We did not get to visit Graceland while we were in Memphis. This was fine.

We did drive past it and we got a chance to look, if only for a moment.

The weather was hot, and it was raining. Steve and I were both in the back seat of the car, and the rain was drumming on the roof. The guy with the catwoman tattoo had pulled the car over to the side of the road by the wall that stood between the grounds of Elvis’ mansion and everything else.

It was pouring buckets of rain, and the wind was blowing sideways.

And Steve and I wanted a look beyond the wall. We wanted to see Graceland.

So we got out of the car in the wind and the rain and within about ten seconds our clothes and hair were soaked through, and the umbrella wasn’t helping at all, and we were laughing, we were giggling. It was silly.

We walked down the length of the cobblestone wall that was heavily vandalized, covered in signatures of people who had visited, graffitied with hundreds of thousands of names of people saying I was here. We saw Graceland.

We approached the gates of Graceland, but we did not walk right through.

We got barely a peak and this big sprawling house beyond the trees over the wall, and it was raining, it was raining, and we looked at each other and laughed and said “okay! We have seen Graceland.” And we ran, stumbling in wet shoes over the pavement. We ran back to the car. Drenched. Soaking wet in the wind and the hot rain. It was terrible. We were having such a good time.

I have a perfect memory of Graceland.

“C’mon, wifey.”

Steve’s mother does not want to get out of the car. His father is trying to sweet talk her into going to see Graceland with him, in the rain, like we did. She hesitates. He is persistent, and she finally agrees.

They are very nearly frail, and they hobble slightly as they walk. But they are determined, and the rain lets up a little for them. And they stand together at the gates for a minute, just looking.

“Thought it’d be nicer,” she says.