I had written this with the intent to post it on Facebook or Instagram, for friends to read. I wanted my mom to read it first, but I never got around to showing her before she died. I wanted it to be perfect. Years passed since I had started writing it, and I continued to tweak it every few months or so, but it was never seen by her eyes. It's too big for Instagram, so I'll post it out here in the void, where no one is likely to come across it. I was still not completely finished, but nothing will ever be 100% perfect in my eyes.
When I was younger...(2020/2021?)
I was driving along a year or two ago, listening to a semi-favorite jam of mine, Blue Suede Shoes, by—yeah, you know—Elvis Presley. As I drove into the afternoon Wendover traffic, listening to said tune, I recalled one of my elementary school flings, Joseph Manning III, or as he was colloquially known as, Elvis.
It was on our bus—909—where I first met the young man. He was a grade or two above me, so I had never known this young man even existed before the afternoon bus experience. I can still see him now, pulling himself up, into the bus, and quickly bouncing down the aisle, with his messy, dirty blonde hair sagging in his face, bouncing along with him, amid every eager stride. He was a kid that exuded great confidence in himself, and had not a care in the world of what others thought of him.
I don’t remember exactly why we sat next to each other. Perhaps it was assigned seating, or perhaps it was because the seats were filling quickly, and the young man had little say as to where he could sit. Either way, this day in particular, he had sat himself next to me, and I was delighted to be in his presence. After seating himself, he faced me, and was quick to initiate introductions: “My name’s Elvis. Thank you. Thank you very much!” I was intrigued, to say the very least.
If my memory serves correctly, it only took two or three bus rides home, filled with small talk and banter (initiated and maintained by him of course) for Elvis to finally pop the question: would I, Emily, take his hand, and be his girlfriend? I was shocked; stunned; frozen! An older boy wanted to date me, a mere second grader!?! What to say!? With no real justification or feeling behind my decision, I said, “Okay,” and he held out his hand for me to hold—the official symbol to others that he was mine, and I was his; our hands were locked together for the 13-minute ride to my bus stop, every time, no matter how sweaty our palms became.
The relationship continued with the steady, fast-paced nature with which it began. He was quick to give me his home phone number (Which, by the way, was written semi-illegibly on a torn piece of wide-ruled paper. Back at home, after quietly dialing the number, I recorded a lengthy, lovey-dovey message to Elvis, also inclusive of an equally lengthy disquisition which pertained to our favorite candies, into the voicemail-box. My household later received a call back from the number I had dialed from a very confused woman: “Yes, somebody called here and was speaking to an Elvis??? I think you may have dialed the wrong number!!!!”...) and was equally as hasty to introduce me to his family, via a birthday party invite.
I recall one time, the young man arrived at school in his Elvis Presley costume. I can see him now, as he strode through the halls of the elementary school, chin up and chest out, with his bright-white bedazzled, flowy cape, which sparkled with hints of green, red, gold, and blue. Of course, many of our peers were slightly confused, but all of our confusion was alleviated that day when some of our classes were taken to a small talent show in the school gym.
After having been seated on the gym floor, I remember watching Elvis make his way to the performance area, right under the basketball goal. Music started blaring, and it was here when my boyfriend started performing a dance-and sing-along of Blue Suede Shoes, in front of us all! I watched, pridefully of course, because that was MY boyfriend up there, dressed as The King himself, proudly dancing in front of my entire class! He danced and sang his little heart out during this small talent show, to the very same song I would be reminiscing to years later, in rush-hour traffic.
As I reminisced, of course the reality of him dying in 2011 made itself unforgivably present in my current adult-brain. The young boy had died accidentally at the hand of a trusted caretaker; an accident that could have been fully preventable. I remember being told by my mother that Elvis had passed (at this point, the young man was in middle school, so he was no longer a significant part of my life any longer), but not really reacting to it; perhaps my kid-brain didn’t really know how to process information such as this, and I never really grieved his passing. I simply moseyed on with life, occasionally being reminded that Joseph Manning III danced to Blue Suede Shoes in the gym at school, every time I heard the song.
