The avocado green house stood out by nature of its colour if nothing else. Gone was the bristol-board sign that had encouraged me to run as I passed it. As I had noted during the race, it was the only house without brickwork or siding. It was square with a carport on the right and a paved driveway leading up and ending at the back of the carport. The roof of the carport sloped down to the right from the house and anyone exiting a car parked in there could enter the side door without getting wet.
There were two windows on either side of the front door that faced the street. There was also a small covered porch over the door with an even smaller deck barely wide enough for the two good-sized planters that sat there on either side of the entranceway. There was also a paving stone walkway that ran from one section of the driveway and across the front of the house to the front door. Despite not having siding or brickwork as the other houses on the street had, I noticed there was some brickwork on either side of the front door that hemmed in flower beds. I didn’t know the names of flowers from weeds but the brightly coloured array contrasted oddly against the avocado green of the house. It seemed like the garden beds were vying for their own attention against the colour of the building.
I stood looking at the house from the roadway. The two windows on either side of the front door were not equal height. The one on the left was larger and had drapes while the one to the right was smaller and had blinds. I had made my guess already that the room on the left had to be a living room and the one on the right was some sort of kitchen or dining area. Given the size of the house, I had imagined that the room on the right was more likely a combined kitchen and dining area. Many of the other houses on the street appeared to have similar layouts. There wasn’t a two-story building on the street.
As I stood there checking out the exterior layout, I was trying to make my mind up whether I was to knock on the front door or the one that was accessed through the car-port. I noticed the blinds on the smaller window to the right part slightly in the middle and a pair of eyes looked out. I couldn’t tell if they were Pippa’s eyes because the blinds closed just as quickly and a moment later she was leaning out of the side door and beckoning me to that direction.
“You made it, Pink,” she called out. “I’ve been watching for you.”
I followed her into the house. There was a small entranceway from the side door that led into a hall. The entranceway housed a large closet on one side that had a sliding wooden door. One side was open to reveal some coats hanging on a bar and I could partly see either a washing machine or a dryer in the closed off half. It seemed to be a fairly wide closet so I could imagine that both laundry machines were behind the closed section.
“Welcome to the avocado house,” Pippa said as she walked ahead of me. We turned left and walked out into a combined kitchen and dining area. I had called that correctly. There were cupboards from floor to ceiling separated by a countertop that ran the full length of one wall. The living room area was separated by a long bar island with the same type of countertop. Without that bar, the whole front half of the house would have been one large room.
“I hate the avocado colour of the house at first,” Pippa continued, “but my Mother likes it and it’s kind of grown on me.”
“It stands out, that’s for sure,” I commented.
“Want to see my bedroom?” Pippa asked.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I didn’t think anyone else was home but I was still a little nervous about going into a girl’s bedroom even if her parents weren’t home.
“It’s okay, Mom’s not home. She’s working. She’s a nurse at the hospital. She won’t be home for a few hours.” Pippa turned and headed back down the hall in the direction from which we had just come.
I had noticed that the living room was sparsely furnished. There was a sofa and a chair and some type of wall-unit housing a television, some books and games, and assorted bric-a-brac. There were neither photos on the walls in the living room nor any in the hallway.
Pippa led me down the hall and past the entranceway that would lead to the car-port. It wasn’t a very large house. I passed a closed door on the left and bathroom on the right. Past the bathroom and the closed door were two more closed doors on the left and right. Pippa opened the door on the right and entered.
My first impression was the pinkness of it all. Someone obviously liked pink as much as they liked avocado green.
“I know,” Pippa began, “it’s a bit much. It was that way when we moved in. It was either pink or the brown panelling in the one across the hall. That’s my mother’s room. Mom says we can paint it during the summer. I’m leaning toward purple. The other room we passed is Roger’s. He only uses it when he sleeps over.”
Rod was right. Obviously, Roger didn’t live here. It wasn’t the only thing of which I took note. Pippa didn’t mention her father at all. The other rooms were Roger’s room and mom’s room. Pippa had not said anything about her father.
Pippa’s room wasn’t overly large. It was maybe eleven or twelve feet square and part of that space had been cut off for a closet which was partially closed. After the shock of the pink colour was the observation that the room was crammed. I would have said cluttered but there was organization to it all. There was a bed and a dresser as well as a desk and mid-height bookshelf. On the wall were quite a few pictures of Elvis.
