KINGSVILLE An Original Short Story By Virginia R
The other day I was driving to a city a couple hours away from my home and decided to take what looked like a short cut on my map. Somehow, I must have taken a wrong street or had turned right when I should have gone left or vice versa. All I do know was that I had no idea where I was.
I couldn't tell north from south and east from west. Passing through small town (if no stop signs and a grocery store constitute a town) after small town, I hoped would recognize something or perchance come upon a familiar road, building, or freeway. I went over a bridge before I noticed the crick or thin, shallow creek beside the road. The road had too many curves and made it hard to study my map for a stripe of blue.
The creek developed into a puddle, or what must have been called a pond, about the time I passed a town limit sign. The sun glared from its noontime position against the sign, blinding me from the name. "Kingsville, home of the King's cult." Laughing, I thought I had misread the sign. I had found civilization, or so I guessed, because of the town limit sign. I was in need of directions, a cool drink, and something to shut up my growling stomach.
Slamming on my brakes, I swerved to the other side of the road as I saw Elvis, wearing long sideburns and a white bell-bottom pantsuit with sequins, come out of the grocery. My head shook as my car glided past, knowing this couldn't be true, knowing my mind was leaving me fast. Glancing into my rearview, I saw him no longer.
My nerves needing rest and my stomach some food, so I stopped at the cafe on the corner, King's Diner. I knew it had to be a weird coincidence.
Stepping out of my car, I took my sunglasses off to wipe my sweat drenched face and gaze around at my surroundings. The town consisted of a small central park with a white pillared gazebo, circled by a medium-sized grocery store, this cafe, some shops, a library, church, gas station, bank, and a white pillared town hall. I had found Americana and was sure that every white picket fenced household had a married, non-divorced couple with two point five children, a dog, and a cat.
Opening the door of the diner, my stomach growled with satisfaction of the smell of deep fried food and my face reveled in modern technology called a fan. A grey haired woman greeted me with a smile and a large glass of iced water, before guiding me to a square table with a red and white checkered plastic cloth. As I gulped down my water she informed me of the specials, including something with peanut butter and a banana cream pie. My stomach ordered the fried chicken, to which my mouth agreed, and a large glass of what the woman assured me was homemade iced tea.
As she came with my tea I told her of my experience when I drove into town. She nodded and said that I must have seen "Joe," who works at the market as a cashier sometimes. I was shocked my vision had been real and, even more so, that Mable, my waitress, had thought nothing peculiar about it. So I added an Elvis impersonator to my list of what should be included in every white picket town.
The tea was sweet with the right amount of sugar, lemon, and sunshine. The chicken was crunchy on the outside and tender on the inside and all around good, although my doctor would have considered it on the greasy side. I topped off my meal with that homemade banana cream pie; one of "Joe's" favorites I was told.
Mable offered to give me directions, after informing me she never learned to drive nor ever left Kingsville for the other world. So, after cleaning my plates of food and leaving a generous tip for Mable, I wandered back into the sweltering heat in search of answers to life's questions or how to return to closest freeway.
Next to the King's Diner was a new and used record store called Jailhouse Rock. I thought my eyes were failing me, but the name was true. I walked in, I had to, and saw the largest selection of rock n' roll I had ever laid eyes on, mostly in records and 45's, although against the side wall was a small tape and CD section.
As I started flipping through the old LP's, I noticed that the Elvis section took up most of the store, three quarters in fact. Every song he ever made, the store had in triplicate. Videos and DVDs of all of his movies, concerts, and guest appearances lined the back wall -- not only to rent, but also to buy. At that point, I needed some fresh air. This was too weird, too strange for my taste.
I held my head as I walked down the sidewalk. This couldn't be true. G.I. Blues sold army and navy clothing next to the Blue Suede Shoes shoe shop. I crossed the street and passed The Hound Dog pet supply, the Good Luck Charm jewelry store, specializing in diamonds and gold chains, and Priscilla's beauty salon, where they were having a sale on black hair highlights. I felt like I should be in Memphis instead of hundreds of miles away.
In the town hall a dozen people were painting signs for the re-election of the mayor called "Big E". The travel agent had travel posters of Hawaii, Las Vegas, and Memphis in her window.
Didn't these people realize that Elvis was dead?I needed a few moments of some peace and normalcy, before I could continue my search for directions. Entering the church on the corner, I hoped to catch my breath. Instead the Kingsville Community Elvis Choir was on stage practicing for the Sunday service. Sitting down in the back of the church, I listened as they finished
Don't be Cruel.One of the Elvises, or would it be Elvi, moved from behind the alter and to the podium. He opened what appeared to be a leather bound edition of an Elvis songbook and began speaking about the sin of doing nothing with the life God had given us. He spoke with a voice that resembled Elvis's Southern drawl. It was as if he had stepped from his last concert appearance into this church. This was not the idealized Elvis from his youth, but the larger, more flamboyant version. He talked about how drugs and alcohol caused Elvis to be taken from this world before his time and, therefore, were evil.
As he spoke another Elvis played the melody
Love Me Tender on an acoustic guitar, which had a soothing effect on me. I was starting to get used to this Elvis world I had stepped into and even maybe beginning to like it. Slowly, I rocked to and fro to the music when I heard Preaching Elvis talking about the day when the GOD Elvis would return to earth and save us all from this generation of anti-rock worshipers. ANTI-ROCK WORSHIPERS???
That snapped me back into reality. These people may have accepted that Elvis had died, but only as a martyr. I backed out of the church as the choir started into a rendition of
The Wonder of You. I ran across the town square over to my sauna of a car. No longer did I care to find directions to the city, for which I had so innocently had left my house that morning, I only sought a way to leave Kingsville.
As I opened my car door, trying to ignore the gust of heat emerging from inside, I heard Mable's voice from the door of the cafe saying, "You come back again, soon, you hear." I looked up at that sweet woman's face and her waving hand and thought of her kind service and delicious food. Deciding that the Kingsville community maybe a bit nuts, but not all bad, I waved to her and said, "Thanks, I will."
I left town the way I came in, passing by the grocery and going the speed limit; the last thing I needed was to be pulled over by an Elvis motorcycle cop.
Somehow, I made it back to place I had started, home. Since then I've tried to take friends back to Kingsville, just to taste the food at the King's Diner, but I've never been able to find it.
Kingsville isn't on any map, which is probably why I had was having difficulty figuring out where I was in the first place, and no one else I know has ever heard of it or believes me that the place exists. My friends are more likely to believe I was accosted by aliens, who stole the six dollars out of my wallet and swallowed a half of a tank of gas, than to believe in Mable and Kingsville Elvi Community Choir.
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