Beyond Graceland's Gates

Chapter 8 - A Foreign Land

Germany was nothing like I had expected. The air was colder, crisper than Memphis, and the buildings—lined with sharp, gray edges and the remnants of war—felt as if they were from another world. The shadows of the past still loomed large here, and though I had heard stories of Europe during the war from my parents, seeing it with my own eyes was different. The people moved with a quiet determination, the scars of conflict still fresh in their collective memory. The sense of displacement hit me hard as I navigated the unfamiliar streets, trying to make sense of the language, the culture, and my new role in this strange, foreign land.

Every morning, I would wake to the sounds of military trucks rumbling by, soldiers marching in formation, their footsteps echoing against the cold, cobbled streets. The military hospital where I was stationed was a flurry of constant activity. Soldiers came in with wounds, both physical and emotional, and the nurses worked tirelessly around the clock to care for them. Each case was unpredictable—sometimes it was a training accident, other times a soldier battling the invisible wounds of war. Every decision felt critical, like we were fighting our own battles in that sterile, whitewashed hospital.

"It's a battlefield, isn't it?" Jenny said one afternoon as we scrubbed in before a shift. She was a bubbly Texan, always quick with a laugh, her southern drawl standing out in the sea of accents around us. "I never thought I'd end up here, fighting this kind of war. But here we are."

I nodded, staring at the cold water rushing over my hands. "I thought nursing would be healing, but here... it's like we're always in a state of emergency. It's relentless."

She sighed, drying her hands before adjusting her cap. "You'll get used to it. Germany might seem like another world now, but soon, it'll feel like just another home."

"I hope you're right," I replied, though my voice was softer than usual. I wasn't sure if I believed her. It was hard to imagine this place ever feeling like home.

Despite Jenny's optimism, I couldn't shake the feeling of being far away from everything I knew. The letters from home helped, but they were bittersweet. When they arrived, I would sit down with a cup of tea, savoring every word. My father would write about his work at the garage, about the cars that came in needing repairs. My mother's letters were filled with the comfort of home—she'd talk about her garden, the pies she baked, the neighbors who dropped by.

Jenny grinned, leaning back in her chair. "At least your family's doing well. That must be comforting."

"It is," I nodded, though a heaviness settled in my chest. "But it's hard, too. They're living their lives, moving forward, and I'm just... here."

Jenny's expression softened. "You're doing something important, Victoria. Don't ever forget that."

It was true. The work we were doing was meaningful, but that didn't stop me from missing home. Each letter was a reminder of how much I longed to be back in Memphis, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of my city. The warmth of the Southern sun, the smell of my mother's cooking, the sound of music drifting through the streets—it all seemed so distant now.

Still, there were moments when Germany felt like a dream, distant and surreal. Sometimes I would close my eyes during a rare quiet moment, imagining I was back in Memphis, walking down Beale Street, feeling the rhythm of the city under my feet. But then the cold air or the sound of a soldier's voice would bring me back to reality.

The music here in Germany, though, offered an unexpected connection to home. Even in the mess halls and the bars, Elvis Presley's voice found me. His songs played on the radio, a constant reminder of the world I had left behind.

One evening, while we were sitting in the hospital canteen after a long shift, Jenny looked up as "Love Me Tender" played on the radio. Her eyes lit up with excitement. "You know him, don't you?"

I blinked, taken aback by the question. "Who? Elvis?"

"Yeah! I mean, you grew up in Memphis. Everyone says he's from there."

I smiled, shaking my head. "He is from Memphis, but I don't know him personally. I've heard his name around town before, but back then, he wasn't... this."

Jenny leaned forward, her eyes wide with curiosity. "That's crazy! You never ran into him? Never saw him play before he got big?"

I laughed. "Memphis is a big city. I'm sure I saw him around, but he was just another kid back then. Who would've known he'd become... well, Elvis?"

Jenny sighed dreamily. "I'd give anything to have seen him before he became a legend. Must've been something."

I nodded, though I couldn't shake the strange feeling of how much our lives had diverged. Elvis was now a global sensation, while I was here in Germany, a nurse on a military base, far from the world of fame and music. Yet, despite it all, hearing his voice on the radio made the distance between Memphis and Germany feel a little smaller.

One night, after an especially exhausting shift, I found myself in the canteen again, sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee just to stay awake. As I glanced toward the entrance, my breath caught in my throat. There, walking through the door, flanked by a couple of soldiers, was Elvis Presley. His presence was undeniable, electric, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to stop. Our eyes met for the first time, and in that instant, I was no longer just a nurse in a foreign country. I was the girl from Memphis again, staring at a boy who had become a legend. What was he doing here? And more importantly, what was he doing here with me?