There was a small stereo on top of the bookshelf. It was one of those all-in-one units with turntable, radio tuner, and an opening for eight-tracks. There were even a stack of eight-track tapes stacked on one of the shelves. At quick glance, I could see that the majority were Elvis. There were a couple of Beatles cartridges as well as Abba, The Monkees, The Partridge Family, and even one by Frank Sinatra.
“Frank Sinatra?” I asked as I pointed at the pile of eight-tracks. “Doesn’t seem to fit with everything.”
“Oh, that’s his ‘My Way’ album. Roger gave me that. Did you know both Elvis and Sinatra performed My Way? Elvis sang it on his ‘Aloha From Hawaii Via Satellite’ special in 1973. I have that on record.” She pointed to a stack of records in a milk crate on the floor next to the shelf. “Sinatra even hosted a television special welcoming Elvis home from the army. They sang some duets together apparently but I’ve never seen it.”
“Did you ever see him in concert?” I asked. “Live I mean,” I quickly added.
“I wish,” she exclaimed. “Elvis only performed in Canada in 1957. He did two concerts on the second of April at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto and then two concerts the next night in Ottawa. After that, he did one concert at the end of August in ’57 in Vancouver. I don’t know why he never came back. In fact, Canada was the only other country besides the United States that he ever toured in.”
“Impressive,” I offered. “How do you know all that?”
Pippa pulled out a drawer on one side of her desk and extracted a small bundle. “The Brides of Elvis is a great source of information,” she said handing me the bundle.
In the bundle were about fifteen or twenty booklet type newsletters bearing the title ‘The Brides of Elvis.’ They were printed on some sort of card stock folded over so each page was roughly four by six. I removed the elastic and thumbed through some of them. The magazine appeared to be quarterly or timed with the seasons because there were Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter editions. Contents seemed to vary with some song lyrics republished or dates of concerts or reviews of records. There were also facts about Elvis to educate the fan. The magazine on the top seemed to be the most recent with a ‘Spring 1977’ title. It also had a subtitle regarding ‘Elvis In Canada, 1957, A 20th Anniversary Celebration.’ Pippa was right, this was the source of her information.
“What happened to the magazine?” I asked. “It seems to stop with Spring of 1977. Wasn’t there anything after he died?”
“Not until last month,” Pippa said, snatching up a loose newsletter from her desktop.
I took the offered magazine and was immediately struck by the title change. Here was a Spring 1978 edition with a large photo of a young Elvis with RIP Elvis 1935-1977 under the photo and a banner title over the top sporting the words “The Widows Of Elvis.”
“It’s mostly a memorial edition and some thoughts about his passing,” she continued. “There’s some kooky stuff in there, too, about him not really being dead. That’s the same as the group letters that were mailed out last fall. I’m not into that. I told you I was in love with him once and it was a rough time for me last year with Elvis’ death coming on top of everything else. I think I’m moving out of my Elvis phase to tell you the truth. I might cancel my subscription.”
“Just a phase, hunh?” I commented while swinging my arm about to highlight the photos on the wall and records and eight-tracks. I wanted to know more about the ‘coming on top of everything else’ comment but I sensed that was part of what was in store. I didn’t want to rush her.
“Say, do you want a Coke or something?” she awkwardly asked. I must have touched on something without realizing it.
“Do you have Pepsi?” I asked. I was a little particular back then in my cola choices.
“Pepsi?” Pippa responded as a question. “That’s my favourite, too. We keep Coke in the house for Roger but I’m a Pepsi girl. Two Pepsis coming right up!” Pippa practically skipped out of the room.
While she was gone, I took further inventory of the room. Her dresser had an oval mirror with ornate spindles on top of its frame. Hung from the spindles were some medals and ribbons. They were medals for track and field events at Collegiate. Collegiate must have been her high school before coming to my school. Collegiate was a big red-brick school across town. It was the oldest school in the city and had a reputation for the athletes who competed for that school. It was odd that Ben Dawkins had not mentioned that about her when we had talked earlier. He did say he didn’t run competitively so maybe they never crossed paths on the track.
The closet door was partly open and I took a peek inside. It was mostly clothes with a few boxes stacked in the bottom. There was a shelf that ran along the top and I could just make out some athletic trophies. I knew that Pippa could run but I didn’t know she had competed. I also noticed her guitar leaning against the back of the closet. I thought back on the one and only appearance of The Carlottas and reached in and gave the guitar a quick strum.
“Do you play?” I heard Pippa ask from behind me. I was only slightly startled but kept it in check. I took the Pepsi offered to me.
“No,” I responded, “no musical talent here.”
