Elvis

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In my writers' group on Tuesday we read a poem by Annette C Boehm, called Acts of Volition. It had a line that made me smile. I took that line, bastardised it a little and then used it as a prompt for the story that I wrote there. I'll reveal the line at the end. I still feel I need to tinker a little with this, so look out for a revised version soon. 

Something had been nagging away at me since I'd woken up. My head felt like it had been crammed with a thousand hangovers that were suppressing a secret never to be told. I'd managed to piece together most of last night from fragments of beer soaked memories that bought more shame and pity than pleasure. But no matter how hard I looked, I could only see a black hole at the point where I had I reached my nadir. 

I’d been drinking since four, out with the guys from work until, one by one they’d drifted home leaving me alone with my own worst enemy, myself. 

Gate crashing the fancy dress party had not been my finest hour, but I'd got talking to Priscilla Queen of the Desert in the pub and had thought I stood a chance, so I’d followed her to the party in the posh end of town. She'd been quite keen at first, but she soon got cold feet when she realised just how pissed I was. 

But that wasn't the worst of it, no, nor was my Karaoke version of Summer Loving that had me doing both the John Travolta and Olivia Newton John parts on my own in front of a bemused audience of Batmen, Marilyn Monroes and Scooby Doos. That had been the final straw with the desert queen but wasn't as low as I could go. 

You'd think being asked to leave after being caught peeing in the Yucca plant might have been my lowest point, but it hadn’t stopped me. I’d simply nipped round the back jumped over the hedge, liberated another can of lager from the outside cool box and sauntered back in, greeting people like I'd just arrived.
By this time Priscilla wanted nothing to do with me. In fact, the next time I saw her, she was asking someone else to walk her home. To say I was upset was an understatement But what had I done? The abyss had swallowed that memory, purged it from my mind; try as I might, I couldn’t access it. 

As the day wore on and my headache was easing, I could feel the memory rising; but I realised I didn't want to know. I tried to keep it suppressed but I couldn't keep it down. Now the little scene played out in my mind. 

Angry that Priscilla had chosen another, I'd lunged at her new fella, pushing him in the chest and then, Elvis took a swing at me. 

The Line from Annette. Elvis Swears at you, Elvis takes a swing at you.