Chapter Text
Lifting my sunglasses off my eyes, I blink again and rub each eye with a fist to check my vision. Here at Venice Beach, sometimes the sun and the water play tricks on you. I’m used to that having spent so much time out there on my board. My eyes get bleary, even with sunglasses. I look away and then back again and see the same thing. There’s a man sitting on a bench in a full suit and fancy loafers, looking stressed, lost, and tearful. He keeps dropping his head into his hands and shudders with what I think are sobs. His hair is jet black and gleaming, almost as if you could see your reflection in it. As I move closer, I see his suit is not from this era. The cut of the pants and jacket are very much right out of the 1950’s, the colors too. Bubblegum pink and black. I’m wondering how he hasn’t drawn more attention between this suit and the crying. It doesn’t seem like anyone recognizes him as Elvis, just more so getting concerned passing glances at what they probably assume is an actor who just got fired from a gig.
I’m still not trusting what I’m seeing, but I move across the hot sand and decide to speak with him. As I get closer and he looks up into my face, its unmistakable. The whole world tilts and I feel like I’ve lost my grip on reality. My stomach is in my throat and my heart is racing. I must look bewildered because he sniffles and says to me with that curled lip, “What are you looking at, man?”
After intense eye contact and way too long of a pause I ask, “Elvis?” It’s all I could mutter.
“Yeah, and what do you want?” He snarls at me while wiping away the streaks of tears with the palms of his hands, trying to seem like he wasn’t just bawling his eyes out. Which is a fool’s errand because his face is splotched with red, puffed out and his eyes are bloodshot.
“Oh, nothing. I don’t want anything. I just wanted to see if you were okay,” I mutter, still feeling like I’m spinning. This can’t really be him… maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’m high. Something must be going on to make my brain create this illusion. The man has been dead 45 years. And this wasn’t what he looked like when he died. Elvis looks just like he did in 1957. Bright skin, sparkling eyes, trim waist and not a crease or line to be seen on his taut face. He was beautiful. Not handsome like in his older years, but androgynous and glowing with youth. He was breathtaking. My heart wanted to escape my body, just looking at him.
“Doesn’t look like you want nothing. Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded.
I understand he must be defensive. This must be a confounding experience for him too. He’s probably very scared. Finding my footing I said gently, “Elvis, it’s the year 2022. You’ve been gone a long time. I just can’t understand why you’re here or how this happened. It must be some kind of miracle, or I’m dreaming, or something.”
Elvis let his tough guy look drop from his face and the tears come back, in thick droplets trailing down his beautiful cheeks. “What!? 2022? What are you talking about? Why are you trying to fool me? What kind of sick joke it this?” Now he’s raised his voice, sending some beach goers into a bit of fear, peering over their shoulders.
I realize how lost he must feel with showing back up on Earth, missing the last several decades. “Wow. You must be so confused!” I offer, while sitting next to him and placing a light hand on his shoulder. He glances at it but doesn’t recoil. "It’s not a joke. I promise. It’ll take me a while to catch you up on what’s changed since 1977, but I’m not trying to fool you.” Seeing the fear flash behind his eyes, I don’t go any further with an explanation. “Listen, I don’t think either of us understand why you’re here or how this happened, but I’ll take care of you. I’ll figure this out and we can decide what to do after we think on it for a while. Is that okay with you? Can I take you to my house to talk and sort things through?”
He side-eyes me for a moment, then seems to get lost in thought. Elvis must be wondering why this random man is offering him such care and kindness or debating whether I actually mean him harm. This must be even more disorienting for him. I mean, the man was dead and now he’s not. As far as I know, that has only happened to one other person in all of history. There’s no frame of reference for him to understand this and he must be panicked. But seeing that no one else was rushing to his aid, he finally agrees. “Yeah, okay. You seem alright.” He swipes at his tears again, takes a long, slow breath and gets up to his feet. He smooths his jacket in a way that tells me he knows his sticking out like a sore thumb.
Picking up on his discomfort I tell him, “Don’t worry about the suit. People here dress in all different kinds of ways. It’s just that we’re at the beach and everyone is casual.” He nods, trying to mask his embarrassment and I tell him to follow me.
We walk in silence as we make our way to my car. Elvis stops in his tracks when he spies my 1975 Ferrari Dino. He looks at me mouth agape, and then walks over to run his hand along the hood of the car, petting it like one would a cat. Elvis’s face is gleaming when he looks up at me. “You know I had one of these. These are still around?”
It warms my heart to see his response. What he doesn’t know is that I bought this for myself as a gift with the money I earned making the film: Elvis. I wanted to have something I could slip into that made me feel like I was one with the man again. I needed something tangible to make me feel close to him, because it was such a shock to my system wrapping the movie and going back to real life. My body literally fought it so hard I had to be hospitalized. With all the researching about the man I did, I knew he had this year, make and model in his collection and when I found one for sale I leapt at the chance. Driving around Los Angeles, the city this man spent most of a decade living in, driving this car, made me feel like I didn’t have to part with the past. Not really. I realize what I’m going to have to explain to Elvis about playing him in a movie and my stomach drops. I don’t want to terrify the man, but maybe sharing this will help clue us into why this is happening. Later, though.
So, I smile and nod, “Yes, Elvis, I knew you had one of these,” letting a little mystery creep across my mouth, with a twisted grin.
“Well, hot damn! Show me how she runs,” he exclaims while opening the door and plopping down in the passenger seat. He seems carefree for a moment.
I laugh and jump in, turning the engine over, and letting her purr for a beat before taking off. He’s still smiling as we drive. I keep looking over at him, making sure he didn’t disappear. I wonder if he is feeling a sense of joy, that he’s back. Maybe there’s room for some feeling of wonder that he’s alive again, for however long that might be.