"So what are you going to do now?"
He didn't answer right away, instead taking out a cigarette from the gunmetal case, well-polished and its minute scratches well-hidden. He seemed oddly pensive as he eyed the article—cradling it, contemplating it.
Memphis decided that answers could wait, mildly interested in what he was planning to do with it. The case and the remaining hand-rolled Kentucky burleys inside belonged to her late commanding officer—his grandfather. She guessed, feeling bittersweet, that the old man would feel pretty vindicated that it wasn't a lifetime of unapologetic chain smoking that claimed him but rather an unfortunate trip and fall. He didn't suffer long either, having died on the trip to the hospital.
That also meant he did not have to hear that his grandson had been passed over for promotion again and would remain a lieutenant for a while and that he felt his career was in jeopardy as a result. That didn't stop him from coming to the funeral in full uniform. Her Commander would appreciate it, she figured.
In any case, he had been right to be worried. She doubted the smoke would do him any good, though.
As she mused this, there was a sudden flare of orange light from the old man's prized Ronson, and a plume of smoke wafted upwards.
He coughed intensely after only one puff, like most first-time smokers.
Memphis looked on, mildly amused, as he continued to hack and wheeze, his eyes watering, and his face became so red from the exertion and, probably, shame.
"...You alright, kid?"
"...No, I'm not," he rasped, seemingly irritated that he had to state the obvious. "But I'll live. Somehow."
He crushed the still-lit cigarette against the bottom of his boot and slipped the case into his breast pocket.
"Well then, if you're, it's about time you answer what I asked, then."
That remark earned her his almost sardonic smile.
"Now that Gramps has been buried, I'm probably heading back. Or maybe I could stay longer. I need...uh, distraction."
"...Why not go around this city like we did before? Maybe I could use some, too," Memphis allowed herself a dry chuckle. "Beale, Graceland..."
"...The Elvis Museum," he added, snorting.
"The Elvis Museum."
"Alright, maybe that doesn't sound so bad," he said, looking away. "But...I'd need company."
"Why do you think I asked?"
He looked back at her and stared.
"You aren't busy. Is that what you want to say?"
"Hardly these days. Not with the port getting more people."
"Oh," he muttered, sounding strangely disappointed. "Okay."
"So, that settles it. It's a date."
"...It's not," he muttered under his breath.
"Spoilsport. Buzzkill. Party pooper."
He huffed and shook his head, and he had a wry grin on his lips.
That got her to smile, too.
"Oh well, gotta go. Need to take care of some things," she said, glancing at her wristwatch. "See you tonight, kid."
"Ah, wait, here."
Memphis was just stopping when he shoved the case toward her.
"I think you should keep it. I mean..." he insisted, face set and expression grim, though his ears were turning slightly red. "Gramps would have wanted you to have it, I think."
"Nah, I don't think he did," Memphis pushed the case back. "He left that to you. He knew you would be the one to inherit his legacy—and trust me, he said that a lot. Hopefully, it's not the chain smoking part, though."
He made a face but accepted her words and the case back, all without comment. Satisfied, Memphis was about to resume walking away, but then he called her again, and she had just to pause. Not that she minded.
"...Hey, are you serious about this being a date?"
"Well, I might be only suggesting. You never had one, I can tell."
"You don't know."
"And neither do you," Memphis stuck her tongue out.
"...Well, I'll make it a point to have one tonight," he said, suddenly serious.
"Hm? Has something gotten to you? Just now, you said something that's so not you. It was kind of weird, kid."
He smirked at her.
"Nothing. It's just a little thing I need to do. For closure. And besides, like I said...there's always a first time for everything."
Memphis stared at him, but he refused to say anything else.
"You're funny. Well, suit yourself. I gotta go now, kid."
"I'm not a kid."
"Right, right. You're a man. I forget that sometimes."
"Huh?"
"Catch ya later, gator," Memphis waved him goodbye; she idly noted how he gawked at her back as she left the Forest Hill Cemetery.
He was probably just surprised she left without a parting quip.
