"I--I um. Sorry." I stammered. I stared at him for a second. He was the young Paul McCartney from the posters on my wall. Clean shaven, dark hair, a sweater over his tie and shirt, and a snappy sport coat over that to compliment his dress pants and shoes.

    "Don't worry about it," the tall man assured me as he bent down to pick up his papers. I looked at the papers. They were pages of sheet music.

    I held one in my hand titled "If I Fell". I stared at it. Paul noticed, and I quickly handed it back to him. "Sorry I just really love that song,"

    "Excuse me?" he seemed incredibly confused.

    "Oh, I just saw the sheet music you dropped, I like music too." I sounded like an idiot. 

    "Well I should think so as we're in Abbey Road Studios," he smiled.

    Without thinking I say, "We're in Abbey Road? Isn't that in London? How? What?" I stop myself from rambling any further, because my panic seems to have made Paul look a little worried.

He started to back away, "Oh, yes... well alright, it was very nice meeting you, er..."

"Penny, Penny Parks," I answered.

"Yes, it was very nice meeting you miss Penny Parks," he took my hand and shook it briefly, which was about the time that I started screaming internally. "I'm Paul, but I really must be going now," he said hurriedly.

He started to walk away. I couldn't just let him walk off. I had no idea how to navigate London, or what I was doing, I needed help, and Paul was the only familiar face. It sounded crazy but Paul was the only person I could really trust not to be a serial killer.

I quickly made up a lie (I'm sort of a compulsive liar) and I stopped him, "Uh, Mr. Paul, Sir, I don't know if you've really noticed, but I'm a bit confused, do you think you could help me? If you can? I'm feeling... down," I mumble. I stifle a smile, trying not to laugh at my own joke about a song that, probably, hasn't even come out yet.

"You mean like one of those head illnesses? Amnesia? Have you taken a bump to the head?" he inquires.

"Yes, something like that," I lied. "You see, I can't remember how I got here, or anything about myself, only my name. And some songs I guess," I continued.

"Well... are you sure you don't know anything? You don't know who I am? I guess that you didn't scream and faint when you saw me, which many girls do nowadays..." he started to ramble, trying to decide whether or not I was a deranged fan. I guess I am a deranged fan, but maybe in a different sense than the usual Beatlemaniacs.

He seemed to decide that I was, in fact, sane, "I guess that you're American by the sound of your accent. Your clothes are quite odd, look you have holes in your pants and coat!" He said, grabbing a hold of the shoulder of my jacket.

I straightened up, Paul McCartney was touching me. Again.

"I really have to get to the recording room," he hesitated, "I guess you can come with me, and after the recording session we'll figure something out. Come along," he pulled me by my jacket, and turned me around the corner.

It was all I could do to keep walking along with him. I started to attempt coherent speech as we walked, "What do you mean we?"

He seemed to realize that I "have amnesia", "Oh! See, I forgot to mention that I have a band of sorts, we're recording some songs for a film,"

"Ah," I try to remain calm on the outside, but on the inside I start to realize that The Beatles were in this building, and judging from the music I saw Paul drop, they were starting to record A Hard Day's Night.

We walked through the hallways of the large building. More large posters adorned the walls. Paul stopped in front of a door labelled "Recording studio Two", and opened it for me. I stepped through it into a large room. There were several instruments, speakers, lights, headsets, and microphones scattered throughout the large room. The three men at the far end were laughing; it echoed around the studio. These three men were the rest of The Beatles.

Above the room, I could see a glass window, to what I thought was the control room, and it appeared that Brian Epstein, The Beatles' agent, was up there, fuming.

Paul walked up, "Sorry I'm late, this girl was in the lobby, and she seems to have some sort of memory loss, I couldn't just leave her," By the time Paul finished his sentence, Brian was well on his way down the stairs.

Epstein looked at me oddly, probably because of my clothes. He pulled Paul aside talked in a low voice that he thought I couldn't hear, "Are you sure this isn't a crazy fan?"

"Yes I'm sure, she didn't even know who I was,"

"Well she isn't our problem, let's point her to a local hospital--"

"No, we can't! I feel sort of responsible, I was so focused on my sheet music I nearly plowed her down in the lobby--"

I sort of tuned out their conversation for a moment, because the rest of The Beatles started looking at me, as if they were trying to figure me out or read my mind.

I looked back at Paul and Brian when I heard Paul whine in a mocking tone "Please, oh please, Mr. Epstein, I promise, I'll feed her, and water her, and bathe her oh please can I keep her?"

"--Alright, alright, but she's your responsibility!" Brian snapped. And with that, Paul walked over to me and led me up to the rest of the band.

"See, no problem, Penny," Paul looked very pleased with himself.

"Yes, but you won't be bathing me, I think I can manage that on my own," I smirk.

Paul laughed as we walked up to the band, "Boys, this is Penny, she has memory loss. I thought she could crash with us for a while until she recovers. Penny, this is John, George, and Ringo," they each waved and made a goofy face as Paul said their names.

"Memory loss?" John asked.

"Yes memory loss," Paul replied.

"Alright, enough of you fools. Penny, I'll need you to go up those stairs, and into the control room. Just wait there until we're done down here, okay?"

I nodded and slowly walked up the stairs. Paul's shoes made a clacking noise as he quickly walked over to the instruments and microphones.

I entered the control room. Brian came up to me and stuck out his hand, "Brian Epstein, Beatles manager," he smiled.

"Hi, I'm Penny," I replied.

"Amnesia, huh?" he asked.

"I guess so," I replied.

