Why Elvis?
A relative calls me and, instead of saying hello, says, “Let’s talk about the Iliad.” And I answer, “Sure, love. Do you want to talk about Hector?”
He sounds surprised. “How did you know?”
Probably because I’m only nine years older than you, but to me you’ve always been a child. I remember how scared you were of the vacuum cleaner, how you’d climb onto the sofa and try to talk yourself out of being afraid. I remember how you grieved when your cat died and how you cried at night for weeks. I remember how happy you were to land your dream job straight after graduating, how you worked there for only six months, and then the full-scale invasion started and you volunteered for the army right away, even though at your age you could have waited years before being called up.
You were taught that you should do what’s right and let whatever happens happen. Whose fault is it that you turned out to be such a good student?
Of course, you want to talk about Hector: no one in Homer is so consumed with questions of duty, and of course that resonates with you.
I’ll talk to you about Hector, the expansion of the universe, nineteenth-century Ukrainian literature — just don’t let this war devour you.
Get Inner Latitude | Why not?’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
At the end of the conversation, I say, “At least send me a plus sign now and then so I know you’re okay.”
“Plus signs are such a 2022 vibe,” he says.
“So what’s the 2026 vibe?” I ask.
“I left a list of people who are to be notified if I die. You’re on it,” he says.
And I remember what I teach my students before exams and start box breathing: inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four.
And almost calmly I say, “Well, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies.
We say goodbye with the worn-out stay safe, and I try to understand why I don’t smoke. No idea. But then I remember I have Substack and Medium, where I can externalise trauma and intellectualise to my heart’s content, seasoning the whole thing with dissociation and sublimation.
Give me more thoughts about literature and cinema — I’ll comment on all of them, anything to keep me from thinking about what’s happening literally outside my window.
Why Elvis? And why not?
When we played tag as kids, we used to say, “I’m home,” when we reached the safe spot. So I put together and proofread what I’d written about Elvis on film: Jungian motifs, the Presley Pattern, metafiction.
I’m home. And I’m not scared at all. Cross my heart and hope to die.
