Part 2

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July 5th, 1954

“Mama, I have to hurry if I’m gonna be there in time!” You call from the kitchen. You finish making your breakfast of eggs and toast and quickly stuff the eggs on top of the toast, shoveling it into your mouth. “Y/n! Be a lady!” Your mother scolded as she walked into the kitchen, hands on her hips and all. “Sorry mama, Elvis said he’s gonna sing at two thirty!” You say, your mouth still full of food. You wipe your hands on your red sundress with sunflowers on it and pull back your hair out of your face into a ponytail as you shove another bite in your mouth, still as boyish as ever, but as a soon to be senior you dress a bit more feminine. You quickly run to the door, your mother swatting your butt with her newspaper. You look back and give her a smile, grab you newest polaroid by the door and run to your car. You relished in your ability to finally drive without your parents supervision and start up the green ‘54 Dodge C Series pickup. It roars to life and you quickly drive to Sun Records. 

Elvis was standing outside his own truck that read ‘Crown Electric’ on it, his arms crossed. You look at the time. Two thirty five. Damn! You curse in your head. You can already tell he’s angry just by his stance, always calling it his Elvis angry stance. “You’re late!” He says as you hop out the truck and run to his side. “I brought my camera.” You smile, knowing he would soften up and he does. He gives a warm smile and gives you a tight hug, smelling of sweat and old spice. It’s an oddly appealing smell. He smiles at you, almost looking as if he was admiring your dress. You stand back and hold up your camera in a teasing way, “Elvis, over here! Are you and James Dean going to the Beverly Hills party tonight?” You tease, doing your best Hollywood photographer voice in a deep voice, acting like you were an older man who spent years smoking. Just your voice made Elvis burst into a roaring laughter. “Cmere wittle. Scotty and Bill are already inside.” He said and wrapped an arm around you, leading you inside the small studio. You could see through the glass window, Scotty holding his guitar and Bill holding the large bass, standing in front of a drop microphone. An older man and woman walked out from the studio and into the front area. “Oh, you must be Elvis Presley!” The man smiled widely and shook his hand. “I’m Sam Phillips, the owner of this joint and this is my receptionist, Marion Keisker.” She adjusted her glasses and shook both of your hands. “Honey, you can wait in here with me.” She said and motioned for you to take a seat at the window that peered into the studio. Elvis took his place at the microphone. As he did, Marion pressed a button so then a little box that looked like a radio had their voices coming through. “Alright, whenever you’re ready son.” You heard Sam say and Elvis cleared his throat. You could tell he was nervous, his legs shaking slightly. He began the song, sounding shaky the entire time. As soon as he finished Sam stood up. “Son, I think that’s all we need to hear...you can go.” You perk up and see Elvis’s sweaty face fall from disappointment. “Mrs. Keisker, may I go in? I think I can help him...” You asked. She gives the okay and you walk through the studio door. Elvis looks at you, clearly looking beaten and you walk up. “This’ll only take a second.” You called over to Sam and you walked to Elvis until he stood directly in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay. How bout this...you try singing like your mama’s here. Just close your eyes and picture her.” You suggest. “And for God’s sake, breath Elvis.” You tease and give him a quick hug. You feel some of the tension sink away and go off to the side as you watch him take several deep breaths and then close his eyes. 

"Well, that's all right, mama
That's all right for you
That's all right mama, just anyway you do
Well, that's all right, that's all right
That's all right now mama, anyway you do."

He opens his eyes the rest of the time, shaking his legs still, but you notice the rhythmic movement to them now, as if the music was moving his body instead of his nerves. You look over at Sam who now was bursting with a smile as wide as the Mississippi river and you look back to your best friend. You take the quick opportunity to capture him at his greatest and smile proudly. 

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