Elvis and the World As It Stands

by Lisa Frenkel Riddiough

  I turn around mid-crossing and see Georgina charging through the front yard.

  A car honks. And skids. Something shiny blinds me.

  I trip. And stumble. And roll across the blacktop, head over tail. Blue sky and black pavement. Blue sky. Black pavement. Blue. Black. Blue.

  Then Georgina’s voice again, “Noooo!”

  I try to find my footing. When I look up, I am suddenly lifted and squeezed into human arms.

  Georgina tumbles with me, splashing into the gutter.

  Muddy water fills my mouth. My ears throb, and my foreleg aches. I spit out the nasty water and catch the scent of blood.

  I look at Georgina and mew. Short, quick sounds that I can’t control. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s all wrong. Again.

  “It’s okay, Elvis,” Georgina says. “I’ve got you.” She looks in my eyes and speaks. Her voice is smooth and silky. “Everything is going to be just fine,” she says. “I promise.” She cuddles me and holds me and snuggles me. She’s so soft. And warm.

  Mommy comes running across the street screaming. “Georgina! Oh my gosh! Are you alright? What happened?”

  “He didn’t get hit, Mommy,” Georgina says. “We tumbled out of the way.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  Georgina stands and keeps me close to her chest. A frantic human talks to Mommy. I hear things like “I’m sorry” and “didn’t see” and “what a relief.” For the first time since I arrived, I am happy to be held.

  Then we are back in the house, and Mommy is cleaning Georgina’s skinned knees and bloody elbows.

  I peer out from under Georgina’s arms.

  Clementine appears and stares up at me. “Congratulations,” she says.

  “What?” I say, blinking and confused.

  Clementine leans over and licks at the orange patch on her hip. “You’re a true escape artist. Minus the actual escape, of course.”

  Chapter 8

  Georgina sets me gently on the floor and I immediately get up to walk. A pain shoots through my paw, all the way up my leg, so I sit down swiftly and hold my foreleg off the ground. I’m afraid to step on my paw.

  “Ha! Maybe you belong in the Second Chance Club,” Clementine says.

  “It’s not so bad,” I say.

  “Mommy, Elvis is injured. Look!” Georgina says.

  “I see that,” Mommy replies. “Something is wrong with his foot.”

  “We need to take him to the vet,” Georgina says.

  “Yes. I suppose we do. This whole day is down the drain. I’d better cancel with Jasmine. And I shouldn’t have gotten another cat. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Mommy furrows her brow and pets her tail of hair. “Georgina, let’s get his carrier.”

  Georgina whispers to me as she puts me in that awful cardboard box. “The vet will get you all fixed up, Elvis. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Not the vet! Everyone grabbing at me. The prodding! The needles! That terrible thing they use to take your temperature. The fur on my back stands straight up. The vet at the shelter was so nosy. Hey! The vet at the shelter. We’re going back to the shelter!

  In the car, Georgina sticks her fingers through the peek holes of the carrier, and I lick and nip at them excitedly. Who ever thought I’d be excited to go to the vet? Everything suddenly feels better. They’re taking me back to Etta!

  On the way there, we bump and jolt like before. It might be called a car, but it’s still a rambling contraption that knocks me around my carrier. But when it stops and quiets down, I don’t see the red brick building. Or the huge glass windows. And there’s no Old Glory flying at the top. I’ve never seen this building before. Now my leg hurts even more.

  Inside, the vet hops around me, checking every single strand of fur. Georgina is there stroking my back. But then the vet takes me into another room by myself. I ready my claws, but the ones on my injured paw won’t activate, so I yowl and hiss.

  The vet places me on a table and fiddles with my paw, moving it in all directions. She attaches something cold to my leg and wraps it tight with pink sticky stuff. Then she gives me a shot. At this point, I’ve had enough. I don’t bother with any pleasantries, I just bite.

  “I know you’re scared, sweetie,” she says.

  “No, I’m not scared,” I say. Because I’m not. I’m just frustrated. And angry. And sad. And now I have this pink thing on my leg, and I can barely move it.

  After what seems like forever, she finally takes me back to Georgina and Mommy.

