A Disease that is also the Cure

Elvis

Elvis

Watching her leave me everyday hurt. I know she had to go help out her mom sometimes, she is the manager of her factory. Or office. I'm not sure what it's called. Oh well, that's not the point.

The point is that Karrie is my best friend. She is who I love, and who I will one day marry.

If she ever sees me like that.

I don't think she realizes how long I've loved her, and how much I do.

She is really pretty. Her brown hair is always flowing with the wind and she has smooth looking skin I just want to touch...

She is also fun and hilarious! Who wouldn't want that?

I guess some creeping brooding guy. Batman?

Anyway, after she left, I had nothing to do. I had already written her a love song, but I wasn't ready to share it with her. I decided I should practice it since I had nothing better to do.

I walked home. My house isn't that far. Cars were all destroyed in 2084 to help with global warming, so nobody owned a car. I like it anyway.

At home, I went into my studio. Everyone had a studio. I stood up to the mic and hummed a little to warm up my voice.

I started singing the chorus.

Carry on, Karrie.
Carry on, Karrie.
Carry on, Karrie.
Carry on, Karrie,
With me.

I cleared my throat. It started sounding pretty good, actually. Just a little repetitive, but nothing too bad.

I just want to make you smile
I just want to make you laugh, Karrie.
I have no idea how.
Bet I could figure it out, Karrie.

I grabbed my guitar and started playing a tune I made a week ago for this song. I was ready to combine the guitar with my voice.

*******
Karrie

Currently there was a band on stage called "Treble in Paradise". They were playing a country song that I never heard before.

It wasn't my favorite, but their performance was almost over. When the song ended, a host came on stage. They change hosts everyday, considering something was always playing at the Concert Center.

"Next we have Elvis singing a song called 'Carry on,'" the host announced.

Elvis? My Elvis? I thought. I tried looking over people's shoulders, but I'm too short.

I was engulfed in whispers.

Elvis? Who's that?

What's an Elvis?

What is this new guy singing?

I was jumping, trying to see. I gave up and tapped the person in front me's shoulder.

"I think that's my friend. Do you mind letting me stand in front of you so I could see him?" I asked politely.

"Go ahead," they said, moving out of my way.

I stepped forward to see Elvis, my Elvis, on stage. He had his guitar slung on one shoulder and he was holding the microphone.