MEMORIES OF MISS MAE

When I heard the sad news, I thought back to the early 2000's. I recalled how weary I had been from wandering, in heels, around that convention center like one of the children of Israel. The rep assigned to me was...well...lost. Although she kept apologizing profusely, as I followed her in and out of doors, down hallways, up and down stairs, elevators, and escalators, I felt as if I was in an episode of "The Blind Leading the Blind"....(I think that's the day I began my habit of finding out, before leaving home, as much information as I could about the who, what, when, where, and why of upcoming performances.) When we got to the supposed "right place", minutes before I was scheduled to sing, it was obvious that there had been miscommunication again. We'd wandered into an announcer's meeting that was wrapping up. I wasn't going to get to the mystery room on time. Somebody would be singing that day, but it wouldn't be me. I thought that if we ever did find out where I was supposed to be, I'd be too pooped to sing, anyway. I decided to sit down on a bench outside of the conference room. The apologetic rep walked off to find a place where she could get better reception on her phone. The person on the other end of the line didn't sound too happy. I actually wondered if I had been scheduled to sing at all. 
That's when Miss Mae happened to be passing by. "What are you doing out here, baby? Are you alright? Are you singing today?" "I'm not sure Miss Mae.", I told her. "No one knows where I'm supposed to be." It's funny now, but she pursed those lips, and her countenance morphed from cheerful and concerned, to "Who do I have to cut?".
I was from DC. Everyone from DC, I soon learned, was "one of hers" or "her children". She looked out for everyone, but DC folk--especially anyone associated with her fav, Richard Smallwood--held a special place in her heart. She switched from security mode to management mode. "Well, who's with you? Why DON'T they know? They're supposed to know! This is unacceptable." I could almost see her mind working.  "Look, I'm on duty, but you wait right there. Don't you move. I'll be right back." 
Like Claire Huxtable, she was still muttering about the senselessness of my situation as she walked away.
When she came back, she said, "Follow me, baby". She was walking like a soldier on a mission. I guess I wasn't keeping up, so she grabbed my hand. She led me into a full auditorium where a concert was about to take place, walked straight to the front left of the stage, whispered into a gentleman's ear, pointed at me, came back and said, "Just sit here, baby. It might be a few minutes, but just listen for your name. Then she hugged me. I think she knew that all I really wanted to do was leave..."Now, I gotta get back on my post, but if you need anything else, you find ME, you hear?"
The music I heard really cheered me up. I'd actually forgotten all about my sore feet and singing. After a delegation from Japan left the stage, I heard my name, and it startled me. 
In a matter of minutes, she had picked up and scored with the ball that others had dropped. She was known for getting things done.
Rest in peace, Miss Mae, and I'll remember: "You can't be passive all the time, baby". 
Much love to the Atterberry family, especially my "Vision" brother Dayle--a dutiful, loving son if there ever was one...: )