Or perhaps it was something else.
Whatever it was, she didn't bother with it, as there was much more to do today.
She had to look her best.
After all, the evening would be their first date, and she would hate to come across as sloppy and unprepared, especially if she found out that he was more smartly dressed. It wouldn't be so surprising.
Being a KANSEN always complicates things.
He had been a kid brother, a ward, a friend, and a partner in crime. And so many other things. That was unsurprising, given she watched him grow up and how he treated her and saw her shift over the years while she remained more or less the same.
But, at the end of the day, he was now also a man.
And she was still a woman.
And that they had known each other for a long time. One may say they're thick as thieves. And now, though there was some distance, he didn't drive her away.
There was no denying the inevitable.
Maybe it wouldn't lead somewhere or to something new, and perhaps that would be for the best.
But hey, a date's still a date.
She didn't mind having an extra reason to wear something pretty and doll herself up, being a KANSEN be damned.
Maybe she'd wear a nice dress tonight, her best—and by that, she meant her only one—and he would compliment her.
That'd be nice.
She'd like that. To reconnect. To make him remember. Make him forget.
For a little while or a long while.
Whatever.
They had a date tonight.
And the night would be theirs.
"Well, hello again, Beale, my old friend," Memphis quipped as she stepped out of the chrome-trimmed Thunderbird into the ever-urbane, ever-assured, ever-sensual stretch. Beale, the quintessential part of her namesake—and to so many, its heart of hearts. A tapestry of Softails and other tricked-out hogs rumbling past, time-worn brick walls sporting graffiti and murals of many stories little told, the weathered cobblestone, neon signs flickering to life, and the serenade of blues and jazz spilling from just about any corner and the bars and pubs bearing the name of legends.
There's no way she could ever mistake this place for anything else. Nobody ever does.
And nobody will ever will.
She was glad, and a little tickled, that he had rummaged through his grandfather's wardrobe just to get a nice suit. Understandable, given that he most likely would not have it in mind to bring his own when he returned home. If he had any in the first place, that is.
Not a tie in sight, though, and it's just as well.
Neither of them was under nor overdressed.
Everything was just right.
It was also a good thing the old man kept his things, including his classic ride, well-cared even in his advanced age, or else they'd have to take a cab because neither of them owned a car.
"Uh, I guess...let's walk around for now," he said, offering his hand, which she took without thinking, mostly because she didn't expect him to take the lead.
And she didn't expect that it felt warm, rough, and firm.
That was truly a man's hand. Call her old-fashioned, but that's how she would always envision them to be like. His grandfather definitely had it, and he was no different. His was no longer the little bundle of fingers, soft and innocent, that she used to know and hold and guide. No longer the little hands, so eager and clumsy that she had to clean and patch up from all the mischief that earned her scolding.
No, it was the hand of a grown man and a soldier, too. If only he realized that.
But those were thoughts for another time.
"Lead the way, kid."
"Don't call me kid."
"That so...? Then, lead the way, dear."
"Dear?"
The red on his face was worth it, especially under all the lights. It was nice to know something had never changed.
"Maybe you would prefer sweetheart instead?"
"...You know what, kid's fine. Kid's great. Yeah."
"Alright, kid. Now, are we going or what?"
"Yeah. We're going."
The way he walked, their pace, was slow, deliberate, and relaxed, and Memphis was glad that neither of them had any destination in mind.
She couldn't hear it but could imagine the sound of his leather loafers against the pavement, steady, consistent, comfortable. She thought that would match nicely with the rhythm of her own suede heels. Her heartbeat. The small but vibrant world around them.
She felt like a million bucks.
And everything was alright, even as he took her to one place after another, sometimes letting her be at her leisure but still watchful.
Memphis enjoyed every second of it.
She loved the feeling, the moment, of just walking the street and taking it easy, talking little, talking a lot.
And, if she was not mistaken, he was happy too.
He didn't have the frown that had almost become a permanent fixture, like a persistent stain.
It didn't suit him at all.
