Elvis and the World As It Stands

by Lisa Frenkel Riddiough

  “Hello, young man,” Mo says.

  “Hello,” Eliot says.

  “Eliot, you might feel a certain urge in your tummy regarding Mo,” Clementine says. “But please ignore it. We are family.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  Clementine brings Eliot over to meet Laverne, and naturally she flips and shouts, “ELIOT!”

  Pretty soon everyone is in Georgina’s room, including Mommy and Daddy.

  “Full house,” Mommy says.

  “That’s the way I like it,” Georgina says.

  I jump up onto Georgina’s bed and settle in the place where I can see everything. And just as expected, Georgina dumps out a bin of LEGOs and opens The Big Book of American Architecture.

  “Daddy, you have to stay for a little while longer,” Georgina says. “I’ve decided what we’re making next.”

  “Oh, tell me,” Daddy says, sitting on the floor and grabbing a few bricks.

  Mo trickles over to Georgina and nibbles at her fingertips. Then he scampers in circles when she finds the page she’s looking for. “The Freedom Tower!” she says.

  “I should have guessed that,” Daddy says.

  Mommy sits on the floor, too. “You know, Georgina,” she says. “There was a time I thought I might become an architect.”

  “I know, Mommy. But you decided to work for a bank instead. I’ve heard this before.”

  “The Freedom Tower has such an interesting design,” Mommy says. “It will be tricky to build.”

  Georgina nods at Mommy. “I accept the challenge.”

  “We didn’t do anything like this at my other house,” Eliot says.

  Clementine and Eliot find a cozy space to snuggle, right next to me, on the foot of Georgina’s bed.

  “I hope you’ll tell me about your other house,” Clementine says. “When you’re ready.”

  “I will, Mother,” he says.

  Mommy, Daddy, and Georgina sit on the floor and begin snapping bricks. They talk about the Twin Towers. About never forgetting. And honoring those who lost their lives. And all who suffered. I still don’t understand why someone would fly an airplane into a skyscraper. Mo says that sometimes in life the information we want is not available to us. He must be right. I don’t know who lost their lives. But when I think about those who have suffered, I’m pretty sure they mean everyone. In the whole world.

  “I’m glad that whoever made the decision to rebuild the World Trade Center decided to do it,” Georgina says.

  “Georgina,” Mommy says. “Daddy and I have discussed it, and I’d like to take you to New York City for Christmas. There is so much to see and so much to learn.”

  Georgina’s eyes light up.

  “It will be a Christmas present, from both of us,” Daddy says.

  I see smiles. And water-filled eyes.

  Daddy talks about how he is going to find a new apartment, one that accepts pets. Georgina says she’ll bring all of us with her when she goes to Daddy’s. Mommy says that doesn’t sound normal. Georgina tells her it will be perfectly fine. The three of them snap brick after brick. SNAP, SNAP. Mo is there, too. His delicate fingers, sorting and stacking. I marvel, again, at the way in which Mo presents each brick—a precious gift—to Georgina. All of this gives me a feeling that I can’t quite describe. Each SNAP sounds like the broken pieces of life fitting back together, like they are meant to be.

  Soon, the weight of my eyelids pulls down over my eyes. I try to keep them open, but instead, I let the foggy fuzz of slumber settle in.

  As I drift off, I think of Etta. I imagine her with the Burton-Lees at her forever home in San Jose. She looks just like herself. She is comfortable. Warm. I can see her, in my mind’s eye, cuddled up in that sock drawer, her little white paws treading in her sleep. Her motor is on. It’s a soft, content rumble. I feel it all around me. The best feeling in the world.

  Chapter 33

  After a very busy weekend, the Freedom Tower is done, and it’s standing right next to the Twin Towers. It’s slightly taller than the Twins. Georgina already told us that the real one is 1,776 feet tall. The spire at the top makes it the tallest in the United States. It’s a beauty.

  I look up at the tip-top and laugh. “Mo, what are you doing up there?”

  “Elvis, this thing is marvelous.”

  “How did I know you were going to say that?”