“I suppose you saw the trophies and medals?” she asked.
“Yes, remarkable. I didn’t know you competed.”
“I don’t anymore. That’s another phase I’m moving out of.” She took a long sip from her bottle and was quiet for a moment. Then she asked me, “did you enjoy your run?”
“Oh, you mean the Harrier?” I asked.
“No, after school yesterday,” she said. “I saw you running the track with some other guys.”
“You saw that?” I wasn’t sure what to think. How could I explain she was the reason why I had run four times around the track?
“You ran the mile. The other guy running against you gave up after the first lap. What was that all about?”
“It was only supposed to be one lap,” I responded. “I kept running because I had some energy to burn off,” I lied. Again, I didn’t want her to know she was the reason I was running.
“Looked to me like you had something to prove,” she said.
“Well partly, Coach Russell didn’t think I was that good. I wanted to prove him wrong. It’s a bit your fault because I wouldn’t have been asked to the try-out if I hadn’t come in tenth in the Harrier. Say, wait a minute, you came in ninth,” I recalled. “Didn’t you get asked to try out for the girls’ team?”
“Miss Frost asked me but I said no. Like I said, I’m moving out of that phase. I’ve done the running bit before and the winning bit. I’m not like you. I don’t have anything to prove.” She took another long sip of her Pepsi and stayed quiet.
“But you’re really good,” I observed and pointed at the medals hanging from her mirror.
“I know that, Pink,” she said quietly. “Running just isn’t me anymore. I’m putting some things behind me. I don’t want to be known as the girl who runs or the girl who loved Elvis.” She was quiet for a minute then said “or the girl who slapped her best friend.”
There it was. There I was. Standing in her room wondering why I was there and how I was going to reconcile my feelings about her and she ups and labels me her best friend. I recalled what she had said after she had slapped me. ‘I’m not sure why I’m friends with you. Tell me Pink, what do you bring to this friendship?’ Had I moved up in the friendship chain in her estimation? I felt like I should run away and keep on running. I wanted to run so hard and so fast that my legs would give out and I’d collapse somewhere far from the avocado house. The only thing that was stopping me was that I was weak in the knees from this new best friend slap.
Pippa must have sensed how I felt because she gestured to the bed and asked me to sit down. She sat next to me and I felt a range of emotions. The closeness of her stirred something in my loins but then my heart was racing as well. I had never sat this close to a girl that I had loved from the first time I had seen her. I couldn’t act. I couldn’t speak. I was only the best friend; only the best friend as if that was some sort of consolation prize.
Pippa was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. I was sure she could hear the sound of my heart beating and I was sure that my breathing alone was a giveaway to how I felt.
“How do you do it, Pink?” she finally began. “How do you sit there so calmly as if you’ve moved on from the slap? You’re so calm like you’ve got everything figured out.”
I wanted to say that I had nothing figured out. I wanted to say I didn’t know what the hell I was doing there. I wanted to tell her I was far from calm on the inside. On the inside, I was back running around that track again and thinking that Pippa’s passing and I have to keep up with her. In the end, I just shrugged, and said “I don’t know.”
“I used to think I had it all figured out, Pink. I wanted to be the best at everything. I was going to be the best athlete. I was going to be Student Body President. I was going to marry Elvis. I was going to be a singer-songwriter and become famous and leave everyone and everything behind. Now I don’t know. Have you figured out what you want to do with your life, Pink?” Pippa turned and stared into my eyes. The thought of fleeing was ever-present in my mind.
“I thought I’d like to write or maybe teach or do both,” I answered.
“Write?” she asked. “If you ever become I writer I want you to write my story. Write our story. Write about everything. Write about how I am now and how you and I got here. It’s important Pink. Promise me you’ll write my story.”
I wasn’t sure what kind of story she was asking me to write. I didn’t know her history. I could piece some things together from what she told me about being one of the Brides of Elvis or about her athletics or The Carlottas. It would have to be a short story because I didn’t know much and our future was yet to be written.
“I’ve got the perfect title,” I finally said after finding my tongue. “It has to be ‘Pippa’s Passing’. It calls attention to you. Remember? ‘Pippa’s Passing. Take note. Don’t let your chance go by. Give her your vote’. It’s also how you and I began.”
Pippa didn’t laugh. She hung her head and her long hair obscured her face. “I’m not sure I want that now, Pink. Everything’s different now. You know, I looked up that story ‘Pippa Passes’ after you told me about it. Didn’t you notice the collected works of Robert Browning on my desk?”