He might've grown up now, but he shouldn't be outgrowing the smile. It might not be the toothy one he often had in the past, but he should not completely lose it. Abandon it.
So she was alright with it being a small one now, shy and almost embarrassed and unsure, yet still happy. Happier than she ever remembered.
That was cute, and she didn't feel like teasing, lest she would not see it anymore.
And that would be like a world without the sun or the stars or Elvis. Who would want that?
Not her, that's for sure.
She would rather take a look around. He wouldn't mind. He was in wonder, just like the first time she took him there; young and curious and wouldn't stop chattering as she guided him by hand.
His lips were silent, but his eyes were not.
He had changed, but not entirely. Not his most important aspects, at least.
He was still that kid she knew, after all.
But at the same time, a man.
And that contradiction, so very human, was okay in her book.
Memphis could be reasonably patient when she felt like it.
This time, she would not rush, nor would she try and push him.
The pace was his to set, and she would follow. This was his turn.
And she'd listen. She'd laugh along. She'd care, just like she had always been.
This time—all that and more. She could be more hopeful. More curious. More excited about the possibilities. Maybe even more honest.
Maybe, and just maybe, something would happen, and perhaps she'd want it.
But then again, maybe nothing would happen, and perhaps she wouldn't mind.
Memphis was happy either way.
If nothing else, it would be a great memory. Something she, or maybe they, could look back to—hopefully with fondness. Then, they could go on to make a few more. Or not. Even then, it would be fine. That would mean this one would stay special.
To her, definitely.
To him, maybe.
Or maybe not. But that was fine. The outcome was not as important as the journey, they say.
"Memphis, you know...I..."
"Hm?"
"Uh...you look really great tonight ."
"Finally caught on, huh? But thanks, I'm happy to hear it."
And she meant it, too—even if her heart skipped a beat.
"Ah...good, then? I'm...glad."
"And you aren't looking so bad yourself."
And his face seemed to light up, almost like Beale itself.
"Well...uh...you want some drinks?"
"Do you...?"
Memphis would never refuse a drink offer. But she wanted to make sure he would enjoy it, too. She never recalled him being a drinker.
"...Maybe I could use some."
He had indeed grown up.
And it was nice to be reminded of that fact.
The feeling of his hand in hers after that was a reminder, too.
A very pleasant one.
"Let's go then. I know a place."
"Bet it's the old man's favorite."
"Well, yeah, it is. Well, it's the only one I know. Unless you had somewhere else in mind..."
"No, I don't. Lead the way, and don't think of paying."
"Okay. I won't."
He chuckled, and Memphis loved it.
The laid-back twang of a resonator guitar, the velvety, mellow crooning, and the slow-rolling beats of the bass drum and the cymbals welcomed them as they entered the pub, along with the scent of tobacco and fried catfish and other veritable Southern fare.
She had been here before and knew her old Commander would always pick the corner—naturally, that's where they sat.
He, to her surprise, ordered a Tennessee whiskey straight up. She had hers on the rocks.
"Never had the idea that you'd drink hard stuff," Memphis said, sipping her whiskey. It was not something the old man would order, either. Despite being a proud Tennessean, he very much preferred Kentucky bourbons or the occasional Scotch, the latter usually earning the scoff of his barkeep friend.
"Well, I guess I have one or two things even you don't know," he sipped the drink with ease. He certainly wasn't someone who was just trying to impress and look cool. He genuinely enjoyed it.
And she would be lying to say that didn't get her a little excited.
"Well, what else? Come on, you can't stop there. Spill the beans, kid."
He threw a glance her way, then put his glass down, then looked elsewhere, at nothing.
"I've always wondered if... Gramps was proud of me."
Memphis stared at him, but his face told her nothing.
"He was. He wouldn't stop bragging to anyone who would listen about you going to Annapolis and getting your Plebe Summer hair and how you played college football even though only for a while because you helped teach the Army Black Knights a lesson...and many other things."
He sighed.
"He did, huh."
"...But he...he was the proudest of you because you chose to serve on your own, kid. Not because he pressured you to. Maybe because he inspired you, and he's happy for that."
