The Year I Almost Drowned (9 page)

picked one up, unwrapped it and popped the entire piece in my mouth. “Want

one?” I asked him. He nodded yes, and I threw him the other one.

He caught it with one hand. He bit into his, chewed and swallowed. He arched

his eyebrows. “I’m sure your Nana wasn’t concerned about the cost. It is nice,”

he

said

while

looking

around

the

immaculate

room.

“Do you want to go get some dinner?” I was famished. The drive had taken longer

than nine hours and eating the snack foods Nana had packed us didn’t fill me up.

“Sounds

good.

Let

me

call

your

Nana

first.”

While he was on the phone with Nana, I texted Jesse telling him about the drive

up

there.

Jesse

immediately

sent

me

back

a

text

message.

“I

miss

you

already.

Glad

you’re

having

fun.

Love

you.”

***

The parking lot of Bo’s BBQ was full of cars. A long line of people waited from the

entrance to the side of the restaurant. It was a hole in the wall, older than dirt, but

that didn’t deter the customers. The smell of smoky meat permeating the air was

so mouth watering I wouldn’t have cared if we had to eat sitting on top of garbage

cans. Loud country music played through the speakers. A waitress took our order

while we waited in line, telling us that when we got a table, our food would be

ready. They had a systematic routine and were obviously used to having a full

house

each

and

every

night.

We both ordered the Memphis specialty: smoked pork cooked over hickory wood

and covered in a dry rub full of aromatic spices. When we were seated, our food

was in front of us in a matter of seconds. We both had macaroni and cheese and

baked beans, along with sweet tea to accompany our pork. The pork was tender

and juicy. The sauce was distinctive– full of tomatoes and vinegar. A sweet and

tangy

mix.

“Since they put that bike trail near town, Lilly’s has been real busy, almost like

this,”

he

said.

I wiped the barbeque sauce off of my mouth and finished chewing. “It has,” I

agreed.

“Last month was the most I’ve earned in profits in years,” his voice trailed, and he

turned his head looking around at the filled tables and the hustle and bustle of

waitresses and waiters walking with trays full of food. “And your Nana’s pies are

selling

out

faster

than

they

used

to.”

“I noticed she’s been baking a lot more, and my tips have increased.”

“The town is going through a re-vamp. I was real worried it was going to die.

There was a time about five years ago, when businesses were closing and people

were moving out. But that’s all changed. It’s becoming a destination for folks,” he

said.

“This

hit

the

spot.”

He

pointed

to

his

empty

plate.

I took my last bite of food and smiled. “It was good.” I patted myself on the back.

“Aren’t

you

glad

I

suggested

we

eat

here?”

“You’re

not

as

dumb

as

you

look,”

he

joked.

I glared at him in a teasing manner. “We come from the same genetic pool.”

“I’m

well

aware

of

that and am

real

glad

of

that,

too.”

My scowl became a smile. “Me, too. Thanks for letting me tag along on your trip.”

“Who

else

could

I

go

with?”

I

shrugged.

“No, I mean it. Who else would’ve come on a road trip with me?” he said teasingly.

We paid our bill and drove back to the hotel, ready to rest for the night before our

big adventure to Graceland.

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