I glanced past Pippa to her desk and saw a leather-bound volume with a library sticker on it. I had told her about ‘Pippa Passes’ the previous fall. How long or how often had she checked out that book, I wondered.
“Pippa in that story makes everyone she passes happier,” she continued. “How do I do that Pink if I’m not always happy? It means putting myself out there again and trying to be the best so everyone will notice me. I’m not sure I can do that Pink. Sometimes Carlotta pulls me back and I’m so alone.”
I reached out and linked my arm in hers. It was the safest gesture I knew. It was one she had initiated so many times before.
“Pippa,” I started softly. “I can’t write a story I don’t know. I could write what has happened with you and I up to now but I don’t know the rest.”
Pippa looked up at me again. “You’re right Pink, you don’t know the rest. I asked you here today to tell you. I know it’s probably been confusing for you. First I slap you and then I make you run. I had to be sure you could handle my story. To tell you the truth, I was stalling for time. I wanted to tell you. I want to tell you. But I needed to figure out how to tell you.”
“I’m a pretty good listener, Pippa. Start where you want to start and tell me what you want to tell me.” I was trying to make out that what she had to tell me was only important if she wanted to tell it to me. The truth was that I needed to know everything. I had been reeling from what Rod had told me about Pippa and Roger. It couldn’t be true. That was the one part of the story that I needed her to tell me.
“You know, Pink, I sometimes try to find the words in an Elvis song to help describe things I’m feeling. It doesn’t always work but there are a couple of songs that have been running through my mind. In his song ‘Suspicious Minds’ part of the lyrics says ‘We’re Caught In A Trap, I Can’t Walk Out’.” She was silent for a moment and then she started to sing softly. “We can't go on together with suspicious minds. And we can't build our dreams on suspicious minds.” She stopped and was silent again.
I knew the song and her brief version was tender and sad. My arm was still linked in hers and I could feel her shudder a little. I had heard many Elvis songs and the one that I was feeling right then was ‘All Shook Up.’
Pippa started to sing again. Her voice was low and almost faint and I had to really listen to make out the lyrics.
“Maybe I didn't treat you
Quite as good as I should have
Little things I should have said and done
I just never took the time
You were always on my mind
You were always on my mind
If I made you feel second best
Pink, I'm so sorry I was blind
You were always on my mind
You were always on my mind”
I knew that song, too. She was abbreviating it for her own purpose. Gone were any lyrics related to love but here was a girl singing to me about how she’d mistreated me. In that moment I couldn’t have loved her more. I struggled not to tear up or show any emotion. I pulled on her arm, linked in mine as if to say “I hear you.” She pulled back on my arm in the same acknowledgement.
“There are no words or lyrics for what comes next, Pink.” She had been quiet for a moment after singing those last lyrics but she lifted her head and spoke clearly. She looked off into the room, not looking directly at me. “I asked you once to be patient and give me time. I guess I’ve had enough time now to figure out how to tell you my story.”
“You don’t have to…” I replied but she quickly cut me off.
“Let me speak, Pink, or I’ll lose my nerve.”
I stared away from her so as not to pressure her but my arm still held hers so that she knew I was listening.
“You see the medals and the trophies. That was me. It wasn’t that I was competitive but I was someone who craved the spotlight. Running, dance, guitar, and everything was my way to get that attention. I don’t know why I needed it. It wasn’t like it is now. My parents gave me all the love and attention I needed. Roger and I were like best friends. Now you see how it is.”
I didn’t see how it is or was or whatever. I sensed something coming and I may have tensed up but Pippa didn’t react. She just kept on.
“My parents indulged me with music lessons and dance and my Elvis obsession. That was until May of last year. That’s when it all fell apart.”
I could hear the words start to catch in her throat and that little shudder I had felt earlier came again. Pippa was struggling and I couldn’t do anything to help her. She had signalled that I shouldn’t say anything and to let her get on with it.
“I knew my parents were having some problems,” she continued. “There were loud whispers at night and sometimes it seemed like they weren’t talking at all to each other. I tried to ask Roger about it but he said he didn’t know and that we should probably leave it alone. Still, I was worried.”
Pippa started to sob gently and I hooked my arm tighter to try and bolster her courage.
Through her sobs, she told me the rest.
“My father started drinking more. He wasn’t an alcoholic or anything like that, Pink. He’d go out and he’d come back and he’d be drunk. It wasn’t often but I’d hear him come in late at night or he’d be sleeping on the couch in the morning. Like I said, it wasn’t often but I didn’t know what to do. My mother never talked about it to us and Roger was keeping mum. I felt so helpless.”
