The Year I Almost Drowned

Chapter 5

The next morning, we drove twenty minutes outside of the city of Memphis to get to Graceland, which was surrounded by outdated, lower-priced Elvis inspired motels and cheesy souvenir shops with flashy signs boasting “Original Elvis artifacts you’ll only find here.” A walled fortress bordered the property, making it feel more remote than it really was. In reality, a busy, widely used road was right outside of the property. We parked across the street in a large concrete parking lot and waited in a very long line to board the shuttle that would take us across the street to Graceland. The property was vast, encompassing more than fourteen acres of land. I was surprised to see so many people–especially so many foreign tourists. After so many years since his death, Elvis was still popular with people of all generations.

Nana had purchased the tickets for us ahead of time since Grandpa was one of the most frugal people in the world. I’m sure she bought the tickets because she knew he would have pitched a fit about parting with the $64.80 it cost us to go on the Graceland Platinum Tour.

The tour was self-guided. We were each given an mp3 player that gave tons of information about Elvis and his home. There was an eclectic group of people visiting: older women in tight and revealing clothing, men dressed up as Elvis complete with long sideburns and large-rimmed glasses, middle-aged couples with their bored teenaged kids, and senior citizens like my grandfather who had been Elvis fans since the olden days.

Everything in Elvis’ home was completely decorated for the holiday season even though Christmas was several weeks away. Christmas trees and garland with twinkling colored lights were scattered throughout the mansion. Mistletoe hung above every entry way. Potted poinsettias were placed in each room. Even with the festive holiday flair, Elvis’ house was still gaudy and garish.

Stained glass windows of peacocks, a white carpeted staircase, and gold accents were just part of the décor. The staircase leading to the second floor–which was completely off limits to visitors–had white rails with golden accents. Dark blue curtains with gold trimmings hung on the wall. All of the drapes in the home appeared heavy and were covered in bold colors from blue to gold. Portraits of Elvis were hung all over the home. There were television sets in every room. One room in particular had three television sets each tuned to a different network. Evidently, Elvis heard that President Nixon watched television the same way. The kitchen was carpeted and had white, Formica counter tops and ugly mustard yellow appliances.

My grandfather moved slowly, listening intently to each word spoken on the mp3 player. He stopped and gawked in every room, lingering longer than most visitors. I waited patiently for him in front of the Jungle Room. The room was decorated in green carpet from ceiling to floor and had lots of house plants and concrete statue monkeys to give that feeling of being in the middle of the jungle–a really bad jungle. Each piece of furniture was covered in a fabric that resembled fur. It was hard to tell if it was real or fake. I wasn’t able to actually touch any of the furniture since every room was roped off.

I took a picture and sent it to Jesse along with a text message: “Stuck in gaudy Jungle. Help!”

He texted me right back: “Even a firefighter can’t save you from that!”

We ventured outside and strolled around the property, which encompassed acres of green pastures, a decent sized swimming pool, and a meditation garden. My grandfather stopped in front of the chlorinated fountain that was surrounded by a black, wrought iron fence. Four grave sites lay in front of it: one of Elvis, his mother, his father, and paternal grandfather. Grandpa took off his hat and lowered his head observing a respectful moment of silence. I patiently stood over to the side. He turned to look at me and said, “Let’s get our money’s worth and see the rest of the place.”

***

We stayed overnight in Buffalo Valley, Tennessee, in a cheap motel called The Valley Inn. It was my grandfather’s idea–he didn’t want to stay in the hotel Nana had reserved for us. “We don’t need to spend hundreds of dollars for one night’s sleep,” he said, and when he saw the flashing sign stating “$29.95 per night” rooms, he made me pull the car over against my better judgement.

This motel’s main lobby was full of cigarette smoke and had a musty, unpleasant odor that I couldn’t distinguish. It was a tie between cat litter, stale cigarettes and moldy carpet. “You’ll be stayin’ in room number 3,” the man at the front desk said, giving me a creepy smile, his teeth stained mustard yellow. His thin hair was slicked back; it looked greasy and unwashed.

“Ice machine is outside.” He hacked up something from the back of his throat. It sounded like a cat trying to get rid of its fur ball. He gave us an old fashioned key and told us our room was outside to the right, just three rooms down from the lobby.

We arrived at our room and opened the aqua-colored door. The paint was peeling, exposing rust underneath the thick layers of paint. The inside was as worn and weathered as the exterior. The room was dreary: full of dark-paneled walls, water stained orange carpet, and avocado green bedspreads. There were two twin beds and a television set that looked like it was from the 1980’s. The bathroom was dingy and disgusting and had specks of mildew that covered the faded beige tiles. The sink dripped small pellets of water constantly, like slow Chinese water torture. Drip, drip, drip, the sound of droplets hitting the sink basin was nerve wracking. Globs of hair had settled in the drain. The fluorescent light flickered and made a low, annoying humming sound. The room was cold. My grandfather turned the heat on and a horrible smell permeated the room.

“Guess the heat ain’t working,” he said, unfazed by the disaster of a room. I wanted to grab my suitcase and get out of there as fast as I could.

I pulled the bedspread back off of the bed and sat down on the over-bleached sheets that had seen more life than they needed. I sunk all the way down to the mattress springs– which essentially was foam on coiled wire. On the bedside table next to me, there was a pile of dust. “Do you think there’s bed bugs in here?” I asked, carefully peering down at the sheets, inspecting it as well as I could considering the poor fluorescent lighting overhead.

