Everyone that has ever-visited Graceland, cannot deny the overwhelming feel of Elvis' spirit inside those hallowed walls. He loved Graceland. He loved providing for his family. And he chose Memphis as his home, not because he had to--he could have lived anywhere-- but because he was a true Memphian, through and through.
The stories range from hearing a familiar laughter, smelling a sweet cigar in the air, and to even pressure imprints on a sofa where, if one didn't know better, they'd assume someone had just been lounging. But how could it be, the room is empty, and the living room sofa is roped off?
These types of mysteries ignite imaginations!
I know it did mine, when in 2010 I traveled to Memphis to take one last tour of Graceland before the release of Dream Angel, book 2 in my Elvis fan-fiction fantasy series. I wanted to be sure I represented every detail of Elvis' beloved home, and well, it was a good reason to make the trip. As if I needed one!
I stayed at the Days Inn across the street from Graceland and was given a room in the back with a view of an empty parking lot and lush trees. I didn't mind. This trip was all about writing. And my publication date was fast approaching, so when I wasn't taking notes on a Graceland tour, I was in my room fleshing out the final details.
And it was on one of those tours, the last one of the day, when I found myself inside Graceland.... alone. See, there was only three of us on that bus headed for the majestic mansion across Elvis Presley Boulevard. Dusk was settling. The outside lights of the mansion had clicked on, giving off a worshiping glow, like a precious diamond under glass. And my hopes lifted when the two other patrons wandered further into the tour, leaving me behind to linger on my own.
I lingered in Graceland's foyer, looking upward to the ceiling, my eyes scanning for the bullet hole I knew would be there. It's the remnants of a true story, one where Elvis shoots out his toilet in his private bathroom. Why? Because it's running and keeping him awake, of course. And even after so many years of painting and repainting, I can still see the mark, and it made me smile. That's our guy, never boring!
That Elvis had a temper
was well known, but the bullet-damaged wall truly brought home for me just how
hot he could burn.
“Aw,
it never worked right, anyhow.” Elvis rubbed his chin pensively.
(Dream Angel: Chapter 3)
“The way you started, I thought maybe you noticed it, too.” Said sue, pointing back to the couch.
Elvis and I followed her direction. There on the immaculate surface of the cushion was the distinct impression of his perfectly formed behind. I glanced at Elvis for an explanation, but he only shrugged.
(Dream Angel: Chapter 3)
As I continued on, I paused at the staircase, lingering between the first step up and the dining room ahead. I merely listened, soaking in the essence of the air around me. Even on a crowded tour, one can feel an energy inside Graceland, as it pulsates inside every room. And as always, my imagination lingered in the past. His majestically
famous outline was unmistakable even in the shadows of night. The tip of a
cigar glowed red in his hand.
“Old habit.” Elvis turned the cigar around to inspect it
before lifting his foot, and extinguishing its embers against the hard soul of
his boot."
(Dream Angel: Chapter 8)
My heart jumped. I
was straining so hard to hear the smallest sounds over the rustling of the
night that it took a moment before I registered the smell of a sweet cigar,
floating lazily over the garden wall. That was no security guard on break. I knew exactly who smoked that very cigar.
“Y’all realize you’re
trespassin’.”
That familiar drawl sent a
chill down my spine.
(Dream Angel: Chapter 8)
"Ma'am, we'll be closing in 10 minutes." The guide interrupted my thoughts as I sat on the first step in front of Elvis' grave.
"Thank you, I'm coming." I said, glancing up to a statue of Jesus' outstretched hands over head.
I left that day, assured that my notes were going to make Dream Angel extra special for readers. My story would allow for a revisit, or possible a first visit, inside Graceland and Memphis. And I couldn't wait to get back to my room and write down my thoughts.
I shot straight up! My breath raced, my heart pounded. And for a split second, I did not know where I was, so I glanced around the room trying to get my baring's. Graceland. Memphis. It was all coming back to me.
Before hanging up, and on chance, I asked, "Do you believe it?"
"Absolutely!" He wasted no time in answering. "How can you not, he's just across the street?"
The truth of his words made me laugh. Maybe it was just that simple.
I have always insisted, God helped me to write Eternal Flame (Book 1) and Elvis handed me Dream Angel (Book 2). And that makes me feel special or maybe chosen, as if each story was approved first-hand by a stronger power. I know these stories have blessed me, and the charities they have supported all these years, so.... that's my story and I'm sticking to it! ((Wink))
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