“One night my mother was working an evening shift and my father was out. Roger and I were both asleep when she came home and later when my father got back.” She stopped for a moment and the sobs became heavier but she struggled to continue.
“I didn’t hear him come in. I didn’t hear him open my door. The next thing I knew, he was getting into my bed.” The sobbing became almost uncontrollable and she began to rock back and forth. I threw away all caution and unhooked my arm and put it around her. She leaned into my chest and continued to cry for what seemed like an eternity.
“Oh my god, Pippa,” was all I could think to say. “Oh my god,” I repeated again.
Eventually, the crying returned to a gentle sob and then she was able to find her voice again. She detached herself from me and stared off into the room again.
“I want you to know,” she said through the last of her sobs, “nothing happened. I screamed and he jumped out of the bed looking confused. My mother and Roger were there at my door after I screamed. My father kept saying he had the wrong room. He reeked of alcohol but he kept saying he had the wrong room.”
So this was the true story. Whatever Rod had heard was wrong and bad enough but this was so much worse.
“My mother ran to me and screamed at my father to get out. Roger just stood there as if his world had fallen apart. He ran to his room and I think I could hear him crying. My father left. I don’t know where he went that night. He didn’t drive. He just walked away. The next morning my mother bundled us off to my grandparents.”
The emotional toil that telling her story had taken on Pippa had to have been unbearable but she had gotten through it. I was still reeling myself. I hadn’t imagined anything like that. I wanted to grab her and hold her and tell her everything was going to be alright but I didn’t know if it would. Things were going to change between us. I knew that for sure. There was no way I could pursue her romantically. The fact that she had bared herself to me brought us closer together but I had to stay her friend. I felt it was what she needed from me.
“I haven’t seen my father since. My mother won’t let me see him. That was almost a year ago but everything is still like it was. I had to attend Collegiate while living at my grandparents. Mom drove me every day and wouldn’t let me out of her sight when we were together. Roger and I had to see a counsellor at Collegiate. I think I cried every time I had to see her. Roger just got moodier and I think he blamed me for the way things were.”
“What about your parents? Do they speak?” I wanted to know all the details. There were parts that were still missing for me.
“Not at first,” she replied. “My father called all the time in the beginning but after a while, he stopped calling. I think it was more than a month before she started taking his calls again. Eventually, she agreed to see him. He had quit drinking altogether by then but my mom still didn’t trust him. She certainly wouldn’t let him see me. She agreed to let Roger visit him but no overnights. Eventually, Roger told my mom he wanted to live with my father. Roger was eighteen so she couldn’t really stop him.”
Pippa stopped for a moment and drained the rest of her drink before continuing.
“I had been seeing the counsellor but I hated every minute of it. I hated going to Collegiate. I thought everyone was staring at me and whispering ‘there goes the girl who’...” She trailed off but then continued after a few seconds.
“The counsellor tried to convince me it wasn’t my fault. She was telling me that maybe my father had his own struggles but confusing my room with his own was an honest mistake. I didn’t know what to think. My mother wasn’t saying anything about it but she was keeping him away from me. Even Roger wouldn’t talk about it. I think he had forgiven my father and probably agreed with the counsellor that there was nothing to it. He was seeing the same counsellor as I was after all.”
“When did you move here?” I asked. I wanted her to know I was still listening by at least engaging in the story with questions every so often.
“Last summer,” she responded. “Mom knew how unhappy I was at Collegiate so she found this house for rent. She thought a new part of town and a new school would do me good. I didn’t care by then. I was just glad to be somewhere else. Mom negotiated with my father to get our stuff. I wasn’t even allowed to go back to my old home and help pack. Frankly, I was too scared. That house was the scene of my worst nightmare. I haven’t been back since we left the day after it all happened. As much as I hated the relocation and the colour of my new room, I feel safe here.” She went quiet again for a few seconds then added “I feel safe with you.”
Safety and friendship were beginning to be my stock in trade. At that point, I knew I should take it over being pushed away or slapped around.
“I was glad not to go back to Collegiate after the summer,” she went on. “I think I had cut all the ties in the last two months of the school year. I gave up track. The Coach didn’t even ask why. I think she must have known or heard something. Rumours were flying around that school; vicious and stupid rumours about Roger and I. I guess some people had heard Roger and I were seeing a counsellor and then came up with the nasty story that Roger and I had been found in bed together. Most of my friends drifted away. Screw them. Who needs that type of friend? Now I’m with you and Sandra at a new school. I’m trying to build on that.”