He laughed at my question and then said, “No. This place isn’t that bad.” His interpretation of bad and my idea of what was bearable were two different definitions entirely.

“I’m going outside to get some air.” I took my phone with me.

“Tell Jesse hello for me,” he said to me and made an impish grin on my way out the door.

I closed the door behind me and called Jesse.

“Hey,” he said sleepily.

“Did I wake you?”

“That’s okay.” He yawned.

“Now I feel bad,” I said. I forgot about the time difference. We were an hour behind Graceville.

“I guess you made it out of the jungle okay,” he teased. “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah. I have lots of stories to tell,” I replied.

“I want to hear them when you get back.” He yawned again.

“I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Finn,” he said sweetly.

“Night, Jesse.” I hung up. I entered the stinky, awful, cold room. The antiquated television played the local news, showing only black and white images. My grandfather sat on the bed, leaning his head back against the two small flat pillows as he listened to the reporter give the latest updates.

“How’s Jesse?”

“Sleepy. I woke him up.” I sat down on my bed and watched the images on the tiny thirteen inch television set.

He turned the volume down on the TV and said, “You two remind me of your Nana and me when we were your age.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re two crazy fools in love.” He chuckled quietly to himself. “I bet you didn’t know that your Nana’s father hated me–loathed me–couldn’t stand the sight of me. Said I wasn’t worth the mud under his shoes and she could do better.” I turned to face him, surprised by his confession. He continued, “I was a bit of a hellion when I was younger, but she tamed me. We had to elope, you know.”

My eyes widened in amazement. “You did?”

“We didn’t have to. It just made things easier for us. It was the best option at the time.” He leaned back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. He placed his arms behind him, resting his head on his hands. “Eloped the day after Christmas. Her father was madder than a box of frogs.” He guffawed. “It doesn’t mean you two should run off and elope, though.” He glanced over at me, gauging my reaction.

“What, us? Grandpa.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. Young people do foolish things all the time especially in matters of the heart.”

“You can be assured I won’t elope with Jesse. You can count on that,” I stated emphatically. We sat silently for a while. Voices from outside carried into our room.

“You never know what you’re gonna do. Life will always throw surprises at you,” he said, getting his last two cents in. I didn’t respond. Eloping at the age of nineteen was not on my list of things to do, no matter how much I loved Jesse.

Within a matter of minutes, he fell asleep. His mouth was wide open, his eyes were closed, and he was snoring loudly. I had a difficult time falling asleep–between my grandfather’s snoring, how cold the room was, and the paper thin walls that allowed every single sound to be heard. I could hear every sound the couple in the room next to ours made –more than I ever wanted to hear. I tried putting a pillow over my head to muffle out the high pitched noises and other incomprehensible moaning, but it didn’t help. They echoed into my head and wouldn’t go away, like a horsefly clinging to a cow on a hot summer’s day. I shivered under the thin bedspread and lay wide awake for most of the night.

My grandfather slept through the night. He was well-rested and raring to go; whereas, I needed about five cups of strong, black coffee to help get me started and survive the rest of the long drive to Graceville. I was exhausted. I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and couldn’t tell if it was the poor lighting, the rusted glass, or my lack of sleep that made me look as awful as I did. I think it was all three.

I turned off the bathroom light and entered the room. My grandfather gave me a worried expression, his forehead wrinkled. “You look tired.”

I yawned. “I am.”

“How about I drive some?” he offered, and I didn’t argue.

***

I woke up from an hour’s sleep. I squeezed the back of my neck, massaging it gently. It was sore from lying on the flat pillows the night before and from leaning against the stiff head rest in the convertible. We weren’t moving. I could see a long line of cars ahead of us. The radio was turned off. I heard the low hum of car motors and could smell exhaust coming from a nearby car muffler.

“What happened?” I asked.

My grandfather looked irritated. “We haven’t moved for a while. I think there was an accident. Look at that map and see if there’s another way we can get home.”

I grabbed the large atlas Nana had placed in the car and opened it to the state of Tennessee. “It looks like the next exit will take us through Pigeon Forge. It’s out of the way, but it’ll get us to 40 eventually.” I showed him, pointing to it on the map.

He turned on his signal and looked to his right, giving the driver next to us a look that read “let me over or else.” The driver immediately complied and allowed us get in front of him. It took more than twenty more minutes to reach the exit, which had only been a quarter of a mile away. We rode down the US-441 Scenic Parkway, passing through towns like Sevierville and Gatlinburg before we reached the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Most of the leaves had fallen off of the trees. My grandfather stopped the car so we could stretch and trade places driving. He handed me the keys and we stood side-by-side staring at the beautiful view of mountain upon mountain. I took the camera out of my purse and held it up to us to take a photo.

“Hang on. I gotta get something.” He wandered to the car and grabbed something from the back seat. “Can’t take a photo without these.” He smiled and put the Elvis inspired sunglasses on his face.

“That’s a good look.” I took the camera and held it far away from us, taking several photos trying to capture our moment in front of the Great Smokey Mountains.

“Let’s get home.”

We continued to drive off the beaten path on winding, mountainous roads until we reached Highway 40 again. For some reason, I didn’t react like I had when I drove on it the first part of the trip. I was too busy thinking about getting home, that I didn’t have time to dwell.

We arrived at my grandparents’ house just as the sun was beginning to set. Jesse’s car was parked off to the side of their front yard. He and Nana were talking on the front porch. Something was wrong. I could sense it. Jesse didn’t smile–he looked stressed. Nana was frowning. I wondered what had happened and knew whatever it was, it was serious. The sullen expression on his face said it all.