Up above my head I hear music in the air . . .

Fade in.

Strong, black voices roll out the gospel hymn over the thrum and hum of high summer of '37.

Glowing white tufts float down like clouds over a blue-eyed baby lying in a bed of fresh cotton balls.

Gladys Presley swoops along the rows of cotton in the endless fields outside East Tupelo, her hands darting in and out of the plants, emerging laden with cotton balls that she tosses into a large denim sack she drags behind her. Inside this sack lies Elvis, gazing up at the endlessly blue sky and shimmering sun.

She kneels next to him, and strokes his shining golden hair. She coos at her infant son and speaks softly. So softly.

"You got the destiny to do great things. You are living for two people. You got the power of two people inside you."

The young mother gazes adoringly at her baby boy and lingers, feeling a warm breeze sift through the parched air. Cotton pickers are swaying, singing out through the heat.

She rises slowly from her knees and continues along the rows of cotton plants that taper to the horizon, plucking the white cotton balls from the tips of the branches and dropping them back into the sack.

The baby boy rests on top, swaddled in a white cloud. He clutches a soft cotton ball and squeezes it with his tiny fingers. His eyes return often to the woman working above him.

"Elvis, you are real, real special, 'cause when God took your twin brother into heaven, you took over. You took over his soul and you took over his spirit."

She looks from the baby boy up to the sky, pushing her jet black hair aside with the back of her hand and shielding her eyes from the blinding sun.

"One day we'll all be back together again. But on this earth, you are real, real special 'cause you are special as two people not just one."

The baby boy follows her gaze and looks into the sky. He squirms with pleasure, burrowing into the soft cotton. He squints into the dazzling sun and smiles and smiles.

"God chose you."

The brilliant sun flares in.

"You are the chosen one, Elvis."

His mother smiles down at him.

"You remember that always, you are the chosen one."

The sun seems to grow brighter and brighter. Until it eclipses the face of his mother and he can no longer see her.

All he can see are the sparkling rays of the sun.