bottoms she bought in Carnaby Street, and she put them on to show me.”

“Ah. And you told her how lovely she looked?”

“No, I said they made her bum look kind of large. I thought  I was doing her a favor, before me mates saw her wearing them. Ringo can be pretty insensitive, you know.”

“So, that pushed her over the edge?”

“No, it didn’t seem to. She thanked me for letting her know about her fat butt.”

“I must say she sounds very understanding. What happened next?”

“Ah, it’s coming back to me. She was using an opener on a can of peaches in heavy syrup, so I stopped her and explained the principle of can openers, and those little gears, and how to keep the lid from falling into the peaches…”

“And?”

“She accused me of mansplaining.”

“Then what?”

“Well, I told her, no, it’s only mansplaining if I do it in a condescending way. Condescending is a word that means having a patronizing or superior attitude…”

“Hold the phone, Sir Paul. You actually mansplained the word mansplaining to her?”

“I guess if you want to put it that way.”

“Are you nuts? That’s a double-mansplain! It’s unheard of! It’s only even legal in Yemen and Honduras! Excuse me, I’m moving to another table!”

“Why’d you have to go?”

“I can’t see anything here. There’s a shadow hanging over you…”