Beyond Graceland's Gates

Chapter 9 - The Routine of Service

The weeks in Germany turned into months, and soon, I fell into the steady rhythm of military life. Each day was a blur of routine—wake up before dawn, pull on my uniform, and head to the hospital for another round of treating soldiers and civilians alike. The cases ranged from minor injuries to devastating wounds, often taking every bit of our energy and focus. The days blurred together in a whirlwind of blood pressure readings, IV drips, and the smell of antiseptic. Clara had joined us 2 weeks ago.

During breaks, the nurses and I would gather in the small break room, trying to catch a moment of normalcy amid the chaos. Jenny, with her usual bright energy, would always have something to say.

"You're quieter than usual today, Victoria," Jenny remarked one morning, eyeing me as I sat sipping coffee. "Missing home?"

I nodded. "It's just been hard lately. Feels like everything is happening back home, and I'm stuck here, miles away."

"Come on now," Clara chimed in, always the realist among us. "We're all far from home. Besides, once you get used to it, Germany's not so bad."

"It's not that," I sighed, trying to find the right words. "I think it's just the feeling of not being able to be there for the people I care about. It's like life is moving on without me."

Jenny grinned. "That's why you make friends here. You've got us."

It was true, the camaraderie among the nurses had been my saving grace. Still, there was a hollow ache inside, a longing for the familiar faces of my family, for Memphis, and for the comforting warmth of home.

The topic of Elvis Presley came up often in those moments of downtime. His station nearby was the center of gossip on the base. Everyone wanted a glimpse of him, to share their brushes with fame.

"I swear, if I see him, I'll faint right then and there," Jenny joked one afternoon, fanning herself dramatically. "The King of Rock 'n' Roll in the flesh, and I'm stuck in scrubs? Unbelievable."

Clara smirked. "You'd have to actually work your shift to run into him. Not that he'd notice any of us. He's probably surrounded by officers and officials."

I smiled but stayed quiet. Despite the buzz around him, I had been doing my best to keep my distance from the talk. Elvis Presley, the icon, felt like something so far removed from the world I inhabited. Even though we had grown up in the same city, it was hard to reconcile the young man from Memphis with the global sensation everyone whispered about.

Still, fate seemed determined to push us together.

---

One evening, I was on the night shift when a nurse rushed in, eyes wide. "Victoria, you need to go to Room 12. They've brought in someone important."

"Important?" I echoed, grabbing my chart. "Who is it?"

She glanced around, lowering her voice. "Elvis Presley. He's not doing well—exhaustion, flu symptoms. He needs care, but the doctors want someone discreet."

I felt a jolt of surprise. Of course, I had heard that Elvis was stationed nearby, but this—him being right here, in this hospital, needing my care—was surreal.

I hesitated for a moment. The world outside saw Elvis as an icon, but to me, he was still a distant figure from my past, a boy whose name floated around in Memphis before he became the legend. I wasn't sure how to approach him now.

Steeling myself, I made my way to the room, reminding myself that he was just another patient.

When I walked into the dimly lit room, Elvis was lying back on the bed, pale but awake. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he had a weary expression, as if the world's weight rested on his shoulders.

"Good evening," I said, trying to sound professional as I moved to check his vitals.

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the tension in the room shifted. He looked at me closely, recognition flickering across his face. "You're from Memphis, aren't you?"

I blinked in surprise. "Yes... yes, I am."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though he still looked exhausted. "Thought so. Funny, I feel like I've seen you before. You used to live near Graceland, right?"

I swallowed, nodding. "I did. I didn't know you remembered."

"I remember faces," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "You were always around. I'd see you biking down the street or hanging around the corner store."

I couldn't help but laugh softly. "Memphis is a big place. I doubt you had time to notice everyone."

He chuckled, though it turned into a soft cough. "You'd be surprised. Back then, it was just me, trying to figure out what was next. Never thought I'd end up here. It's a strange world, isn't it?"

I nodded, feeling the surreal nature of our conversation. Here we were, miles from home, both of us far from the lives we once knew, yet somehow bound by the shared memory of a city that seemed a lifetime away.

We talked briefly—about Memphis, about the old days, and about how strange it was to be so far from home, yet connected by that same familiar thread. There was something nostalgic in his tone, and for a moment, it was as though the distance between the King of Rock 'n' Roll and the girl from Memphis faded away. We were just two people from the same place, both trying to navigate a foreign land.

As I finished checking his vitals and prepared to leave, he looked at me with that same tired smile. "It's good to see someone from home. Brings back memories."

I smiled back, feeling a warmth in my chest. "It's good to see you too, Elvis."

---

The next day, as I went about my rounds, I couldn't shake the feeling that our brief encounter had been the beginning of something. Elvis wasn't just another patient to me anymore—he was a link to the life I had left behind, a reminder of the girl I used to be before this foreign land and this chaotic new life. I found myself thinking about our conversation more than I expected.

During lunch, Clara nudged me, eyeing me curiously. "You're quieter than usual. Something on your mind?"

"Just thinking," I replied vaguely, stirring my soup absentmindedly.

Jenny leaned in, her eyes bright with curiosity. "About someone in particular? Maybe someone with a guitar?"

I glanced up, caught off guard by her teasing tone. "What are you talking about?"

"Elvis," she said, drawing out the name with a grin. "I heard he was in the hospital last night. You treated him, didn't you?"

I tried to keep my face neutral, but Clara and Jenny were both staring at me, waiting for details.

"Yes, I saw him," I admitted. "He's recovering from exhaustion. He's just... he's just like anyone else."

Jenny scoffed. "Just like anyone else? Come on, he's Elvis Presley. The King! You're telling me it was just business as usual?"

Clara smirked, nudging my arm. "Did he ask for your number?"

I rolled my eyes, but a smile crept onto my face despite myself. "No, he didn't. It was just... a nice conversation. We talked about Memphis."

"Memphis?" Jenny raised an eyebrow. "I bet he misses home. You're probably the closest thing to home he's got here."

I shrugged, trying to play it off, but I couldn't deny that our conversation had stirred something in me—an unexpected connection that I hadn't anticipated.

Later that evening, as I prepared to put the whole encounter behind me, a message arrived, delivered by one of the hospital aides. I unfolded the small piece of paper, my heart skipping a beat as I read the neatly written words: **"Meet me tonight. Elvis."**

I stared at the note for a long moment, my mind racing. Whatever was about to unfold, it would change everything.