Evening Train to Graceland

Somewhere north of Memphis I must have made a wrong turn. I'd been singing what words I remembered from “Love Me Tender,” and I guess I lost my concentration. But a visit to the King's home is pretty exciting, so it's no surprise I wasn't thinking straight.

I'd hopped the evening train out of Collierville, and rented a car when I got into Memphis. A cheap car, with no GPS to guide me. But I had a good old-fashioned paper map, so I thought I'd be fine. Oops, wrong again.

I used to have probably a dozen old 45s of Elvis songs, but I made the mistake of letting my cousin Laurie know. She's a huge fan of the king, so I let her borrow them when she and her family visited one summer.

I should have been smarter about that decision, because I never saw those records again. Laurie claimed that someone must have stolen them during a party at her house, but I suspect she still has them. That's okay, I suppose. I've moved on from Elvis to a slew of later genres and performers. And I've promised myself that Laurie will never get her hands on any record or CD in my collection again.

Actually, I guess I haven't moved on completely. If I had, I wouldn't bother visiting Graceland. But I guess I wanted one more connection to remind myself of all the great listening, and a few cheesy movies, from my distant past. So, long live the King, and don't step on my blue suede shoes.