Forever Young, Always Beautiful (E.P)

Chapter 1 - A Glimpse Into The Not Too Distant Future

I ran from the bus stop, all the way down to Sun Records at the end of the street. I couldn't miss this. I'd never forgive myself if I missed this. He didn't know I was coming but that's how it was supposed to be. He'd never sing if he knew I'd be listening. And I so wanted to hear him sing. For 4 years, I'd listened to his mother tell me what a great singer he was, how talented. But I, his best friend, had never heard a single sung syllable leave his mouth. He hadn’t even told me that he was coming down here the here the first time, to record his something for his mother’s birthday. I wasn’t going to miss him recording his first single. Not even God could stop me.

As the rain pounded my face - unusual for this time of year in Memphis - I cursed under my breath. "Goddamnit. I'm coming. Don't worry; I wouldn't miss this for the world." Finally, the hanging sign for Sun Records was in view and I sprinted the last few yards, trying to beat the drizzle before it turned into a storm. I almost fell into the reception area, the woman behind the desk grimacing at my entrance. I knew her, of course. Memphis was a relatively small city in the '50s; everybody knew everybody. She’d been to school with us; an admirer of his, but only when it became obvious he could sing, and a hater of mine, for no reason whatsoever. “Ah, Annabel Jenkins. What are you doing here?” She sneered. “Well, Tammy, I’m here to hear to my best friend sing.” I replied, coolly. “Is he expecting you?” She asked. “Well, no, but - ” “I can’t let you in then! Sorry! Buh-bye now! Have a less than pleasant day…” “Now, now, Tammy. That’s not how we treat guests.” Sam Phillips appeared, a warm smile on his clean-shaven face. “Who’s this little lady?” He asked, looking at me. “My name is Annabel Jenkins, Sir. I’m a friend of Elvis’.” I explained. I jumped when he suddenly clapped his hands together in apparent excitement. “So you’re Annabel! Well, Elvis just doesn’t shut up about you! He’s so excited about this recording. His first single! Something that will actually be released and be heard by the general public! The boy told me you’ve never heard him sing? Well what ‘til you hear this voice…” Sam babbled on and on as he led me away from a furious looking Tammy; she couldn’t stand the fact that I was going to watch history being made and she wasn’t.

Elvis Aaron Presley wasn’t a popular kid when we met. He had known most of the students at Humes High for a good year or so longer than I had, and yet we were the same rank in the school clique hierarchy: we were the unpopular, unliked outcast. He wasn’t liked because he dressed flashy, had an unusually close bond with his mother, Gladys, and people just thought he was damn weird; I was unliked because I physically didn’t look like a 14 year old girl. They took my early development as a sign of being promiscuous, even though it eas something I clearly couldn't control. It seemed like they thought I asked for the attention, but I detested it more than I yearned for it. For a long time, I felt bad about my curves, trying everything to hide them. Until one day Elvis, who had wondered for years why I hide myself beneath baggy sweaters and long skirts that drowned my 5ft 3 frame, said “Whatever you’re hidin’, don’t. You should be thankful for and proud of what the good Lord gave you.” This was around the time that we, as teenagers, became acutely aware of each. When he saw what I’d been hiding, I don’t think he ever quite thought of or looked at me the same again. Not that he let me know what thoughts were dancing around behind those blue eyes of his.

Sam walked me into the control room of the studio where Elvis would be recording. I spotted him right away, his slicked back hair and pink shirt unmistakeably. Huddled in the middle of the room with him were Scotty Moore and Bill Black, the guys who would be come Elvis' first backing band. Scotty was on lead guitar and Bill was on standing bass, leaving Elvis with the job of rhythm guitar. “Don’t let him know I’m here. He won’t sing if he knows.” I begged Sam, who promised he wouldn’t mutter a word about my presence until Elvis had finished. “Alright boys, lets get started.” I watched Elvis attach his guitar to himself and take his place in front of the microphone. The recording light when on and Elvis started to sing. The voice was, as millions now know, perfection, and far more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. "Oh my god... He's gonna be huge." I whispered to myself. Sam smiled. "That's the idea."