Elvis Has Left the BuildingIt was about five o’clock on Sunday when I knocked on my dad’s bedroom door. He’d been rehearsing all afternoon.“Come on in,” his voice called out.Walking into his room was like entering an Elvis museum. You had to step over boxes of JERRY DENNY AS THE KING flyers and stacks of Elvis CDs and videos and piles of rainbow scarves. But the thing that got me every time was the life-size cutout of Elvis standing near my dad’s closet door. Cardboard Elvis had been a gift to my dad from one of his friends, but it was so realistic-looking it made me jump every time I saw it. Like the King had suddenly materialized out of thin air to strum his guitar in my dad’s bedroom.“What’s up?” My dad leaned over and switched off the music coming from the stack of stereo equipment next to one wall.“It’s something about school,” I said. Stretching out across my dad’s bed, I pretended to be interested in studying the ceiling. Better if I didn’t look at my dad or Cardboard Elvis while I was talking.Dad cleared aside some plastic CD cases and sat down on the edge of the bed.
