Prequel

"Honey, have you seen my hairbrush?" Vivian Wesley stands in the doorway of the bathroom, her hands on her hips. "I'm positive it was on the counter right next to the sink. I've looked everywhere for it."

"Have you checked in Edwin's bedroom?" Ronald Wesley chuckles from the end of the hallway, a bowl of cereal clenched tightly in his hands.

"Why would he have it when he has his own?" Sighing, Vivian runs her fingers through her coal-black hair to loosen the tangles and pads down to Edwin's door. "I'm already running late for work this morning. I really don't have time to be chasing down a hairbrush."

Without knocking, she slips her hand around the doorknob and barges inside.

"…just a hunk, a hunk of burning love…"

"Edwin Wesley, what in the world!" Vivian exclaims, stopping dead in her tracks.

"Mom," Edwin's six-year-old squeaky voice is barely audible over the sound of the music blaring from the television. "I'm pwacticing." Having recently lost his front tooth, he's still struggling to pronounce certain words correctly.

Rushing over to mute the TV, she can't help but laugh when she spots her hairbrush in Edwin's right hand and the fringed, rhinestone-studded belt they'd stumbled upon at a yard sale fastened around his waist. "Get down off that bed right now. You're going to fall and break your neck."

"I have to see myself," he innocently tries to explain, looking at his reflection in the mirror spanning the width of his dresser. "If I'm down there, I won't know if my moves are right."

Seeing so many of their friends and colleagues struggle with their young families at an early age, Vivian and Ronald Wesley decided to hold off until they were in their late thirties before having their one and only child. Not that Edwin has been bad by any means—in fact, he's quite loving and very respectful for his age— but waiting hadn't given them any sort of advantage at all. Oh, no. Not in the least. He's forever keeping them on their toes, and there's never a dull moment in the Wesley home.

"Edwin, what is on your face?" Vivian steps closer to his bed and wipes her hand across his cheek.

"They're my sideburns, momma. They're part of my act." Edwin stands poised, his cheek angled towards her for a closer inspection.

With his leg extended in front of him and his upper lip curled just slightly, he's the cutest six-year-old version of Elvis she's ever seen. But this is taking it a bit too far.

Licking the tip of her finger, she wrinkles her nose as she scrubs it over the blackened surface. "Did you use a magic marker to do this?"

"Uh huh," he beams proudly. "Do you like them, momma?"

"Of course, I do, sweety. You're going to need your father's help getting that stuff cleaned off though. I'm pretty sure the marker you used was a permanent one."

"Does this mean I get to keep them forever?" he asks, his eyes round as saucers.

"Unfortunately, I'm worried it may irritate your skin," she goes on to explain.

"But I want to keep them. They make me look like Elvis," he says proudly.

"Maybe we can find you some that peel off. Sort of like stickers. That way you can remove them when you go to school or you're getting a bath. Oh, dear," she says worriedly and licks the tip of her finger again when she sees the black smudges aren't going anywhere. "Ronald, can you help with this…this…"

"I kind of like them," Edwin's father snickers from the doorway. "I'm pretty sure they make him look at least twenty, maybe twenty-one."

Vivian cuts her gaze at him. She should've known he'd stick up for Edwin. Like father, like son. "I don't have time to figure this out now. I need my hairbrush, Edwin. See if your father can find you something else to use for a microphone since he has nothing better to do."

"I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love," Edwin belts into his curled-up fist as he bounces on the bed. "Eh, I think I like your hairbrush better."

"Come on, momma. Don't be cruel." Ronald joins in, his Elvis-like voice not nearly as good as his son's.

"What am I going to do with you two?" she says and sashays back to the bathroom to finish getting herself ready for work.