Growing Up With Layla (Pattie Boyd)
I recently had a very vivid dream about a young girl who lives next door to Pattie Boyd. She and her Mother befriend her and... Well, the rest is in the story! I hope you all like it and that it's not TOO weird! :) Rate, comment, etc... Please! I love getting feedback! :)
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Patricia Storm Rain. I was born on March 17th, 1961. St. Patrick's Day. My mother, Chelsea Marigold Rain, and father, Shade Tarragon Rain, were both hippies, although not when I was first born. All of our names were changed in 1965, right in time for the hippy revolution.
Because my parents were hippies, they called me Storm, my middle name, instead of Patricia, my REAL name, despite endless protests, but I only protested because of our beautiful next door neighbor, Patricia Anne Boyd; "Pattie", to the world. I absolutely idolized her as a child.
I remember quite a great deal of what I lived for in the sixties, mostly the later years though, and it's there that I shall begin the incredible story of my life living as Pattie Boyd's neighbor.
I had grown up in London as a child, always in the same house, for my parents hadn't a lot of money. My father had been an artist, (until Apple came to be) and my mother had spent her days cooking delicious desserts, like her famous homemade pies, and growing many fruits and vegetables to sell at the farmers market.
In 1966, drugs were very popular, and my parents had always smoked, but now they added pot, acid, and other drugs to the table. They had already started acting 'hippyish' by having 'natural' names, doing drugs, and dressing very oddly.
In 1966, I was 5, and therefore should be in school, but my mother had decided she would homeschool me instead of letting me 'get brainwashed by the government', she said.
I specifically remember a warm spring evening that year. My father was down in his studio as always, and my mother was busy baking in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. My mother asked if I would get it, my long, dark blonde, curly hair whipping wildly around behind me.
I opened the door, breathless from running, and looked up at a very pretty lady with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She made eye contact with me and smiled. I smiled back.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello! Is your mother home by chance?" she asked me sweetly.
"Yes, she is! Would you like to come in and see her?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, please, darling. That would be lovely," she responded, smiling again.
I let her inside and walked to the kitchen, the nice lady behind me.
"Mum," I called, "There's someone here to see you." My mother looked up from the pie she'd currently been filling, and gasped when she saw her.
"Oh, oh! I know who you are! Oh my! You're.... You're Pattie Boyd!" she exclaimed.
I looked at Pattie, awestruck. Even at that age, I knew what that nickname was from. "Your name is Patricia, too!?"
She giggled when she saw my shocked face. I'd never known anyone named Patricia, so it was amazing to me. I hadn't a clue who she was though.
"Yes, I'm Patricia, but I go as Pattie," she told me.
My mother quickly wiped her hands on her apron and scurried over to Pattie and I. "It's so nice to meet you, Pattie! My name is Chelsea, and this is my daughter, Storm. May I ask about this unexpected pleasure of hosting to you?"
"Oh, yes! Well, I hate to barge in like this, but could I bother you for some sugar? I was about to make tea and realized we were out," Pattie told Mum.
"Of course you can have some! Would you like to stay for tea here?" my mother asked.
"Oh, that would be absolutely delightful! It's dreadfully lonely at home at tea time, for George is on tour again," Pattie said sadly.
"Of course, of course! I know the feeling- my husband Shade is always down in his studio- and it just gets very lonely at times!" my mother agreed as she scurried around, making the tea.
Pattie looked down at me. "But at least you have someone as sweet as Storm here to talk to! How old are you?" she asked me.
"I'm 5! My birthday's on St. Patricks Day! When is yours?"
"Why, my birthday is on St. Patricks Day, too!" Pattie replied. I smiled widely.
Once the tea was made, my mother and Pattie had lively conversations about one anothers life; Mum was shocked that Pattie's self esteem was low because she modeled; Pattie was shocked that Mum was such a good cook. Pattie expressed how stressed she was- her mother kept saying how it's sad she hadn't had any kids yet, which Pattie was never desperate to have, and although now she wanted kids, she was having trouble conceiving- which Mum felt sympathetic about.
I don't know why Pattie and my mother became so close over the next few years; it could have been because Pattie wanted to learn how to cook and Mum was eager to teach, but it could've been because she liked being around children.
Regardless, they did, which had a huge impact on my life.
Pattie was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and when she started coming over more and more, I started replacing the word 'pretty' with 'Pattie', which confused some when I would tell them, "You look so Pattie today!"
Pattie started coming over to visit us almost every day, bringing over pies, cakes, cookies, and other delicacies for us to taste, but it wasn't until after The Beatles last concert in Candlestick Park that I first met George Harrison.