Christmas with the King

Christmas With the King
Or
Spending Christmas with an Elvis Impersonator

Big E, as he was known at his house, had just gotten home the night before from a gig in Peoria where he had played Al’s Bar and Grill. It was a regular gig he had and he made pretty good money. Al paid him a small fee for performing his Elvis impressions twice each Friday and Saturday nights, plus he operated the Polaroid concession taking pictures of patron who wanted to ride the mechanical bull. There weren’t many of these machines left and most folks were going to ride it only once, so they wanted their ride captured on film for their girl friend or buddies back home. At five dollars a pop, he did pretty good, far eclipsing his performance fees.

Life was good now that he had paid off his rhinestone costumes and had finished his hair transplants so his pompadour looked like the real Elvis. Plus he was hoping his son would follow in his footsteps.

Sitting at the breakfast table that morning drinking a cup of coffee while eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich, he said to Little E as he came in the room, “Hey, big man, what you want ole Santa to brang you for Christmas?”

“You know, daddy Elvis, everybody in my school wants a Gameboy, a Xbot, CDs of country singers like Faith Hill or Travis Tritt and the like.”

“So, zat what you want there, little Elvis?” Big E asked cautiously.

“Naw, I don’t care nut’in about them thangs. What I want is a white sequined jumpsuit and an official Elvis Presley Guitar!” he exclaimed.

Big E’s heart swelled as he said, “Wanna be like yor ole man, huh?”

“No sir,” he said, “I wanna be like Elvis!”

“Yeah, but Elvis is gone and now yur ole man is Elvis.”

“Daddy, some people say Elvis is still alive. It that true?” he asked.

The question put him in a sticky position. He wasn’t sure what the correct answer was and he didn’t want to tell the boy a lie. No matter how he answered, Elvis was alive or Elvis was dead, he felt like he might dash his hopes of becoming an Elvis impersonator. And there were reports of Elvis sighting all over the country at Wal-Mart or 7-11s and the like. Carefully he began to formulate an answer to Little E’s question.

“Well son, you know there are those who believe Elvis is still alive working at a Wal-Mart somewhere.”

“But Daddy, if he was rich why’d he give up all that money to work at Wal-Mart?”

This boy was sharp, thought Big E as he thought about his answer. “Well, you see, Elvis was just tired to giving and giving and he couldn’t have a normal life like you and me. So the only way was to fake his death and escape to the unknown regions. Do you understand that?”

“But Daddy, why would Elvis fake his death by having a heart attack and falling off the toilet? If he was going to fake his death, why didn’t he have a fake heart attack while asleep in his bed or watching television?”

“That’s one of the mysteries of life, son. I guess Elvis just wanted people to see him as down to earth; just a regular person who sat on the toilet and you know, had gas and heart attacks,” said Big E. “With all his money and fame, he wasn’t afraid to be normal like you and me.”

“Well, Daddy, it’s hard to understand all that. Johnny Ford says Elvis went to the North Pole and became Santa Claus and I thank he might be right.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Well, Johnny asked me if I put out milk and cookies for Santa every year, and I told him we didn’t do that. Then he asked me what we put out and I said beer and a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. Then Johnny said, ‘Bingo! That’s exactly what Elvis liked best.’ But I told him that don’t mean nuthin’ ‘cause that what you like, too.”

“Well, you a purty sharp little boy to figure all that out,” Big E said hurridly, “Look, it’s almost time for school, let’s fire up the blue Caddy, you know the one Elvis used to have, and drive you to school. But first, let me swoop up yur hair a little higher,” he said, then turning toward to kitchen door shouted, “Purcilla! Bring that hairspray, Little E need to be re-sprayed before going to school. I need some too before heading to the mill.”

Shortly, Mrs. Big E, better known as Purcilla, came in wearing her Italian cut top with stirrup pants and a scarf around her waist.

“Woooowe!” said Big E, “You looking good in them pants now that you dropped down to a hunnerd and eighty-two pounds. I ain’t a taking you up to Big Al’s, one o’ them rednecks’ll be trying to steal you away, woman.”

After spraying Little E and himself again, they ran out the door leaving Purcilla in a cloud of hairspray.

