I was catching a puddle jumper to fly from Germany to England, where I had a connecting flight home because of a family emergency. The airport in Frankfurt seemed deserted and was so plain and efficient that I was rather in awe of their system. March, march, march through multiple corridors with no advertising, no fancy interior design, and no stopping, towards the tarmac. I was beginning to think the whole airport was just someone’s brilliant idea to get people to exercise without knowing. Or perhaps it was a giant maze and psychiatrists and psychologists watched in some secret control booth to see who could get out of the maze the quickest? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. All I could think about was making my flights so I could get home!
Finally, we stepped into the gangway and I felt myself breathe again, until I realized it didn’t lead to our airplane, but straight to the tarmac where people were being lined up in queues to board our airplane. I ran towards the chain link fence separating the gangway area from the loading area. Clank, click. “Sorry lady, no one is taking this flight after all except Mr. Presley here.” “What?! Mr. Presley who? Oh you’ve GOT to be kidding me! This is a joke right? Or Candid Camera?” Another man walked up to the fence and I laughed out loud. “Ma’am, it is my honor to introduce you to Mr. Elvis Presley.” I started to laugh again. This man was old and had gray/dirty blonde hair. He was rather slender and completely unimposing. I continued walking to the fence and he did too. His eyes were blue and twinkly and then he smiled, part of his lip raising itself up into a very recognizable lip curl. Gasp! He could be Elvis!
My thoughts flashed back to November 9, 1972 when I went with a friend to an Elvis Presley concert for my birthday. After the concert, everyone thought Elvis had “left the building.” As I tried to keep up with my friend and her mother on the crowded concourse of the arena, I ran into a solid pair of legs and body. I looked up at the man I had run into and realized I could see behind his tinted glasses. Before I could even utter “OH” in recognition, the man put his fingers on my lips to silence me. Then he leaned over and whispered, “Shhh! Yes it’s me, but don’t blow my cover.” “Oh no, Elvis, I’d never do that! You can trust me!” Elvis leaned over and kissed my cheek gently, whispering, “Thanks! I won’t forget this!”
My 54 year old self realized I had walked right into the chain link fence while I was wool gathering about an event that happened 45 years ago. The man who claimed to be Elvis reached the fence at the same time. “Shhh! Yes it’s me, but don’t blow my cover! Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere? You look very familiar to me.” “Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow! Those conspiracy theorists who always said you were still alive were right! Elvis, you are you and you’re, like, really here, right?” Good grief! I was talking like a teenager who has just ran into her latest crush. Elvis leaned over and kissed my now wrinkling cheek gently, whispering, “Thanks for not blowing my cover!”
“Rose! Rose! Wake up! You were sleepwalking again. Who were you talking to this time? He must have been pretty hot because you’re blushing like a schoolgirl.” I was incoherent in my responses, but I always am after I sleepwalk. Everything is in a jumble. I can never figure out for about a minute which reality is correct. Did I really just get kissed again by Elvis Presley or was I walking through my house in my pajamas being awakened by my husband; that is the question! “Come on sweetie! Let’s get you back to bed. It’s way too early to get up now.”
© D. Elaine Wood-Lane
I meant to write a story a day, but it looks like I might only be able to write a couple of times a week due to time constraints. So, I really did meet Elvis Presley on my birthday in 1972. I turned 11 years old that year. After meeting Elvis and him kissing my cheek, I didn’t wash my face for an entire week! I decided to base this little story on a dream I had last night.