𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒄 | 𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒚 ˚୨୧⋆｡

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆

June 23, 1955

━━━ONE THING WAS FOR CERTAIN,
and that is that I wasn't going to be listening to my mother any time soon. Although, I was unsure if Elvis wanted to see me or not. I had hurt him that summers night, and I wasn't sure if he was ready to leave it behind us.

That was, until he called me. I thought he'd at least wait a couple of days to ring me but he hardly waited until noon! Still, I sat beside the phone since the moment I woke up, waiting to hear it ring.

Now, I wasn't planning on waiting around all day for his call. I did, anyhow. I just tried not to look so pathetic while doing it.
I read all of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, painted my toenails ballet-slipper-pink, and wrote about one-third of a song I'll never get the chance to sing on a stage.

I loved to write. It was something very few knew about me; I hardly ever told anyone. But I held it very close to my heart.
I once showed my mother a song I had written back when I was fifteen. She said it was depressing, and that it wouldn't make it on the radio so it was merely a waste of time. I didn't show anyone my lyrics after that.

I had gotten home late last night after the show was over and I had waved my parents off. I drove the three and a half hours back in my mother's car, listening to Elvis' singles the whole way. It still didn't feel real to me.

I didn't get a wink of sleep that night either. I couldn't believe I had seen him, and in Texarkana of all places. I remember I used to tell him all about my nights performing on the Hayride. "Someday we'll be up there together," I'd told him. "Just you and me."

When he was a kid he'd volunteer to sing at dances in the recreation center of his apartment building. He knew he had talent and he wanted to share it. It was one of the things I had admired most about him: his faith. He believed in himself and that he could be truly great. He would tell me in such a way that didn't make him sound arrogant or self-righteous. I never understood how he did it. At that age, I was touring all across the country to perform and yet I doubted if I had any talent at all. I idolized him. I still do.

I also wasn't planning on inviting him over, the same way I wasn't planning on sitting by the phone all day. But he told me, very assuredly, that he'd be on his way to my place in less than an hour. This wasn't unusual for Elvis. I'd be lucky to get a knock at the front door whenever he'd stop by all those years ago. Usually, he'd just stroll on in and find me up in my bedroom.

He'd called me about thirty minutes ago, and he didn't live very far so I guessed it was about time to fix myself up. I hopped up out of bed and stood before my vanity mirror. I ran my fingers through my pin-curled hair, twirling a few strands around my finger to make sure they had just the right amount of bounce.

I puckered my lips and dabbed my Revlon Luminous Pink lipstick on sparingly. I ran to my wardrobe and changed out of my nightie into a pink lace dress, with cap-cut sleeves and a flower embroidery around the hem.

Zipping up the back of my dress, I heard tires crunching against the gravel outside. I peered through my big Sash window, peeling back my pink curtains when a Crown Electric truck pulled up in my driveway. It was a familiar sight that I had ached to see for so long. I was overcome with delight, and stricken down with regret. It was bittersweet, but I knew it didn't have to be. What happened in the past didn't matter anymore. He was here now, hopping out of his truck and walking up to meet me at the door.

I ran down the stairs, pink lace flowing behind me with each step I took. He rang the doorbell the minute I reached the foyer.

I swung the front door open.
"Hi, Honeybun!" I greeted him warmly, a big 'ol smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
There he stood, his fists in his pockets, towering over me and wearing the same goofy grin that I was. His hair was shorter now, and he had a bit more muscle in his arms than I remember, but his eyes were still the same deep blue. I felt my heart skip a beat.
"Hey, Babydoll."
I reached my arms out to hug him. He bent down to my level.