  “Do you see how the sides are like facets of a diamond? They’re actually isosceles triangles. Eight of them!”

  “Of course they are,” I say, not having ever heard some of those words before.

  Mo trickles down the side and scurries right up to my face, and all I can think is, Here we go again.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s get this over with. Tell me who the architect is.”

  “David Childs!”

  “And the amazing and useless fact you can’t wait to reveal?”

  “Okay. I’m so glad you asked. You know how Georgina told us the Freedom Tower is 1,776 feet tall—the tallest building in the country?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, the height is a tribute to the year our country was founded—1776! That’s when the Declaration of Independence was signed.”

  “The Declaration of Independence? Like, Independence Day? Like, the Fourth of July?”

  “Yes! Exactly.”

  “Wow!” I say. Who would have thought? A fact that is not entirely useless. I let the notion settle into my brain.

  1776.

  The Fourth of July Adoption Extravaganza.

  Me and Etta.

  Carly. Mrs. Pemberton. Mo. Laverne. Clementine. Georgina. Skyscrapers. Daddy. The City Shelter of Care and Comfort. The Burton-Lees. Eliot. My head is spinning.

  “I’m pretty sure everything in the whole world is connected,” I say.

  “I’m glad you finally figured that out,” Mo says. “We’re all in it together.”

  “Sometimes the crowd is overwhelming,” Clementine says from the doorway.

  “I love it,” Eliot says. “I never knew I could be connected to a skyscraper.”

  “INCOMING! THE KID!”

  Georgina plops down right next to us. “School starts tomorrow. Today is the last day of summer vacation,” she says with a sigh. That reminds me that I don’t even know what day today is.

  While Georgina cleans up a few stray bricks, I hustle out to the hallway to check the calendar.

  “It’s Monday, September 6,” I say to Mo.

  “Yes, it is. Labor Day!”

  “What the heck is that?” I say.

  “It’s a national holiday. A day to honor those who work hard,” he says.

  “Like the people who built the skyscrapers?”

  “Exactly!”

  Mo would know. I’ve never met anyone who works as hard as he does.

  I watch Georgina lift the Freedom Tower up to her shelf. She puts the Twins right next to it. Then she places the picture—the one from the album—in front of them. She takes a nice long look at the photo and turns to us.

  She looks proud of her work.

  Mo is proud, too.

  And so am I.

  Chapter 34

  On the afternoon of Saturday, September 11, the doorbell rings, and Georgina rushes out of our room and bounds down the stairs.

  When she comes back, we are all surprised.

  “It’s another human girl,” I say to Mo.

  “It certainly is,” he says.

  The girl bounces into our room right behind Georgina. She looks like the human girls that I used to see at the shelter. Hair falling all around her face, shiny white teeth, happy bursts spilling out all over the place.

  “I love your room!” she says. “Oh my gosh, your pets! There are so many. Is that a hamster?”

  “Yes, that’s Mo. And this is Elvis, and over there is Clementine and Eliot, and I have a goldfish, too. This is Laverne. Everyone, this is my new friend, Marisol.”

  Marisol’s eyes dart back and forth between all of us. I’m n
ot sure what her next move will be, and I prepare to scoot under the bed if necessary.

  “Look at all your skyscrapers,” Marisol says. Then a chatter-fest starts. They talk about buildings and towers and architects and LEGOs. LEGO this. LEGO that. I never knew there could be so much to say about little plastic bricks.

  My whiskers twitch, my tail snaps, and I don’t know exactly why, but I let out a yowl. A questioning yowl. I look over at Mo.

  “Georgina has a new friend,” he says. “We need to be happy for her.”

  “I’m happy for her,” Eliot says. “We never had any human girls at my old house.”

  Clementine gently nudges her son.

  “Of course I’m happy,” I say. Please. It’s right and good for Georgina to have a human friend. But I feel a tap on my heart. A pluck. A tiny sting.

  “You are really good at building skyscrapers,” Marisol says. “Do you like bridges? I’m thinking about building the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “It was built in 1937,” Georgina says.

  “I know,” Marisol says. “It took four years to build.”

