Return To Sender: An Elvis Fan Fiction.

Chapter One: The First Letter.

Chapter One:

Memphis, Tennessee.

1956. 

There she sat, pale blue eyes going over each of the letters she held tight in her fist. I never understood why she looked so ghostly during the day but she did and in some ways it really bothered me. Her pale pink lips moved in slow motions as she read the words from the page to herself. 

  "Sue, are you feeling okay?" I asked, stopping in front of the dining room table to look her over.

  "I'm fine, why do you ask?" She smiled, pushing a clump of red hair from her face. Her eyes met mine with a reassuring grin, "Why do you ask?"

  "You look positively ghostly." I admitted, scooping a crystal glass up off the table.

  "No, I'm okay." She nodded sweetly, "There is mail here for you if you're interested in it. Never seen the address before, though so maybe it's a mistake." 

She pushed some of the strewn about papers around and pulled a pink envelope from the pile on the table, holding it out to me. I look it gingerly and gave it a quick glance,

  "Thanks." I muttered, walking toward the kitchen. 

My mother was going to be home in a short while so I figured I would utilize my time wisely. Dipping the glass into the sink full of soaking dishes, I headed for the back stairs, envelope still clutched in my hand. I never really received mail, I had always been more of a loner. When I did get mail, it was from some distant family member or a college offering me a chance to attend their school, but honestly I had no interest in going to college. I had dreams for myself, sure but none of them included college. I was going to be a house wife, a mother. Anything of that nature. College was not in my vocabulary.

Pushing the heavy cherry wood door aside, I entered my room. This was my sanctuary. When the rest of the world was becoming so cruel, I could go into my room and forget everything. It was a small space but I had made it just for me. Making my way into my room, I pulled the door shut behind me. The walls of the room were a pale pink, with framed photos scattered around he room. 

On the far end of the room, a small stand up piano rested. Over the years, it had collected dust. The last time I had played it, I was 14 years old and since that day it had sat as a dust collector, yet I was unable to part from my beloved piano. 

Beside the piano was the window covered with white drapery that danced back and forth in the wind. On the other end of the room was a small twin bed nestled in a large dark wood frame with light pink sheets and a white quilt resting over it. Two pillows were tucked neatly under the quilt. 

At the foot of the bed sat a dark wood hope chest that was filled with goodies. My father had made it for me when I was just a child. I treasured these small gifts. Across from the bed was a record player with assorted records in it. My favorite record, the newest Elvis one, "Paralyzed" was sitting on top, displayed there for the world to see. I wasn't ashamed to be a fan, not for one minute. Even if I was 17 years old.

I fumbled to be the bed and sat down, kicking off my shoes. Laying back into my quilt, I stared at the envelope with the neat script on it. It was my name as well as my address but I had no idea who it was from. Shrugging it off, I tossed the letter aside and plucked a book from the night stand beside the bed. 

A book my mother had picked up for me while she was at a local book store called "Breakfast At Tiffany's". I hadn't began reading it so far, but my mother had been reading it while I was at school. She told me it was interesting as far as she had read.