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next to the window. Before I can say anything else, however, Danielle elbows me in the side and gestures to the register where a woman with dreadlocks and a thrift store skirt is ordering. Danielle predicts that she will order a Zen Tea because she is a hippie. Danielle is right of course. Eventually an anorexic walks in and Danielle gets so excited that she kicks me under the table and I almost spill my water. “Anorexic alert,” Danielle whispers and points to an emaciated woman dressed in workout clothes walking through the door. I glance up and see the woman approaching the counter. “Pish, she’s going to order an Americano because she’s got people to impress. As if people are actually watching her or care what she orders,” Danielle rolls her eyes. I want to point out that we are watching and we kind of care what she orders, or at least I care. I mean, I would be willing to die to be the woman, but Danielle would die just to keep being herself. I suppose that’s the difference between me and Danielle, but it’s also what I love about her; in a torn t-shirt and greasy cutoff jeans, Danielle has no one to impress. I smile and pretend I don’t care, “Yeah, look at the sweaty Lycra hanging off her ass.” When orders are slow and there isn’t anyone to watch, Danielle talks about Elvis. “Did you know he had a twin who died at birth?” She asks taking the last long slurp of her Frappuccino. “No, I don’t know much about Elvis. He actually kind of scared me as a kid.” “What?” She laughs.
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“I saw this documentary when I was 6 about how Elvis is still alive and in hiding and I was convinced he was coming to get me.” “Wow. You’re totally crazy,” Danielle grabs her side trying to control her laughter. “Tell me more.” “No. Not totally crazy. I mean people write books about it. There’s even a website that talks about how he is in witness protection because he was an FBI informant and the people he double-crossed want him dead. Some guy even posted a video on YouTube that shows Elvis at the last presidential inauguration.” Once she is finally able to calm herself down, Danielle puts her hand on my shoulder. “Trust me. Elvis is very much dead,” she says and I finally understand that Elvis’ death is the romance of it for her. Danielle doesn’t believe that Elvis could possibly be alive and I don’t know what I believe anymore. I’m not sure when it happened, but I stopped being afraid of Elvis coming to get me at some point. I suppose, I eventually realized that I was insignificant and if Elvis were alive, he would have no desire for me. I’m aware that believing myself insignificant is probably my problem, but awareness hasn’t fixed much of anything for me thus far and it will take a lot more than awareness to begin to touch Danielle’s troubles. Danielle needs an entire rewrite. Like so many other people, I want to rewrite Elvis’ death. I don’t want to do it for a good story or because I care whether Elvis is alive or; I want to do it for Danielle because maybe if she didn’t have the romance of it all, she would be a little less self-destructive.