Flying Free

At the age of 82, Mae Riverton was the most prim and proper, well-dressed, well-mannered, perfect description of a real southern lady that I had ever laid eyes on. This woman could bake a cake that would bring tears of joy your eyes. She was the type who listened well and when she spoke, her words were calm and wise. Being a treasured friend of our family and a close friend of my mother's, we saw her quite often.

Wednesday had somehow declared itself our official "have lunch together" day and we were all loaded up in my mother's van, headed to the local buffet. The sun was shining, the mood was pleasant and conversation was flowing when suddenly, out of nowhere, this maniac driver flies up from behind us and cuts us off right in front of our turn. My mother struggles at the wheel for a moment but manages to keep things in control as we run off of the road and come to a stop on the sidewalk.

"Are we all ok in here?" She asks. But before the words could finish leaving her lips, the passenger door had slammed shut and we were all staring outside in surprise at Mae. This fragile little southern bell stood at the front of the car with her left hand holding the sleeve of her right arm down and her right arm holding a hand, held high, flying the bird! The obscenities she shouted as she aimed her gesture at the driver, who was now pulling a u-turn in the restaurant parking lot, were not as harsh as some I have heard, but you can bet that coming from Mae they were more powerful than any you could imagine.

Once the offending driver (although offended should be more like it) had exited the parking lot and drove away, Mae rolled her sleeve back down, straightened her dress, patted her hair down and calmly got back in the car. The silence lasted all of about thirty seconds while she sat there as if nothing had happened and we all stared at her in shock. I still can't remember which one of us started laughing first, but the laughter lasted a whole lot longer.

Mae certainly stepped out that day and I don't think any of us that were witness to it will ever forget it. Over lunch, we laughed about it some more and even harder when she declared that her only wish was..."Don't tell my kids.
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