dispatch #1 - nashville to memphis
we got there late. nashville. the lights. the noise. i won’t say much about my wife but the trip was a shot in the dark to save something. today i’m not sure what. we had our kids with us so walking those streets wasn’t the same. the music poured out of every bar. people having a time. folks in cowboy boots that looked like they’d never worn them before.
we took them to the johnny cash museum. in my house cash is king. always has been. stood there in front of him. black clothes. black guitar. the house of cash sign lit like a headstone. that was all we saw of nashville before we moved on.
memphis came after midnight. we checked into the pyramid and slept like we were passing through someone else’s dream. the next morning we went to graceland. saw the pistol with the turquoise grip. stood over elvis’s grave while the fountains ran behind us. i was struck by what he built. the size of it. the weight. but more than that, the stillness. the way the gold didn’t shine the same anymore.
he was a king in his kingdom. but the kingdom had a price.
then beale street. listened to a few men speak a language only guitars speak. it was all tourists and selfies now. but what it must have been in 1955.
we left memphis like we found it. road humming under us. river behind. headed south down highway 61. chasing the ghosts that built the sound. the blues. the bones of rock n roll. the country’s shadow.
