I Want It That Way: Presley's Favorite Memory
"I've got a little surprise for everybody today..." Presley's voice rang all around over the speaker system, echoed off the mountain. Everyone in the crowd cheered, waving their arms over their heads, staring up at my little girl. She sat on a stool, the microphone directly in front of her, her guitar slung across her knee, her arms hugging it's body. "In honor of Father's Day, I have a guest here... some of you might be too young to remember him from back in his heyday..." she glanced over at me, a smirk playing on her face. "I'm just kidding, Daddy, you aren't that old. Everybody... Nick Carter."
I walked across the stage. My own guitar swung over my back, carrying my microphone and stand. A roadie ran across the stage with a stool for me and dropped it next to Presley. I thanked him and sat down. The audience cheered, and I heard a voice from somewhere in the midst of it scream out, "Oh my God! Nick I love you!"
I laughed, "Love you too," I replied into the microphone and a chorus of bleating shrieks followed. I found Ashley and Zoey standing off to the side and smiled at them. Zoey waved and I waved back.
"My dad taught me everything when it comes to guitars," Presley was saying into the mic, "He taught me everything when it comes to everything, really, though." She looked over at me, a smile playing on her lips. "You ready to give cuff rock a try, daddy?"
I laughed, "Back in my day we practiced for performances and memorized lyrics," I answered.
"Back in your day the songs were the same every time you sang'em," she teased.
The audience crowed with applause.
Presley was a part of a new movement in music called Cuff Rock. It was short for off-the-cuff, as in making it up as you go along. The result was this ever changing art strung together by catchy choruses. The verses were never the same twice. The lyrics were made up as the artist was playing. It made for real, honest words from the professionals who were good at what they did - like Presley was - and jibberish bullshit from the amatuers - that'd be me in this instance. But Presley had really wanted me to duet with her, so here I was. About to make an utter fool of myself in front of a bunch of cuff rockers.
Presley cleared her throat, "Okay so everybody knows the chorus to this one. Even you daddy," she said. She looked down at the guitar and played some notes I recognized all too well. Her voice pierced the mountainside again, thick and low, raspy, she sang out, "Tell me why, ain't nothing but a heartache... Tell me why, ain't nothing but a mistake.... Tell me why... I never wanna hear you say... I want it that way..." She turned to me, still strumming the notes and said, "Think you can remember that dad?"
"I think I got a handle on that one," I replied, smirking.
Presley laughed. "Okay now for the verses. I'll go first."
"Those I don't know about," I laughed.
Presley changed the rift of the guitar just a little bit and turned back to the microphone. "When I was little... You said... I could be anything... But I... Just wanted... to be exactly like you... Everything... you did amazed me... and I... looked up to you... I never... told you this... but you were my hero." She grinned over at me. "Now you sing it," she said to me, bringing the guitar's cries back to the chorus.
"Tell me why, ain't nothin' but a heart ache..." I sang. It felt so familiar, yet so foreign. It'd been years since I'd sang this song. "Tell me why, ain't nothin' but a mistake... tell me why... I neeeever waaannnaa heaaaar you sayyyyy-ayyyyyyyyy I want it thaaaaaaaaaat wayyyyyy..."
Presley grinned, "Showing off with the runs there dad."
"That's what I do."
"You ready for the verse?"
"Not really."
"Well here it comes. Just like the first one," she instructed, and dipped back into the verse chords.
I swallowed, waited for the cue, my brain racing over what the hell to say.
"I've never... been real good at this... whole making... up words thing... but when yourbabygirlasksyoutodoit you dooo it," I crammed the last sentence into one quick breath. Presley laughed and rolled her eyes, mouthed the word cheater, but grinned even as she accused me. I grinned back, "If I... was a hero... it was only because I loved you... and you... will always be... my sweet baby Presley."
Presley looked surprised by my sudden adeptness at this. Her eyes sparkled. "Did you prewrite that, daddy?" she teased.
I laughed, "No it just came from the heart."
"Hey now you're getting the hang of it. Chorus together?"
"Okay baby girl."
Our voices blended, "Tell me why, ain't nothin' but a heartache... tell me why... ain't nothin' but a mistake... tell me why... I never wanna hear you say... I want it that way..." I wailed out my yeah-ah-ah and I heard the chick from the crowd shriek with approval. I laughed.
Presley nodded toward me, "Go on dad, you're a rock star, take the next one..."
"How you amaze me being all grown up, when I remember changing your pooey diapers --"
"Dad!"
"Yeah... But no matter how many you are, I want you to know, to me you will always be......" I turned to look in her eyes. "Four years old... with your fingers... in a birthday cake... laughing... with blue frosting on your face... your face... your face.. your fa-aa-aaace..."
Presley was grinning, "Tell me why..."
"You'll always be my babyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...." I crowed as she continued on through the chorus, wrapping up the song.
The audience cheered as she strummed the last notes, then turned to me. She swung her guitar around her shoulders so it hung across her back, mimicking me in a move I'd taught her a long time ago. She rushed forward, pulled me close and whispered, "Thank you for singing with me daddy." She kissed my cheek, "It means so much to me."
I hugged her close. "I love you," I whispered, "And I'm proud of you, and you sounded beautiful."
Presley grinned up at me. "Thank you."
As I walked off the stage, she turned back to the audience, "My daddy, everybody," and everyone cheered once more as I quickly moved down the stage steps to rejoin Ashley and Zoey.
"Good job, sweetie," Ashley said, kissing me as I got to their sides.
Zoey turned, "She's been talking about singing with you for years," she said. "You have no idea how much that all just meant to her."
I laughed, "Probably as much as it meant to me..." I smiled. "She really is impressive, isn't she?"
"I wouldn't be able to make up lyrics off the cuff like she does," Zoey replied. "Course I can't even make up lyrics on the cuff. I inherited none of your musical talent." She nudged me, "What the hell kind of bum sperm did you plant to make me?" she teased.
Ashley and I shared a glance.
"I don't know," I replied. "Non-musical ones, I guess."