"Hm," he mumbles. It seemed that he was also trying to figure out whether or not I was crazy, just as Paul had.

We stood there, watching The Beatles record through the window. It was as if I had been looking at them in a zoo. Accept that instead of the animals mulling around and sleeping, they were creating art.

After a couple of minutes, Brian attempted to trick me into letting on that I knew who The Beatles were, "Don't you just love 'Twist and Shout?'"

Luckily for me, I picked up on it right away, "Is that some sort of restaurant? I guess I might like to eat there, I'm not sure, I can't remember,"

He smiled and looked very reassured. "Here, pull up a chair to watch the band," I took the chair and watched.

"I take it you're enjoying this? Have you ever seen a band record before?" Brian asked.

"I really don't remember anything about myself. But maybe I have,"

I hadn't. 

I sat there in a trance as I watched my favorite band of all time record the album "A Hard Day's Night," right in front of me.

Of course they didn't know that the album would be called "A Hard Day's Night" yet. They figured out the name months later, after most of the movie had been filmed.  

And that was when I came out of my euphoric trance. I was supposed to be in the year 1993, and according to the calendar on the wall, it was 1963, years before I was even born.

I had to figure out a way to get back. I immediately thought of the movie Back to the Future, when the main character, Marty McFly had somehow traveled thirty years in the past.

I felt for my own traveling device in my pocket, and thankfully it was still there. I had to get out of the recording room and create some sort of plan, or at least check and see if the Jump Reader was okay.

I turned to Brian "I need to use the bathroom, where would that be at?"

"At the end of the hall where you came in, and on the right," he smiled. "But wait until they're between songs,"

I walked down the stairs as quietly as I could, but the boys still noticed, "Have you regained your memory? Are you leaving?" Paul inquired.

"Oh, no, I just need to use the restroom," I said sheepishly. I walked briskly out of the room, and into the hallway.

"Focus Penny, damnit you've got to get home," I whispered to myself. I walked to the bathroom, gaining some strange looks by what looked like businessmen as I went. I immediately pulled out the device. It still read, "December 5th, 1963, Liverpool". Below that, in scrolling red letters it said, "Next Jump in 48 hours".

Next jump? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Would this bring me back home? How in the hell did this thing take me through time and space? But no answers came to me. The only thing that was running through my head was the song "When I Get Home", which The Beatles had been recording, and consequently got stuck in my head.

I couldn't ask anyone for help, I couldn't do anything. I was stuck in 1963. Unless the Jump Reader took me back in 48 hours, but I didn't know if it would actually work, or where it would take me. I only had a small portion of the research done on the Reader, and none of it was with me. I knew most of it, and there was nothing about time travel, just space. The other parts of the portfolio must have been taken by my father. There was no way that the device would accidentally time travel. Time and space travel are two completely separate entities.

How did this get so far out of control? I'd never programmed this thing to do any of this, to make me travel through time and space, let alone halfway across the world.

Shit! Time! What if I screw up time! Make ripples! I'm not supposed to be here. I thought in panic. I splashed cold water onto my face.

This had to be a dream. I pinched myself. I was still in the bathroom. I splashed more water in my face, "Come on Penny, wake up." I slammed my fist into the mirror. "Wake up!" I shouted.

My face had gotten red and flushed, I was breathing heavily, and on the verge of tears. I took deep breaths to try and reset myself. I stared at myself in the mirror, "Okay Penny. You're stuck here. For 48 hours. Maybe forever, if this peice of shit decides to malfunction on you. Either way, you've been stuck with The Beatles as guides for you around this place. So you have to try not to screw anything up."

In the middle of giving myself a pep talk, I heard a knock on the door, "Penny? Are you in there? The band and I are headed out to get something to eat, you should come with us, maybe we can figure out a place for you to stay,"

I then heard what sounded like John mimicking "Maybe we can figure out a place for you to stay," and snickering.

I opened the door to all of the Beatles starring at me. I still couldn't believe what was happening, but I took a deep breath and replied, "Sure that sounds great," with a smile.

Paul, Ringo, and John lead the way, while I walk behind them with George Harrison. I stared at my feet as we walked back into the lobby. George tapped me on the shoulder and stuck out his hand, "George Harrison, I know we met briefly earlier, but I'm rubbish with names, you're...?"

"Penny, Penny Parks," I took his hand, and he smiled at me.

"Nice to meet you again, Penny Penny Parks. Paul says you have some sort of amnesia? How is that?" he inquired.

I laughed at his comment about my name, "Well I guess I wouldn't know, that's why it's called amnesia isn't it?" I kept adding to the lie. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, right?

George laughed and said, "I guess that's true. You sound American, though, and you know your name. You're sure that you can't remember anything about yourself?"

"Sadly, no," I lied. Thankfully, it seemed that all of the Beatles were a teensy bit gullible.

I looked up at the glass double doors, dozens of girls were pressed up against it, screaming. I immediately thought Oh Shit.

George seemed to notice my uneasiness, "Okay, this is the tricky part, we're going to be chased after and pawed at, but our driver is waiting for us just beyond that crowd,"

"Ready?" Paul looked back at me.

I nodded. But "ready" was not the feeling that I was experiencing.

George grabbed my hand and pulled me through the door, straight into the crowd. Girls clawed and scratched at me, pulling my hair. After what seemed like hours (but was probably only seconds) we were crammed into the cab.

There are only really supposed to be four people per cab, but the band and I made five, so I was squeezed in tightly beside George and Paul.

Not that I minded being that close.

The cab started off, racing out of the stream of screaming teenagers, with the fab four and a scrawny teenager from Albany.