It took some time to discern the intermingling of emotions in his eyes.
Relief.
Joy.
A little melancholy.
And a bit of something else.
What was clear was that he seemed to be holding back.
"...That's...good."
He was a man, but not a perfect one. Nobody is.
"Is there something else?"
"What do you mean?"
"There's clearly something more, and I think you're not telling me."
His face was inscrutable, but he answered anyway. Took him some time, though.
"Are you...proud of me?"
The drink was only halfway to her lips. She was grateful for that because otherwise, she would have choked.
"What...?"
"Are you proud of me? Of my choice?" He repeated, a little more surer. A little more determined.
"You know I am, kid."
"Even though I failed a lot?"
Memphis set the glass aside and leaned closer.
"Maybe. But that only proved that you're strong and that you'd always refuse to give up. Otherwise, you wouldn't even last a year at Annapolis, kid. You were part of the few to make it."
"...but you and Gramps had done much. You did a lot, and I just can't seem to..."
"A lot or a little doesn't matter, kid. The heart's the most important. You have one, a big one. And you have the guts, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't even think of going there."
" And you're not just saying it to be nice? "
"I'm not the type to flatter with lies, kid."
"... Right. Thanks."
"Sure thing. But you're still not telling me everything."
"Well...I always wanted to thank you."
"Oh?"
"I've always thought of thanking you and Gramps. For taking care of me all these years. Since...mom and dad died. That was a long time ago."
Memphis stared at him for a moment, and then she grinned, shaking her head.
"Don't mention it, kid. I had a good time with you. "
"And to you, especially, for...uhh...well...being inspiring."
"Me? Inspiring? What, the old man didn't give you enough?"
"He was. But you were also. I've always thought so. I mean...you always took me to see the ships. You know their history, their struggles, and told me all about them. And that's not even everything, but yeah, that's the gist of it."
Memphis felt heat on her cheeks as she took in the words. They were as real and sincere as they came.
"And you're a better storyteller than Gramps. Sorry, Gramps."
"Well, he was, wasn't he?" Memphis couldn't hold a laugh. "I'd say you're better. Just a little, though."
"I'd take it."
"You should, kid."
"And well, I'll stay in the Navy. I've always wanted to. I'll stay until I retire."
"And you'll do well."
"You think so?"
"I know so, kid."
"...Thank you, Memphis."
"Don't mention it, dear."
"Dear...?"
"Too much? Too little? Or just right?"
"Just right."
"That's nice. Now, how about another round?"
"How about a dance instead?"
"That's an even better idea."
They were the only ones dancing to the bluesy melody, and Memphis wouldn't have it any other way.
It didn't bother her at all that his moves were stiff. He was trying.
He was, after all, not a born dancer.
Neither was she.
There was always the first time for everything.
And they were both alright with it. They were so close, the closest they had ever been. So close she could smell the faint, lingering trace of the aftershave, the Jack Daniel's he had, and his natural scent, with their bodies pressed against each other—and it felt so natural, so ordinary.
"...I remember that this is how Gramps met Nan. Here, just like this. He had to down two bourbons before he had the guts to ask her to dance. They hit it off quickly, and the rest is history."
"Oh, he liked that story."
"And he said that's also because you encouraged him to. Saw how he followed her with stars in his eyes. Then you put up a lame excuse and hurried outside because otherwise, he wouldn't make a move—because he's worried you'll rib him."
"Yeah, that's your grandfather, alright. Someone had to give him the push."
"And you did."
"And boy, I'm glad I did. He's a great man. Your grandmother was a great woman."
"...And you're a great woman."
She looked up at him, her hand still held by his, and found his face even closer to hers, drunk, not by the alcohol, but his emotions.
And, quite possibly, her own.
"What are you talking about, kid?"
"I'm a man, Memphis. And it's getting difficult for me to overlook this any longer."
"What are you...?"
"Memphis, you've always been a great person. You've always been great. And...you're a beautiful woman. You're smart. Strong. Caring. And you've always been there for me. You were always there."