When he arrived home after work, as he came into the house he saw Purcilla standing in the kitchen door and walked up behind her. In the living room of their doublewide was Little E practicing his hip swivel.

“I’ll be danged, Purcilla,” he said with a tear in his eye, “That boy is gonna do his mama and daddy proud. It won’t be long before I’ll be taking him on the road.”

“In them bars?” Purcilla said.

“Well, if he’s gonna live his dream he’s gotta start someplace.”

“Who’s dream, Alvin?” she asked.

“Big E, Purcilla, Big E; and yes he’s had the dream of being the youngest Elvis impersonator ever since I can remember, and I thank he’s gonna make it. How old was that little boy down in Duluth when he started?”

“Seven years, eight months and sixteen days.”

“Well, Little E’s got nine months and a handful of days to do it and I thank he can do it. Hey, let’s order that white jumpsuit and cape for ‘im. You know the one with that big belt?”

“Whatever!” she said sarcastically.

“Hey, Little E,” he called out to his son, “Come on, we’re going to decorate the double-wide. I got some new stuff for this year.”

“What you got, Daddy?” asked Little E with his big sparkling eyes.

“How about this? A manger with Elvis playing baby Jesus. See, you can tell it’s him by his hair. See his sideburns and ducktail?”

“But, Dad, wouldn’t it be better for Elvis to be a king. I mean he is THE king of rock and roll.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Maybe next year we can replace one of the kings with Elvis and the next year with Daddy Vernon and then the last with, uh, maybe Rick Stanley. You know he’s Elvis’ cousin.”

“Is Rick his cousin or half brother?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but least ways he’s family. Hey look here at this sign I got to put on the outside of the trailer with all the lights. See, it says, “Have a Vury Murry Elvis Christmas! Ain’t that cool?”

They went on to decorate the entire doublewide trailer with Elvis memorabilia including the artificial Christmas tree that was trimmed with little copies of all Elvis’ gold and platinum records, plus little figures of the whole Presley family. The final touch was Lisa Marie complete with angel wings that crowned the tree. Then Big E unveiled his newest acquisition, a life-size cutout in living color of Elvis in a Santa suit to stand by the tree.

The days passed quickly and soon it was Christmas Eve night. The family gathered around the hi-fi where they played and joined in singing all of Elvis’ Christmas songs. Finally it was time for Little E to go to bed so Santa could come with his presents. They went into the kitchen to prepare the traditional snack for Santa, a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich and a can of beer.

As they were finishing the snack, Little E asked, "Daddy you want one?"

“Naw, I’ll have one later,” he said declining the offer. “But remember, put the can of beer in a bowl of ice cause Santa don’t like hot beer.”

As they took Little E to his bed he said to his parents, “This is going to be the best Christmas I’ve ever had! I just know it is! God bless us one and all!”

They closed his door and returned to the living room to wait his dropping off to sleep so Santa could come. As they were moving things around to make room for the gifts and things, Big E saw a paper on the floor. Picking it up he saw across the top, “Dear Santa...”

This was Little E’s letter to Santa containing his Christmas list. Knowing the list would contain all the Elvis things; he read the simple letter of his son, now fast asleep. To his amazement, not one Elvis item was on the list. He wanted cowboy guns, hat, Transformers and an assortment of trucks and cars. And finally the letter ended with the words, “Best of all, bring me a Punch-Me Elmo doll just like Johnny Ford is getting.”

Big E slumped down in the big overstuffed chair. Purcilla seeing his condition knew something was wrong and came over to inquire.

“I don’t know how I missed it!”

“What?” she asked.

“He doesn’t want an Elvis jumpsuit. He wants toys.”

“You’re kidding,” she said sarcastically, which he also missed.

“No. I know it’s hard to believe, but he actually wants toys like any normal 8 year old boy.”

“Well, duh! What you gonna do now?”

“Wal-Mart is open all night,” he said. “I’m going to Wal-Mart.”

“Are you gonna look for Elvis?”

“That was cruel, Mary Frances. Down right cruel.”

“Purcilla, Big E, Purcilla. And tell Elvis, “Hello,” she shouted as he went out the door.