volume one hundred and fifty-six

graceland part 2

📍Written from Mulubinba (otherwise known as Newcastle) as I periodically adjusted the blinds to remove the glare of winter sun from my screen.

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This is part 2 of my Graceland story. To really appreciate where I end up in this volume, I suggest if you haven’t yet, reading part 1 here.

There was no line at the pass collection. Everyone else had gotten theirs and were presumably the group of people huddled to the side, ready to take the final tour of the day. I walked zig-zagged through ropes lined up to the counter and collected my pass. I breathed. I paused for the slightest moment for the first time since I went to bed the night before. It was clear by the calmness of the person on the other side of that desk that I had time. It was clear I had made it.

I headed toward my group and passed two women who I recognised immediately.

“Excuse me, did I dance with you at Kid Rock’s Honky Tonk two nights ago?”

“Probably!” they laughed. “You look familiar!”

“Jolene? Honky Tonk Women?”

“Oh yes! We sang them together!”

Sober Lauren seemed to attract many presumably intoxicated people that night who wanted to dance alongside her.

After being given the run-down, awkward green screen photos and an option for a self-guided or headphone-guided tour, I chose to take the headphones. I wanted as much information as possible, and I knew I could always pull them off my ears if it wasn’t for me.

We all climbed awkwardly into our van that would take us to Graceland. Finally, we left the amusement park built across from it and headed to Elvis’ home. His sanctuary. The sacred place open to anyone with the money to go there.

Driving through the gates and up the drive was intense and otherwordly. From the moment I saw the house come into view, I was crying. The presence I immediately felt was unlike any other I had ever felt before.

That feeling never left me. I was instantly meditative. Instantly pensive. Instantly present.

I was overcome with gratitude and sadness all at once and my heart raced to keep up with it all.

The first room we entered to wait, was filled with glass cases of some of his personal things. Jewellery mostly. I noted his tiger’s eye ring resembled mine. Very much a more expensive version, but very similar in cut and style. Euphoria came over me as I thought we might share some of the same taste.

Once we stepped inside the house, time stopped for me. Every room I entered, every item I saw, and every different carpet I stepped on felt both like trespassing and simultaneously my right. I felt like I belonged there. Like it was my destiny to be there, and also that we were all horrible people for trampling through The King’s home with tablets and smartphones and chatter.

I expected it to smell old. It didn’t. It smelt like nothing. 

John Stamos narrated my tour and this is how I learned he was such an Elvis-head that Uncle Jesse was named after the lost twin. The baby that was expected and never lived, before Elvis arrived unexpectedly.

As I followed Stamos’ direction to move into each space when I was ready, I imagined myself sitting in each room, on every cosy armchair, under each intentionally chosen lamp. I heard music in my head that might have filled certain spaces and smelled the joys of a good party and enjoyed imagined laughter from corners. I daydreamed in The Jungle Room, I envisioned preparation in the kitchen, I watched small screens in the TV room, I heard the crack of balls being lined up at another time in the pool room, I got lost in the staircase a security guard told me I could see Elvis’ closed bedroom door from, if I looked from the right angle. I didn’t see it, and I don’t think I was supposed to.

I was surrounded by strangers the whole time. Everywhere. The headphones were a way to drown out the sound and be with myself. And my grandmother.

She died when I was ten, and was the biggest Elvis fan I knew. She was a sweet and well-mannered Catholic woman, but when Elvis came on she changed. He released something in her that otherwise lay dormant. I took her on the tour with me as long as she wanted to hang around. She left me with the wind in the trees in the backyard when I stared at the horses for too long.

Every time I wanted a moment of peace and reflection, I might be interrupted by a camera flash or a discussion between others about something they had seen. For the most part everyone was respectful. But excited. I wanted to make my own mind up about everything. Some things I didn’t have a choice to decide before opinions were shared loudly around me.

Before I got back to the private jets, the glass cases of jumpsuits, the '68 Comeback Special set rebuild, the memorabilia, the fan mail, the ice cream shop, the large car collection, the Baz Lurhmann movie tribute, the gift shops… I lingered on the property. I spent time in each space until I felt — truly, by my own judgment — that I had been there too long. Until I felt that I had gotten everything I could out of that room, for that visit.

The tour highlighted more of what I already knew: that Elvis was more than The King. He was a charitable man, he was a father, he was a son, he was a friend, he was a religious man, he was generous beyond compare, and he was a trailblazer in many ways on and off the stage. He was loved by many, and many of those people surrounded me as I soaked in every bit of him that I could.

Everyone is welcome at Graceland.

I entered the racquetball building and witnessed the shiny brown leather lounges, the piano against the wall, and the grandness of the lobby to this space leading into the courts.

Silence. For the first and only time on my tour, I was alone.

John Stamos told me that on the 16th of August 1977, after enjoying some racquetball with friends, Elvis sat at this piano and performed his version of Unchained Melody.

At the completion of his narration, a recording of Elvis performing that very song began to play over the loudspeaker. I removed my headphones. His presence and the force of his voice drowned everything out — sound, space, time — and filled every inch of my soul.

I wept. I was alone with him — and that song — in the last place he played it, with the piano he played it on, in the last place he played anything, in the last place anyone ever heard him sing.

God speed your love to me.

Surreal. So real.

The doors opened. The recording from the speakers returned to the sound of racquetball being played. People poured in. I said thank you and moved outside towards the meditation garden.

Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me about when you’ve been glad you didn’t fight hard enough to change the course of the powers trying to bring you to the right place at the right time.

I look forward to sharing the final part of my Graceland experience with you in volume 157.

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here are three things i struggled with this week:

🆗 Having spare time and trying to figure out what to do with it.

🧸 Getting to sleep because I am like a little child so excited for the next day, every day.

🐾 Finding out the hard way the dog in my care can get things from the desk if she wants to chew them bad enough.

here are three blessings from this week:

✨ Be careful what you wish for, because it might come true!

💝 Reuniting a lost dog with his very happy owner. Oh, what a relief and what joy!

☁️ I thought I saw you out on the street, but of course, it wasn’t you. It’ll never be you. But for a moment you were there and you smiled at me and everything felt wonderful. 

here are three goals for the coming week:

🦋 Noticing how I am talking to strangers and how good that feels. I hope to keep it up.

😌 Not to be afraid of being embarrassed.

💸 Filing my taxes, Aussie style.

pics or it didn’t happen:

FYI: i’m not famous so i didn’t ask

I love you and I appreciate you reading my letters because I really enjoy writing them to you.

🧡, LD (lauren deborah | she/they)