  “I know,” Georgina says. “Did you know that even though it looks red, the color is—”

  “International Orange! I know.”

  Georgina grabs Marisol by the elbow. “Follow me,” she says. “You’re gonna love this.”

  The two girls climb out the window. I know exactly where Georgina is taking Marisol, and I know exactly what they’ll see. I think about following but change my mind and jump up onto the foot of Georgina’s bed.

  I glance over at Eliot and Clementine, a couple of furballs twisted and tangled together.

  Mo climbs up there, too, scurries over to me, and reaches out to hold my cheeks. Such a hamster!

  “We need to be on standby, Elvis,” he says.

  “Oh, yeah?” I say.

  “Yes. I have a suspicion that Georgina and Marisol are going to start a new project. And if they need our help, we need to be ready.”

  “You know, Mo. I really like helping,” I say. “I think it might be my raisin thing.”

  “Your raisin thing?” Mo reaches out to grab a whisker. “Oh, you mean your raison d’être. Your purpose. Ha! Well, there is no greater purpose than helping another.”

  “We’re a team, aren’t we, Mo?” I say.

  “Yes, we are,” he says. “Always.”

  Mo trickles up my foreleg and makes his way to his spot at the nape of my neck. His hamster nails tickle, and a shiver spreads all the way to the tip of my tail. A breeze comes through the open window. Cool. Fresh. Mo tugs on my ear, and I let out another yowl. The good kind. The satisfying kind. The kind that makes me think about bridges and friends.

  Georgina and Marisol climb back through the window, both of them smiling. They lean into each other and wrinkle their noses and giggle. Humans! They’re so silly.

  In the middle of the room, Georgina and Marisol dump out a bin of LEGOs and start sorting. Suddenly, I see it. The rainbow. The sunlight streams through the window and lands like a pot of gold right between Georgina and Marisol.

  I set my head on my paws and wrap my tail around my body and whisper to Mo, “The best room in the house.”

  “Isn’t it marvelous?” Mo says.

  “Yes, it is,” I say.

  Then I close my eyes and turn on my motor.

  It’s the perfect time for an afternoon nap.

  Author’s Note

  On September 11, 2001, at 8:46 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time, hijacked American Airlines Flight 11 flew into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City, hitting floors 94 through 99. Seventeen minutes later, United Airlines Flight 175 hit the South Tower. Because these airplanes were scheduled to fly all the way to Los Angeles, they carried nearly twenty thousand gallons of gasoline each. After impact, fire took over, and the insides of the towers reached two thousand degrees Fahrenheit. The steel columns of the structures melted. By 10:30 A.M., both towers had collapsed. The world struggled to understand.

  9/11 is one of many tragic events in history. For some, it feels like a story—something that happened long ago. It will surely be studied and discussed for years to come, and we will never forget the hurt inflicted, the lives lost, and the unfair blaming. And yet, other types of tragedies, large and small, will continue to occur. Sheltermates will be separated. Parents will get divorced. Nations will feud. Plans will change. Whatever the tragedy, the one thing that those experiencing loss have in common is the necessity to move forward. At the time of this writing, the world is in lockdown due to COVID-19, and we are all struggling to find that new way forward.

  In writing Elvis’s story, I wanted to explore the idea of rebuilding in the face of devastation, from a simple LEGO project to a New York skyscraper. From a home to a family to a new way of life. In 2001, at the time that 9/11 shook us all to the core, I was in the midst of struggling to find a way to rebuild my own life. It was a grand undertaking that required, as Mo would say, resilience and fortitude. I believe that we all inherently possess these qualities, and we are called to use them, sometimes as a family, sometimes as a nation, sometimes as an entire world, but always as individuals—and that includes animals, of course! In many ways, this book is the culmination of my own rebuilding. I hope it inspires you to move forward with whatever it is that must be rebuilt.

  For more information on 9/11, visit the 9/11 Memorial & Museum at 911memorial.org.

  Acknowledgments

  It’s a modern-day miracle!!!

  This is what it feels like to write, revise, revise again (and again), sell, and publish a book! How on earth does anyone do it? With a little help from your friends, of course.