The reminiscence of Elvis this time, though, felt slightly different. I felt…sad. Disappointed. In that moment, I wondered what life would’ve been like with him still here. Would we have reconnected, and been “besties”? Would we have grown together? Or would we have just drifted apart, like most other elementary- and middle-school aged classmates of mine? I think we would most definitely have had a similar taste in music. But, would he have been an engineer? Would he have majored in the arts? Would he have gone to college? He seemed more the type that would’ve tried to start a band...but what would he have named his band? There’s so much that could have stemmed from this young man’s life; so much impact and so much positivity that he could have bestowed upon his peers, and I am sure everyone he met would have been better off having interacted with Elvis.
Truth is, I’ll never know. But, aside from the what-if’s, what also drove me to write this text, was something super coincidental. After having this moment of thought on the road in Wendover rush-hour traffic, and after briefly mentioning his existence to a previous significant other (who, funnily enough, was also older than me!), the damnedest thing happened. Not three days after this ponderance and mentioning of Joseph, I went over to my grandmother’s home. She had asked me to go into the other room to grab something out of a drawer. The drawer I initially opened was the wrong drawer, but there inside it was a stack of photos. And the very top photo in the stack was me and Elvis at his aforementioned birthday party. This absolutely blew my mind, and I rationalized it into it having to mean something. Perhaps this was a sign to, maybe, share Elvis’s story to others. Or, if not that, at least sharing this photo with his mom, to let her have another snapshot of her boy. (I had tried to track down his mother and ended up searching her name on Facebook one evening. Though successful in finding her Facebook page, I was a bit too late—it had been converted into a remembrance Facebook page. She, too, had passed at some point, but from cancer in February 2014, according to her obituary. His father, too, was also gone. Dead ends. Literally.)
Was there anyone left that could appreciate this snapshot of his life? If I couldn’t share this snapshot of Elvis with his parents, what now? What was the point of my substantial recollection of the young man, then, and what was the point of seeing that photo of him and I, days later? Maybe there was no universal meaning behind it all; just mere coincidence. Perhaps it was simply an enhanced sense of sorrow, and desire to uncover meaning behind another life’s tragic end, after having just suffered a great loss of my own in 2019.
Even though there may have been no obvious reason, meaning, or purpose behind it all (or anything for that matter), I am human, after all, so I assembled/fabricated meaning given my own experiences with the young man to bring a sense of peace to my troubled mind. What this whole experience led me to discover and appreciate was the impact others have on our own lives. Though sometimes, our time together is brief, everyone is impressionable. Joseph Manning III, despite having left this world nearly 12 long years ago, has continuously influenced my life since knowing him for that brief moment in time during my early childhood. And though young Elvis was only here for 14 years, he did spread joy and appreciation for the arts. He did make an impact on those around him. And, the people he met, were in fact better off knowing him, even if it was a brief encounter. And this holds true for almost anyone, alive or dead, I’d say.
I hadn’t fully connected those dots yet until I was stuck in traffic that day, listening to Blue Suede Shoes. I recognized I am only fond of Mr. Presley’s music because of that early-life influence I had from Joseph. Upon my initial acquisition of the Spotify app, I sought out Elvis Presley’s music with the young Joseph in mind. Consequently, anytime Elvis’s songs appear in my playlists, I briefly reflect on this young man and the time we had together. Because he reached out to me and had the self-assuredness, courage, and confidence to share his passions with me and everyone around him at our young age, my life was permanently altered for the better.
Like his idol, Joseph Manning III’s life was cut far too short. But, also like his idol, he didn’t die for nothing; he lived his life with such a wholesome charisma for the sheer sake of bringing joy to those around him, which deeply touched those who knew him. Not many can attest to successfully living up to their idol, but Joseph was one of the few who succeeded at this, whether he knew it or not. Because of this, Joseph lives on forever in my memory, and hopefully yours, too.
