Girl of Mine

Chapter 57 - Pink and white

* chapter music *
- I Forgot To Remember To Forget -
Elvis Presley

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Rosalie POV

The 13th of July, 1957

Never had blue seemed more intense than red as when you looked into those shades. Vigorous eyes with dancing eyebrows challenged me, psyching me out as we waited between flashing shots. Flares that couldn't grasp how to make him flinch but could still cause a jolt through me now and then. Even if just a smidge of a twitch.

Dressed in all pink and white, Elvis paraded the red cushioned silver barstool with a pair of pink slacks and a white shirt. Though the sun hit the polished-looking chair, causing more shine than any button on the camera could—it had nothing on his smile sent my way, split up by a table matching the needed height of our chairs. Opposite him in both seating and attire, my skirt flowed white and the upper part pink. At it for hours, we'd taken so many pictures I wouldn't know what to do with myself if it weren't for Elvis goofing around with me.

Trying hard not to laugh, with him not giving up, my makeup artist came over to reapply my alluring red lipstick. On the set of a diner with a black and white checkered floor and red and silver everything else, we were taking pictures of two best friends out and about. Selling the image of Elvis' reliable unproblematic character merged with him showing off—having fun out and about with his friend being me. He wasn't always drenched in sweat, selling his soul to the devil on stage—as one could say. We had a mission. Trying to capture most anyone—the critics slaughtering his character and those so-called wild adolescents who already had his back for who he was.

Close to no time ago, nothing had been promoted to those my age. My mom spoke of it, calling Elvis' debut record the first one off-the-charts directed at teenagers. You know how parents or grandparents could speak of what was and wasn't?— 'When I was young, we had no such thing as...' But it was true.

Back in the day, when my Grandma and mom were young, they were looked upon as little adults. You went from child to nothing of your own all through your 'tensies' until you hit your twenties—a vacuum of time. Though that vacuum of time swooped a baby out of my mom, and the word 'teen' hit just about after I arrived. Quite hypocritical if you think about it—slandering Elvis' name for corrupting the young when many my age had already become mothers of a few years and jumped out of high school and into the golden rings of wedding bands. What were they afraid of? Teens watching Elvis gyrating on TV, getting inspired to add that second child? It probably came from fears brewed within parents like those of Rachel's. But even in close proximity to Elvis, Rachel was still as Rachel as can be. And I couldn't imagine how any amount of 'Hound dog' would be able to infiltrate that.

Rachel had been denied any correlation with Elvis last summer by her parents. She couldn't watch his TV appearances. Although Elvis had driven her home last December after his surprise visit, who knew if she even mentioned his name to her parents that night? And naturally, she never had the chance to listen to records getting shattered by her parents, and neither had I. But Elvis had told stories of one of his friends— having witnessed parents of kids in the neighborhood tearing their hair at the sight of Rock'n roll records spinning in the house. They didn't want that kind of music—knowing where and who it came from. Moms threw music out as if it called on the devil rather than the wonder of your soul.

Elvis had more friends than I could keep track of. In and out of Graceland, they went. Some I saw glimpses of, others had gone before I woke up, as Elvis still clung to late nights whenever he didn't have somewhere he had to be early in the morning. Others were in Hollywood. And I couldn't remember the name of who he spoke of for the life of me.