  “It’s fractured,” she says. “Elvis is wearing a splint. You’re going to need to keep it dry. But most importantly, you’ve got to restrict his activity for six weeks.”

  “Oh no,” Georgina says.

  “He’ll be okay, Georgina,” Mommy says. “Don’t worry.”

  The vet pats my head. “We’ve given him something for the pain, too. So he’ll probably take a nice long nap today.”

  Just as she says this, the room moves in circles around me. I close my eyes, but my head feels so heavy. How will I ever get back to the shelter now? “Etta,” I say. “I have to get to Etta.”

  “Oh, Elvis. You’re such a sweet thing,” the vet says. But she’s ruined everything. All I want to do is knock her upside the head. Too bad I can’t even lift my own head.

  Georgina pulls me into her arms and sets me in the carrier. I look at her through the peek holes. Her eyes sparkle. I can barely keep my own eyes open. But those eyes. Then a familiar noise surrounds me. A soft rumble. “Oh, Etta,” I say again. Am I hearing things? Etta, is that you?

  I suddenly realize in my fuzzy, dizzy state, that the soft, comforting rumble is coming from my own broken body.

  Chapter 9

  When I open my eyes, I am curled up in the pile of clothes underneath Georgina’s bed.

  Mo is standing right in front of me. “Holy habitat!” he says. “Can you see me?”

  “Yes, I can see you,” I say. Please.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I was just crossing the street.”

  “Streets are terrible, Elvis. Terrible!”

  “I know,” I say. “I think Georgina saved me.”

  “Georgina is a gem,” Mo says.

  “I broke my leg. I have a splint,” I say.

  “I see that.” Mo crawls up onto the pink thing and knocks on it. “It’s as hard as a rock,” he says. “Very interesting. What type of material is it?”

  I lift my head. The room turns in circles. “How would I know?” I say.

  “I’m sorry about your accident,” Mo says. “But the good news is that you’re safe. And you’re here. We’re getting ready to build the Transamerica Pyramid. If you think about it, Elvis. This is all perfect timing.”

  It doesn’t seem like perfect timing to me. It seems like terrible timing. What will Etta do without me? I’m letting her down. She is alone. Isn’t it my responsibility to get back to her? Isn’t that what a good brother would do?

  I try to stand. But it’s no use. My leg hurts and my head wobbles. Looking out from under the bed, I see Georgina sitting on the floor sorting bricks. The Sears Tower has been moved up high onto the shelf, where all of Georgina’s structures are. In front of it is a picture. It’s Georgina and Mommy and a human man. They look cold.

  The pink stuff on my leg feels tight. I bite at it and pull the sticky stuff, but I can’t get to my fur. And I’ve got an itch. There is no other way to say it: I am stuck.

  “I guess I’ll be here a while,” I say to Mo.

  “Good,” he replies. Then he scurries away and heads over to Georgina. He presents a single white brick to her like it is some sort of precious gift. Please.

  Chapter 10

  Over the next few days, I hardly do anything but stay under the bed and watch Georgina and Mo build the Transamerica Pyramid. I’m still not quite sure what the Transamerica Pyramid is, but I like watching how easily Georgina and Mo work together, like they know exactly what to do each step of the way.
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  Mo hands bricks to Georgina.

  Georgina snaps them into place.

  Every now and then, Mo skitters back and looks at their progress. Is he nodding to Georgina? Is she nodding back?

  The only sound the two make is the snap-snap-snap of the bricks. They don’t even talk to each other. But considering that humans don’t listen, what would be the point?

  The sound of the tiny white bricks connecting is pleasing. I enjoy watching how they fit together just right. After a while, the whole thing starts to look like something. It gets taller and taller, and after a couple of days, Mo crawls up to the very tip top and says, “Done!”

  Georgina looks over at me. Her eyes sparkle, and I can tell she is happy about the Transamerica Pyramid.

  She takes a deep breath and looks at their creation and then back at me. She reaches under the bed and strokes my back. “I’m going to San Francisco with Daddy this weekend,” she says. “We were supposed to go on a family vacation to New York City, but now I don’t think we’re going.”

