hollyiswhere

The idea of going to Graceland is ubiquitous in North American culture it was hard for me to even understand “why” I wanted to go. I knew I was going to be in Nashville for a couple of days and the idea of driving down was too tempting.

So I rented a car and left Nashville and ended up on Elvis Presley Boulevard with reservations at Heartbreak Hotel. Now the first thing to note, is that you need reservations if you want to stay at the hotel.

It is comparatively priced, not out of range, but not a good deal. They do have a special rate they can offer you on tours of Graceland but don’t mention it on the phone unless you ask.

Graceland itself was kitchy and fun and a bit too reverential of a man who died overdosing on prescription drugs on a toilet. It glosses over his divorce to Pricilla or some of his rather odd behaviour.

It’s fun. It’s like the version of the 1970s dream home and for a non-Elvis knower like myself, I still really enjoyed it.

The hotel was a bit dumpy and kitchy. I was in a smoking room — unless you smoke never get the smoking room! It smelled, no matter how long I had the fan on for. The hotel has an all-Elvis movie channel and I realized that most of Elvis’s films weren’t very good.

So fun, yes!

The basis of my friendship with Debbie P. has to do with saying the most outrageous things with a perfectly straight face.

We used to sit around in gym class and talk about adult diapers, condoms and feminine hygiene products and use the straightest face possible as we faked little radio clips. I was 13, give me a break.

I haven’t used this skill much since then.

So on the train home from Brooklyn after two well-deserved glasses of wine, it was just my luck that someone asked me the famous question, “Have you found Jesus?”

I don’t drink a lot and two glasses after a long day is just enough to loosen my tongue just a bit. I wasn’t drunk mind you, just happy.

The questioner was a man about my age who sat beside me, turned suddenly and looked deep into my eyes. His greasy little ponytail flipped over his shoulder.

He said, “Can I ask you something?” And without waiting for me answer he said, “Have you found Jesus?”

Now what’s a girl to do? Leave the train? Say “No” and invite a conversation about the power of Jesus’s love? Look puzzled and answer him in German (actually that would have been a good option). I said, “Yes.” He looked at me, slightly shocked. “Did you keep him close to your heart?”

Now Mark and I often joke about this question, because it sounds like Jesus went missing (and is the basis of one of my favourite Pearls cartoons). So with the talks with Mark and the practise with Debbie and the two well-deserved glasses of wine, I answered, “No, I let him go.”

The man looked at me even more intently. “He was in the cupboard between the chick peas and the sliced tomatoes,” now I was picking up steam. “I don’t know how he got there.”

“I knew something was wrong, I’d never buy that much tinned tuna and my bottled water tasted a bit like a Reisling.” He looked at me, he didn’t say anything.

“I brought him to New York and let him go. Last I saw he was walking down Seventh towards Central Park.” He looked at me. The next stop came and it was super busy so I got off.

He sat on the bench and looked at me out the windows as the 2 train rolled away. I feel kind of bad, but it was fun in the end. I didn’t start the conversation, I didn’t ask him to tell me about Jesus. I just ended the conversation.