I had forgotten about her cousin.
“Does Sandra know everything?” I asked.
“Most of it. She was the only one I knew when I came to this school. She also had heard rumours through the family grapevine. Of course, she didn’t believe any of it. She knows what happened but she doesn’t know fully how it’s affected me. You’re the first person I’ve told outside of the counsellor since last year.”
I was sure that Pippa wasn’t giving her cousin due credit. Her cousin had been the one who warned me that Pippa’s history had pitfalls. She had also cautioned me to be careful I didn’t fall in. Now, here were all the pitfalls laid bare to me. It was clear that the friendship zone was the only safe passage around those pitfalls.
“Do you want to know why I was so angry about that motorcycle? I’ve had no contact with my father and not a single gift for my birthday or Christmas. I don’t know, maybe he tried to reach out to me or maybe he tried to send gifts. My mother filters everything. No contact. No communication. I don’t even know if she and my father are still talking. I’ve tried to ask Roger but he says I need to go through my mother. My father buys Roger a god-damn motorcycle but I’m the one who had to change my entire life, change my school, and have to live in the avocado house with my mother.”
There was a lot of bitterness now in Pippa’s tone. I understood why I had been slapped. I hadn’t made it a big deal and had been honest enough or stupid enough to tell her that. She had been looking for an ally and without the family history that I now knew, I had made myself an easy target when I questioned her at school about it.
“Pippa, I’m sorry that I didn’t understand about the motorcycle. I just didn’t know.” I felt I owed her that at least.
“No, Pink, don’t be sorry,” she replied. “You couldn’t have known. I guess when I was slapping you, I was really slapping my father and Roger to some extent. I’m the one who’s sorry. You’ve been nothing but kind and understanding since we met. I guess that’s what I like about you, Pink. You don’t ask anything from me. You don’t ask anything for yourself.”
That was no revelation. I had been scared to ask anything from her. I was in love with her and could go no further with my affection. I had been her friend because I wanted that love returned in some way. Sitting there beside her on the bed was the closest we were ever going to be, I thought.
“I’m not going anywhere Pippa,” I said. “Remember me telling you I was in for the long haul?”
“I know that Pink, but it might be a bumpy road ahead. I don’t think there’s an Elvis lyric that could describe what comes next. I remember you telling me you were in for the long haul but remember I asked you to give me time. Sometimes I dream of a brighter future. I just don’t know how to get there.”
“You gotta follow that dream wherever that dream may lead,” I said.
“Pink, that’s from Elvis!” she exclaimed and then began to laugh.
“I told you I had seen that movie. I remember the song as well.” The joke between us lessened any tension that was left in the room.
Pippa began to sing again:
“When your heart gets restless, time to move along
When your heart gets weary, time to sing a song
But when a dream is calling you,
There's just one thing that you can do
I've got to follow that dream wherever that dream may lead
I gotta follow that dream to find the love I need”
I didn’t read anything into the song. It had been prompted by me quoting the lyrics. I hoped she would realize I wanted to give the love she’d need.
“Thanks for that, Pink. I guess there is an Elvis song for every purpose. You know I was so caught up in what happened to me last year that when Elvis died I shifted all of my sorrow and anger into grieving for him. I guess that’s what a Widow of Elvis is supposed to do. I think I’ll hang on to my Elvis fixation a little longer.”
I was glad she wasn’t giving up on Elvis. I wasn’t a big fan like her but if she could find something in one of his songs to help her forget everything else then I was glad to share Pippa with Elvis.
We didn’t hang out for much longer at the avocado house. It seemed like I had been there for hours and I was worried about her mother coming home. She didn’t say anything more about her family. I think she’d told me all there was to tell or all that she cared to tell.
I decided to tell her about joining the track team and about running the track before coming that afternoon.
“I’m glad you’ve discovered running. I’ll cheer for you,” she told me.
I told her about changing in the bushes earlier and that made her laugh. I made my excuse that I had to get home but I really wanted to run some more laps at the track and process everything she had told me. I could have asked to use her bathroom to change back into my shorts but I was already feeling awkward enough.
Pippa walked me out and hugged me at the end of her driveway and told me she’d see me on Monday. I walked back to the school and changed again in the bushes. No one was there. My mind was racing with the revelations at the avocado house so I put that energy into my legs and started running.
