Phyllis McKenna

IF I CAN DREAM

Each individual strand of hair was coaxed, groomed and styled to the youth’s satisfaction. He examined his reflection in the mirror, gave a crooked grin and turned to go. He didn’t hear them coming in. He didn’t sense the danger. His way was blocked by his worst enemies, three College bullies, all brawn and no brain, crew cuts trimmed to within a whisper of their scalps, matching College jackets like a singing trio en route to their next gig. They stood swaggering, hands menacingly placed on hips.

“Hey, pretty boy, need some more oil for your girlie locks? Maybe we should shear him. What’d you think, boys?”

The young man showed no fear, standing firm and fit to fight but knowing he was useless against inbred hostility. Backed against the wall he braced himself for the inevitable pain and humiliation, no stranger to either.

A figure of ridicule in his high school, he was shunned for his individuality and mocked for his non-conformity. His fashion sense and novel hairstyle jeered at continuously. His birth an unexpected surprise for his parents, born the second twin, the one who survived. Plunged into poverty, his only release was music played on the battered guitar given to him as a Christmas gift. He had asked for a bike. Little did his parents know that the cheapest option would change all of their lives completely

The bicycle was forgotten as the mysteries of the guitar revealed themselves and music filled the shy young boy’s soul. He thrived on the solid sounds and the rocking rhythm of the Negro spirituals, people like himself who were different and punished for it.

But disappointment continued to dampen the youth’s singing ambition, his every attempt thwarted by ignorant people, once being told to “go back to driving a truck.” But his determination was stronger than the taunts and harsh comments because he sensed a different life awaiting him. These thoughts tumbled through his head as he lay prone on the bathroom floor, suffering the cruel ministrations of the College jocks.

“That’s enough.”

The sweet, sweet voice of the football coach penetrated his pain. He was saved. He heard the angry words of the coach, the slamming of the door, then blessed silence.

“Do you need a hand up, son? Take your time, they’ll not be bothering you again, believe me. C’mon, Elvis, your audience is patiently waiting. Show those goons what you can do, win the talent show!”

And he did. The loner, the outcast, the extra became an extra special person to millions.

 

 

They seek him here!

They seek him there!

They seek that singer everywhere!

 

He’s been seen in New Delhi, Amsterdam and Hong Kong

Heard in Los Angeles singing his song

Sighted in London having lunch with the Queen

There aren’t many places that he hasn’t been

 

Appeared in New York at the last SuperBowl

In Phantom of the Opera had a supporting role

Folks in Berlin tend to recall

How he sang “Wooden Heart” as the bricks started to fall

 

Flew over to Calais on his way to Boulogne

He’s now taken to fishing on the Banks of the Boyne

Elvis, Oh Elvis I’m your biggest fan

Please come to Antrim if you possibly can

I know you can make it, my heart wants you here

I’ll  be waiting, my Darling, for you to appear.

 

 

 

 

As I drove higher up the Divis mountains, the dense grey fog settled around me like a cloak. I was cocooned in a cotton wool ball. Shielded from sight and sound of anything in the immediate vicinity. I didn’t feel safe. I was trapped in a world I did not recognise – a world that should have been familiar to me. A road I had traversed a hundred times had become a dangerous, unknown foreign expanse, white lines no longer a safety feature, and once familiar obstacles only darker shades of grey. I was terrified. Alone and terrified.   Inching forward at a snails pace, my concentration was intense, my eyes desperately seeking for hidden corners and STOP signs. I asked the ones above to protect me and those below, if they so wished. I promised to be good for the rest of my life if I reached home safely – well, until the end of the week. It was Tuesday now, how hard could it be. Sweetly purring engine, full tank of petrol, I would be fine!                                        And then, there issued forth from my radio, at that moment, the charismatic voice of The King, my saviour in momentous times of stress in my life. The haunting notes of “Love Me Tender” filled the interior of my little car and I was content. Without warning, my radio slowly faded out, my headlights dimmed and all power deserted my automobile. I froze. Confused and very frightened, I eventually came to my senses and attempted to restart the car. No! Again! No! It wasn’t happening. I panicked! Oh No! Please! It wasn’t happening! I really meant good for the rest of my life! Are you listening! Closeted in an alien world! Cut off from outside communication! Wait! Of course! My mobile! Frantically emptying my handbag, I retrieved my lifeline and attempted to call one of my family. No! No signal! I sat there stupefied, my useless phone in my lap and considered my options. I could walk – where – I was on top of a mountain. I could flag a passing car – how – they wouldn’t be able to see me. There was no other option. I had to walk somewhere, dangerous as it might be. My hand was on the car door handle when I heard them. Footsteps! Footsteps heading towards me – directly towards me! My stomach lurched. I felt sick, every muscle in my body tensed, then sagged. Strength left me. Check the doors, the windows! Are they locked! Yes! I huddled deep in the passenger seat, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, until the first window tap caused my body to jerk uncontrollably and my pulses raced.                                                                    “Hi, Ma’am, “ a disembodied voice drifted into the car. “Are you okay? Saw your car parked, Ma’am and just wondered.”                                                                                                 It was a strange voice, and yet in some way recognizable, sounding so familiar that I almost opened the door. Fortunately reason set in, and in as firm a voice as I could muster, I replied:                                                                                                                            “Yes, I’m fine, car will start in a moment. Got a little bit flooded. My fault. I’ve rung AA” I lied with bravado.                                                                                                                              “ If you just open your hood, Ma’am, I could sure take a look. Don’t know much but I’ve been driving that ole truck around quite some time now, so I maybe could help. Don’t be frightened. I’m no danger to you.”
His voice had a melodic overture and for some strange reason I felt I could trust him. “Okay” I agreed, and released the catch of the bonnet. Footsteps sounded again as he walked to the front of the car and I glanced furtively in the rearview mirror to ascertain where his vehicle was. The fog obliterated most of it but I could vaguely discern the shape of a small truck and some of the painted logo – CRO– ELEC—–. My radio blasted into song, startling me, and I swivelled round as once again my car lights blazed and the engine started to purr. I waited for my rescuer to approach the window but I waited in vain. No sound, no footsteps, no truck in my rearview mirror, just a very,very faint singing in the distance, the final notes of “Love Me Tender,” and as I pulled slowly away, I heard that deep, southern twang in my head, the voice I knew and loved so well say: “No problem, Ma’am! My pleasure! Elvis has left the building! Thank you and goodnight!”

 

 

Friday 8th January would have been Elvis Presley’s 81st birthday the King’s birthday!  One Elvis post from now until Friday!!!