volume one hundred and fifty-five
graceland part 1
📍Written from Mulubinba (otherwise known as Newcastle) as the winter sun coming through the office windows thawed out my fingers.
“Lauren’s too young to know who Elvis is.” he smiles from his Zoom box. I lift more of myself into view, better displaying my Graceland shirt that has just been complimented by someone else to prompt his comment.
“I grew up listening to him a lot,” I reply wanting to say more. The meeting begins.
I left the house at around 3am for my 4am bus. As I stepped out of the house and towards the gates of the complex, knowing I would lose wifi reception, I hoped my driver wouldn’t cancel as there would be no way for me to know. If he didn’t, I would just need the licence plate when he arrived. Before the sun rose in this place, it was too cold to be wearing what I was. Once the sun was up though, and I was well on my way, I needed the light clothing. So I opted to cater for that time of day to come. Fireflies lit my way to the main road flooded with streetlights and drive-thru signs before they disappeared.
I had barely slept after waking at 1:30am to do the last of the laundry. The towels and bedding were delayed by a sleeping pug on the bed I didn’t want to disturb. My time in this place was done, complete with trying every ice-creamery and sober dancing at hours sober people do not dance. My car arrived and we headed for the bus stop while the rest of Nashville still slept or fell out of venues after last call.
My driver walked me and my luggage inside the terminal and he told me not to come outside for any reason. He made me promise I would wait in the well-lit building for my bus where it was safer, noting it being dangerous there at that time of night, or day. I told him I would, and that I wouldn’t be there long. My bus was due very soon.
I got settled in a spare uncomfortable seat, while people all around me napped under blankets and coats. The smell of unchanged fast food oil lingered from behind the closed cage and morning breath was among us. I barely settled in for what would be twenty or thirty minutes before we boarded. I looked over my agenda for the day. I would arrive in Memphis early, at 8am, with hours to spare before my 1:30pm booking at Graceland. Check-in was required by 1:15pm. It was the last tour of the day. On arrival into Memphis, I would drop my bag at the hotel and then I would go to Sun Studio and have a tour there. No booking required. Just arrive before your desired slot. Then I would have time to eat lunch and make my way to the main event.
I looked up at the screen displaying the bus departure times. “Oh no!” I said aloud but only to myself. Then I walked to another screen to make sure I wasn’t getting it wrong. I wasn’t. My bus had been delayed by several hours. I checked my email and sure enough, there was an alert telling me. I just hadn’t thought to check my email after a handful of sleep.
This delay meant that I was not going to make it to Memphis until close to the tour time. But I would make it. As more people began to arrive, it became evident that there were two buses headed to Memphis: one delayed and one not. The anger that erupted among those who had plans, or who had been waiting since 11pm the night before when another bus dropped them there, and mothers with exhausted children, was unlike anything I have ever seen. It was loud. It was full and there were not enough seats for everyone and wouldn’t have been even if some people weren’t taking up multiple seats as a bed. There was a mixture of tourists hungover from the Nashville nightlife wearing novelty cowboy hats, local folks making a trip out of town, people trying to get home. All of us were equals: we rode the bus. A chatter went throughout the place as someone got word that the bus that had no delay, would have spare seats. But not enough for us all.
I wanted one of those seats.
I was not about to push anyone out of the way for one of them. So I stepped to the back of the enraged crowd that swarmed and pushed and shoved and yelled towards the bus on its arrival. I lingered as the driver yelled at us all from the stairs. As those with tickets for that service tried to get on board, others made it very hard for them to do so. People held their feet to the ground like glue, people swore, people threatened. It was mayhem.
I watched the prams, I watched the people with walkers, I watched to make sure they got to the front. I asked people to step to the side. I didn’t want any of those people to wait longer. I wanted to make sure they got a spare seat. And maybe, admittedly, I hoped it would earn me good karma in the form of my own seat on the bus.
The driver and the security guard hand-picked passengers to board. “You, you, you…” and they pointed people out one by one with no sense of logic other than avoiding all the young men it seemed. Young men who then started to push and voice their rightful upset, until all of us were ordered back inside the terminal and the doors to the bus were shut and locked with the yell of the driver closing behind them.
Most of us went back inside, defeated. A few lingered in protest until they were intimidated into never getting on any bus if they didn’t quieten down. Words kept secret from us by the automatic doors were exchanged between the driver who had done a seat count and the security guard who kept one hand on her belt at all times. It was in the back of my head amongst all the chaos — and it really was chaos — that I was in a place where anyone could be in charge if they wanted to be. All they had to do was pull something from their belt or their pocket or their ankle, wherever they kept it. The security guard returned inside and pointed to a few more people. “You, you, and… you.”
It was me.
I pulled my bag behind me that had never left my hand, waiting to move at any hopeful moment and headed right out the door, onto the steps and the driver put her hand in my face, stopping me. She asked me what I was doing. Tensions were high. For everyone. I was very intentional with my delivery. I had nothing to stand on if I came across the slightest bit annoyed. Everyone was sleep-deprived and stressed.
I needed to be kind. I wanted to be kind. But I needed to be more than I wanted to be. I turned to the others behind me and said with a smile, “We were told by security to come on to the bus.”
I waited to be sent back again because there were no rules in this scene. She stepped aside.
Several hours late, I was on my way to Memphis. I was on a full bus with a driver who relayed the bus rules to us in ten-minute intervals over the loudspeaker: “No eating! Use your headphones! No talking!”
In silence, we were robbed of any chance of sleep by her announcements any time someone made a peep, but at least we were left with the opportunity for a friendly yet terrified smile or giggle amongst strangers because what else could we do? She was doing her best, wasn’t she? This isn’t what she signed up for that day when she came to work.
We were happy that we were on our way. Several people were left stranded for the later (now even more delayed) bus to Memphis and we were lucky enough not to be one of them. I kept my mouth shut.
When I arrived at my hotel, I had an hour until my Graceland tour. I had used the bus trip to plan to go to Sun Studio the next day, after the National Civil Rights Museum. Both estimated an hour needed as per the website. That would leave me time to make my flight.
At the hotel, there was no booking for me. The staff were as helpful as they could be and friendlier than they needed to be. The travel agent I booked with was off work that day when I tried to reach her. I was tired and all I wanted was a shower and to brush my teeth. I asked for the bathroom while they awaited a callback, and I managed some deodorant and a reunion with my toothbrush.
I got the call. It wasn’t good. I wasn’t good with how I handled it.
A new booking was made. It all worked out. It wasn’t looking that way at first. But my bag was in the room and I was free to go.
I called the travel agent on duty back once in the shuttle and gave him a much-owed apology for my rudeness and let him know I was on my way to Graceland.
I arrived at 1:27pm for my 1:30pm tour. The last tour of the day.
Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me about travel plans that didn’t go to plan.
I travel a lot and when things change, I think it is all a part of it. Almost a guarantee. I look forward to sharing the next part of my Graceland experience with you in volume 156.
here are three things i struggled with this week:
🌊 Grief in waves.
🤛 A constant clenched jaw.
🐌 Doing one thing at a time.
here are three blessings from this week:
🍪 Making Gordy laugh.
☕ Morning singing.
💟 Grief is gratitude and gratitude is a necessary shift.
here are three goals for the coming week:
🍃 Time in nature over the weekend.
🍦 Over-priced ice cream.
✨ Clean my laptop.
pics or it didn’t happen:
I love you and I appreciate you reading my letters because I really enjoy writing them to you.
Really love your detail!
Graceland was smaller than I thought it would be