  I want to thank, first and foremost, my very first creative writing instructors from the writing programs at UC Berkeley Extension. Monica Wesolowska critiqued my first-ever manuscript and pointed out my strengths. Laurie Ann Doyle looked me in the eye and said, “Lisa, honor your gift.” Without these encouraging teachers, I might never have moved forward with my writing.

  A hearty thank-you to EVERYONE at Hamline University’s MFAC program. Thank you to Mary Rockcastle, my four stellar semester advisors, Jackie Briggs Martin, Laurel Snyder, Phyllis Root, and Eliot Schrefer, and all the amazing faculty who brought their best each and every semester. Special praise to my workshop leaders: Elana K. Arnold, Swati Avasthi, Lisa Jahn-Clough, Nina LaCour, Marsha Qualey, Claire Rudolf Murphy, Anne Ursu, and Marsha Wilson Chall. A huge hug to my cohort, the Quadropus, for all the support, advice, late-night talks, early morning coffees, and all-around brilliance: Ben Cromwell, Katie Dunlop, Markelle Grabo, Emily Hill, Jessica Kieran, Kalena Miller, Trisha Parsons, Tom Sebanc, Elizabeth Selin, Ari Tison, Jonathan Van Gieson, Sarah Wilson Rickman (Sarah, you were right), and Kerry Xiong.

  A huge shout-out to my other amazing critique partners who have nudged me forward: Pamela Berkman, Joanna Ho, Tina Hoggatt, Laura King, Louis Lafair, Lily LaMotte, Kirsten Pendreigh, and L. M. Quraishi. Extra-special gratitude to Aimee Lucido for holding my hand throughout the whole process! Some critique partners come in the form of your fourth-grade niece. Thank you, Charlotte Frenkel—what a difference one word makes. Some writing partners start with an eye for craft and end up as one of your dearest friends. I could not have done this without you, Cyn Nooney. If you have a family member who is highly intelligent, is willing to read all your work, and can also give you meaningful feedback, you are lucky indeed. For me, that person is my daughter, Julia Ormond. I can’t thank you enough, Julia. I am so impressed with you.

  Love and gratitude go out to all of the staff and animals at the East Bay SPCA, where Julia and I spent seven years volunteering in the feline department. We would have adopted all of you. But, alas, we had a full house already with Juliet, Samantha, Missy, Hannah, Charcoal, and the unforgettable and real-life Mo.

  I want to thank my lovely and wise agent, Jennifer Mattson, for noticing my work and seeing the possibilities. I am so grateful to be working with you, Jenni
fer. Thank you to my editor, Erica Finkel, for adopting Elvis and taking such good care of this book. Special thanks to everyone at Amulet Books, especially Emily Daluga, Megan Carlson, Kathy Lovisolo, Jade Rector, and Andrew Smith. Thank you to Olivia Chin Mueller for bringing Elvis and his entire world to life with your brilliant illustrations.

  Thank you Juliana Jones-Munson and the Funsons (often thought to be a popular rock band!) for helping me embrace the me in me. And finally, thank you to my family, all of the Frenkels, the Ormonds, and the Riddioughs. To my parents, Robert and Elizabeth Frenkel, and my siblings, Laura Williams and Rob Frenkel, for steadfast support and excitement around not just my writing, but my entire life. To Pat Riddiough, for loving everything I write. To Andrea Carpenter, for listening to my never-ending babble. To my son, James Ormond, for being a brilliant example of fortitude and resilience. Again, to my daughter, Julia Ormond, for all of everything. And to Jim Riddiough: You’ve given me time, space, encouragement, and love, and presented these things to me like the precious gifts they are. It’s a world of wonder, and I’m lucky enough to get to live in it!

  About the Author

  Lisa Frenkel Riddiough is a Northern California–based writer who earned her MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from Hamline University. She is a former sales executive, an avid squirrel watcher, a frequent baker of chocolate pound cake, and an exclamation point enthusiast! Elvis and the World As It Stands is her debut novel!! Learn more about Lisa at www.lisariddiough.com.

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