Memphis didn't say anything. Her mouth didn't seem to be working.
"And...I'm a man now. A grown one. And I don't want to miss this chance anymore."
"Kid..."
"Memphis, I've always thought about what kind of woman would be right for me."
She couldn't breathe, but she listened.
"And...I know. It's been a long time since I knew."
"You..."
"It's you, Memphis. It's always been you."
Memphis closed her eyes and then opened them again, just to be sure she wasn't seeing or hearing things or dreaming.
She wasn't.
His eyes were serious. There was a shine, but not the fickle one young boys would have.
"Kid, I don't want to play with your feelings. And...I'm not the woman you think I am. I'm not perfect."
"After all you told me earlier, you're going to say this?"
"I'm not..."
"Memphis, it's not because you're perfect, far from it. But you're great. And I can't deny that I have feelings for you, and I know you won't break my heart. Even if you would, I'd forgive you."
"Kid..."
"Call me by name, Memphis."
"Johnny."
"Yeah. That's my name. I like it when you say it."
"You know what I want, Johnny."
"I do. And I'll do it. I'm a man now, and I can do things for myself."
"You sure you won't regret this?"
"I'll never, Memphis."
"...Good, because I won't."
She wasn't sure if it was her who pulled his face closer or if he was the one leaning closer. She didn't care.
His lips tasted just like Jack Daniel's
And Memphis found that she liked it.
So, so very much.
"Hey, Johnny."
"Yes, Memphis."
"Wanna have a walk by the river, or would you rather have another round or two first?"
"A walk would be nice. I don't want to drink too much, or I wouldn't be able to drive home, and we'd have to spend the night in the car."
"Not a bad idea, actually."
"Oh please, if we had to spend the night somewhere, it should be at least a decent hotel. Not the car."
"Well, a lady can dream, can't she?"
"Sure can, but you deserve better. Now, let's go."
The Mississippi River was vast and dark and quiet, but the Beale Street Landing was not.
They were among the last people there, enjoying their time together and the warm atmosphere.
"...You mentioned seeking closure at the funeral. So...have you got it?" Memphis leaned on his shoulder, eyes on the current. She had been meaning to ask the question for a while now.
"In a way. Thanks."
"In a way?"
"Sorry, can I borrow your shoulder? And please don't think less of me."
Memphis didn't need to ask. He was so stoic at the funeral.
She did not expect him to cry.
But she knew he needed to.
She did not hesitate.
She offered him her shoulder and her arms and her care.
Everything she could give.
And he accepted it.
Tears were spilled, and not just his.
It was a little sad, for it was a dear person they lost, but also a little happy—because they would always remember him fondly, and knowing he would be happy for them.
"We've been here for a while. Maybe we should go," he suggested, and Memphis couldn't find a reason to protest.
"Sure."
He offered her his hand.
Memphis took it, and she had never been quicker.
"Let's go."
"How long will you stay?"
"Another three days or so. You?"
"Same, more or less. My duty is done."
"Do you...want to go somewhere again?"
"Graceland's nice. The Sun Studio and the Rock 'n' Soul Museum aren't half bad either."
"Looking for the ghost of Elvis? Gramps used to say that was your go-to excuse for being late."
"To be fair, nobody would ever believe that. It was just a joke."
"It was lame. Gramps said so."
"He laughed anyway, and I got away scot-free."
"Because you're a great woman, Memphis."
"Not half-bad myself, eh?"
"Definitely not. You're awesome."
"Oh please, you're making me blush."
"Get used to it because you will blush a lot from now on."
"We'll see about that, honey."
He blushed, no doubt over how she called him.
Memphis adored it and made a note to do that more often.
"...And well, I know it's late...but do you want to come over? To Gramps' place? I'm staying there."
Memphis wasn't a fool. She knew coming over meant she would've to stay the night.
But then again, she was hoping she could.
"I'd love to, Johnny."
And the smile on his face was more than enough.
As was knowing the night was still theirs.
And, perhaps, the days to come.