  I press my head into the palm of her hand.

  “This is the schedule,” she says. “Mommy says it is our new normal and that we’ll all adjust to it soon.” She slumps her shoulders. “But Mommy is wrong.”

  I love Georgina’s voice, and I wish she would keep talking. It eases the pain in my leg. She picks me up and places me on a pillow next to the Transamerica Pyramid. It’s such a strange structure. All white and tall and pointy at the top. Then she scratches me under the chin and says says, “I’ll be back after the weekend, Elvis.”

  Georgina says goodbye to Mo and Laverne, too, and I slip off the pillow and crawl back under the bed.

  Mo follows me, chattering on about this skyscraper.

  “The base of the Transamerica Pyramid takes up an entire city block.” Blah blah blah. Mo twists his whisker. “And the foundation was made with 1,750 truckloads of concrete!” Blah blah blah. “Isn’t that marvelous?”

  “Marvelous,” I say. “Is everything marvelous, Mo?”

  “Yes, it is,” he says, not knowing I was just kidding. He can’t stop talking. At this point, I am forced to listen. “Did you know that the Transamerica Pyramid was designed to survive earthquakes? It survived the Loma Prieta earthquake of 1989. It never fell over, Elvis. Highways, houses, roads, even a bridge, fell down in that earthquake. But the Transamerica Pyramid just swayed from side to side, like it was meant to do. It was undamaged!” Mo is so excited talking about it that he races back and forth in front of me. He does a standing flip. “It’s a modern-day miracle!” he shouts.

  I think about getting up and finding a new spot to curl into—maybe downstairs. But the pink splint makes my foot so heavy. Even just picking it up and taking one step is a big effort. Clementine is right. I belong in the Second Chance Club. I decide my best bet is to stay put for now and just endure Mo’s architecture lecture. Architecture lecture. Ha!

  “How do you know all this?” I finally ask.

  Mo scampers over to the bookshelf and points to Georgina’s architecture book. “The Big Book of American Architecture,” he says.

  “Can you read or something?” I ask. “Because I know the alphabet.”

  “I recognize a few letters, sure,” he says. “But there’s something else I’m really good at.”

  “Twisting your whiskers?” I say.

  “Ha-ha. You’re funny.” He lets go of a whisker he’d just grabbed. “I listen. A fellow can learn an awful lot by listening. Georgina loves to read. She read half this book to me before you even got here.”

  “I know all about reading. Listening that is,” I say. “From Carly. She used to read to Etta and me. At the shelter. That’s how I know the alphabet.”

  “That’s excellent, Elvis,” Mo says.

  I don’t tell Mo that I wish I knew what all the letters stood for and how to arrange them in rows that make sense.

  “It’s a world of wonder, Elvis,” Mo says. “And we’re lucky enough to get to live in it.”

  I honestly don’t know how one small rodent can be so happy about every single thing on earth. “Don’t you know I might never see my sister again!” I say.

  My leg throbs, and my heart hurts, too.

  Mo skitters over to me. Right up to my face, like he does, and puts his hands on my cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak and—

  “INCOMING! DANGER!”

  We both snap our attention to Clementine, who sashays into the room.

  She circles the Transamerica Pyramid. “How’s the fractured feline today?” she hisses.

  “Feeling great,” I say—not completely true.

  “Good. Then you can hit the road for real,” she says. She reaches her forelegs up the side of the pyramid and stretches.

  “Hey, be careful, Clementine. Georgina and Mo just finished it. Don’t ruin it,” I say.

  “Mo. Ha! As if,” she says. Then she leans into the side of the thing and flicks her crooked tail at the base and gives it a head butt.

  Mo scrambles over to her and stands on his hind legs. “Please, Clementine. Don’t do anything destructive.”

  “Destructive?” she says. “I thought your pointy little pyramid could withstand the largest of earthquakes. I’m just a diminutive, fragile feline.” She leans harder into the bricks and the pyramid tips.

  I pop out from under the bed, ignoring the blast of pain in my leg and position myself on the other side of the pyramid to try and keep it from tipping further. It leans onto my back, and I am worried I can’t hold it.

