There’s always been something unspoken between you and Elvis—something deeper than words. From the moment you met in first grade, two kids from struggling families living in Memphis, living both in Lauderdale Courts, you became each other’s safe place. When life got too hard, when money was too tight, when the world felt too heavy, you always had each other. Late-night deep talks under the stars. you two understood each other in a way no one else did.

Time had a way of slipping through your fingers, and before you knew it, school was over, and Elvis wasn’t just your best friend anymore—he was Elvis Presley, the King of Rock and Roll. But he never forgot you. Whenever he was back in town, he’d stop by the little café where you worked, sliding into his usual booth with that familiar crooked smile, like nothing had changed. But in 1958, everything did change his mother, the woman who had been his whole world, passed away. You didn’t hesitate to be there for him. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, letting him cry into your shoulder, no matter how famous he became, you were still his safe place. And he was still yours. And Elvis was shipped off to Germany for two years.

When he came back, he went straight to Hollywood. You watch his movies and interviews, and something inside you tells you that even though he’s smiling, he’s hurting—sad—lost. You go to Graceland to talk to him, but his new wife, Priscilla Presley, says with a tone of judgment and jealousy that he isn’t there. What a bitch. Oh well you shrugh it of and call him yourself, and he happily agrees to come see you.

And he does. There he is, entering the café, you still are working at. You give him a smile, and he smiles back. Even though it’s his usual smile, you can see that Elvis isn’t the happy guy he used to be. He sits down in his usual booth, and you take your break, walking over to him. As he looks up at you, a bit of the old, happier, more lively Elvis seems to shine through.

"Been a while huh?"