Chapter 36 - Now is she pretty?

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Dedicated tonolingaaa — Nosi_______________________________

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Dedicated to
nolingaaa — Nosi
_______________________________

To Nosi — you already know I have a chapter in mind for only you. But this one came up and fits perfectly with our recent inside joke. And reading this chapter, I think you know why I had to do this. This chapter is dedicated to you for your immense support, wonderful conversations, and shared laughter and tears. Thank you. Everyone in the world should have their own Nosi <333

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Elvis POV

The 29th of March, 1957

«Elvis, come on, man! Join us for a game.» Lamar, Red, George, Scotty, Bill, and about five others of my friends, cousins, and colleagues called for me—kicking the football in my direction as I went outside to chase one of my Mama's chickens out the front door. A glass door in deep green wrought iron of intricate shapes and belonging windows on each side. Droppings and feathers were all over—taking over the foyer and its carpets, priding the impressive stone floors, creating clear images of the dangling lamps above.

It had been a week and a half since I moved in with my parents and family. You'd think I'd moved in with a whole football team, though, for how many of my guys hung around at every waking moment.

«Nah, I'm busy.» Blowing them off with my high-raised hand as I turned, leaving them with the spring sun of late March and their increasing boyish energy, I went to head up the cream-colored carpet laid stairs. Walking past the wide-open arch to the dining room, I picked up on my dad's and the Colonel's conversation.

«We'll show that Elvis Presley is a young man willing to make up for his mistakes. Everyone is entitled to one big mistake! When a young Mr. Presley tells the story of preparing to go serve for his country, people will look past this—returning as an all American boy. He'll be great! Better, a sensation!» With building enthusiasm, the Colonel aced his typical composed way of presenting his ideas. All I did was shake my head with a ludicrous smile.

Quick jogging and swinging arms took me up each step to the second floor and farther down the wide hallway to the right side of the house. Entering my room at the far end, with windows overlooking the kicking guys in the front garden, I left the door a few inches ajar.

For now, I hadn't done much with my room, but I had great plans down the road. A slight breeze tickled the curtains fit for the change of seasons, and the voice of my little cousin, Billy, called out Lamar—apparently taking an unfair tackling from him. It was a mystery how not one window had taken a hit yet. I could almost picture the wall vibrating from sound waves, shaking the old antique varnished drawer. Fairly like the one Dodger had talked about was at the shack I was born in. All the old furniture got sold when we moved to Memphis, but since we lost the shack in Tupelo when I was barely past three and the public housing journey started up—I didn't remember it all.

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