  Mo jumps up and down, pleading. “This structure is so important to Georgina. Don’t you know that, Clementine? I am begging you to leave it be.”

  Clementine doesn’t care. She leaps to the top and brings the whole thing crashing down. Chunks of the sides break off and little white bricks fly everywhere. I duck as pieces land all around me. Mo runs for cover, and Clementine shakes herself free of the rubble. “A modern-day miracle?” she says. “Ha! There’s no such thing.”

  I can’t believe she’s done this. Suddenly, my leg throbs worse than before. Clementine just licks at her orange patch and turns and walks out the door.

  “This is terrible. Just terrible,” Mo says.

  “Georgina’s Transamerica Pyramid,” is all I can say.

  Even Laverne splashes and gurgles out a word. “RUINED!”

  Mo skitters around collecting the white bricks and stockpiles them in the center of the room. I want to help, but I am in no condition. I push a few bricks toward Mo and shake my head. “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  I expect him to come up with some positive statement or something. But all he says is, “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He puts his head in his hands and runs frantically through the maze of fallen bricks.

  I continue to push a few bricks to the center of the room. Mo crawls onto the pile and sighs. He grabs one of his poor, unfortunate whiskers and begins twisting. How is it possible for him to twist and twist and never have that thing come out? If I could, I would lift a brick and hand it to him. But even my good paw is simply not that nimble. I scoot a few more bricks with my nose over toward Mo.

  Why did Clementine do this? It doesn’t make sense. It’s just mean.

  I look at the pile of rubble on the floor. Then I have a wild thought. Actually, it might not be that wild after all.

  “Mo,” I say. “You can fix this.”

  “What? I don’t know,” he says.

  “Yes, you can!” I ignore my aching foot and walk right over to him. I watch him twist that whisker, and I know his brain is plotting.

  “Georgina is the architect, Elvis. I’m just a builder. I don’t know how to do the design.”

  “I’ve sat here for the last four days watching you,” I say. “If anyone can do this, it’s you!”

  Mo keeps twisting. Then, suddenly, POP! He holds that whisker between his thumb and forefinger and waves it in the air.

  “Elvis, maybe you are right. Maybe we can rebuild! We m
ust rebuild. We have no choice.”

  “Not we, Mo. You!” I say. “I can’t build a Transamerica Pyramid. I can barely walk.”

  He marches around the room, and I already know I’m in for it. “You can do anything you put your mind to,” he says. “And you’re going to have to put your mind to this. I need you. We need you. Georgina will be back from Daddy’s in two days.”

  He rushes over to the plastic palace and stashes that poor little whisker in a pile of fluff that probably contains other poor little whiskers. Then he scrambles back to me and starts barking out orders. “Get the book!” he says.

  I know that Laverne is paying attention to all this because she’s flipping and splashing and yelling, “THE BOOK! THE BOOK!”

  Mo dances around in circles, and I can feel a tingling in my chest and the thrum-thrum of my heart. My leg throbs. My paw aches. My head spins. But I go to the bookshelf and I find the Big Book of American Architecture. I pull it out with my teeth, and I push it with my nose to the center of the room. I’m so exhausted when I get there, I think I might faint.

  Mo opens the weighty cover with his delicate hands and flips through the pages with his nimble fingers. He finds the picture of the tall, pointy white building and taps on the page and looks up at me. “I’m counting on you, Elvis.”

  Even though I shake my head no, I say, “Where do we start?”

  Chapter 11

  I sit in front of Georgina’s big book and study the photograph of the white skyscraper. It has a large base, but it gets skinnier and skinnier. “It’s not like other skyscrapers,” I say. “It’s pointy.”

  “Yes,” Mo says. “That’s the pyramid effect.”

  Mo is good at putting the bricks in the right place. But connecting the bricks is harder. He pushes and pushes and strains himself until finally SNAP! Such a beautiful sound.

  SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

  It’s like a song.

  After a while, Mo is out of breath, and I’m hardly helping at all. He leans over with his hands on his hamster knees and shakes his head.