Rhinestones, Rats and Possums

It was five minutes til curtains. All of the stage hands were rushing around, grabbing mics and stands. A performance manager with a walkie talkie and a clipboard hastily was calling orders to the other side of the stage.

I was young and taken in by all of the commotion but, sat quiet as a church mouse on the stool in the shadows.

My mother was the opening act for a very well known singer. I had never heard of him before. But, I knew he was really a big deal because he had a bus that was bigger than our modest little house back home in Memphis.

Momma had put me in my cutest bluejean dress and my favorite red boots. I wanted so bad to wear my favorite jacket with the sparkly angel on it, it had an angel with what I thought was diamonds for wings. But, momma said it didn’t match. I watched as she sat in the makeup chair getting extra pretty for her show. I stuck my lips out to get a kiss, but I really just wanted some of her extra pink gloss.

The music began and my mother made her way to the stage with her guitar in hand.

Before she walked onto the extra large stage she looked back at me, blew me a kiss and simply said, “Love you, be sweet and be quiet and you can sit there in the special seat…”

I replied with, “Love you, Momma. Good Luck!”

She stopped briefly and turned around, “never say ‘good luck’, angel. It actually is bad luck. Say “break a leg’. Then she winked and as her exited as her name was being called by the fancy voice of the announcer.

That seemed strange to me but I never questioned anything.

From the corner where I sat, I could see her silhouette. She looked outlined in light like an angel. Her eyes sparkly from a combination of the stage light and the glitter shadow on her eyelids. 

She strummed her guitar with the longest and brightest finger nails that only my mother would wear. Her hair was shiny and falling just beneath her pretty dress’ back strap in a loose long curl.

I had watched her sing many times but never on a stage so big.

I was mesmerized in her ability to captivate such a large number of people, I just sat and stared amazed in her splendor.

I heard heavy foot steps approaching me. I instantly looked down and closed my eyes to keep my face in the shadow and not be discovered, just as Momma told me to.

I heard the steps stop at me. I didn’t look up, just barely opened one eye to see who’s shoes were there.

The sequins on the end of a large cowboy boot almost blinded me. They were extravagant and looked like very unlike the dirty cowboy boots I had been familiar with.
Just as I noticed they were underneath a similarly flashy pair of pants, his voice spoke.

A voice that was so deep and demanded attention, I got startled.

“Well, little lady you hiding from someone or is someone hiding you”?

His voice was intense but, it seemed kind.

“I aint either one I guess…” I said nervously and in my most soft whisper.

“You a little young to be sangin’ you definitely too young to be runnin these here bands so maybe you lost? He said with a little chuckle in his voice.

“My momma put me here. She aint had nobody to babysit me so I had to come. I am sorry please don’t be mad at her. I, I will be extra quiet sir.” I said trying to avoid trouble for Momma. I knew she needed this job to pay the bills.

“Something tells me you aint quiet in real life”. He said almost teasingly.

“Aint this real life”? I said, sincerely wondering.

“Hell no, this aint real life. Aint your momma taught you that yet? This is make believe life, lttle baby.” He said, all in one breath, while lighting a cigarette and taking a long sip off of a short drink with rattling ice.

I just laughed assuming he was being funny. Uncomfortable in my conversation about life with this older, obviously important gentleman, I introduced myself.

“My name is Melissa. My family calls me Missy though. I reckon you can too- if you want to.” I smiled using my prettiest picture smile so that he knew I was sweet.

Momma always said to use your sweetest words and picture smile when meeting strangers and especially ones in the music business cause they pay our bills.

He shook my hand.

With a wink he said, “My pleasure, Missy”.

“You look cold, want my jacket?” I really wasn’t cold but I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to wear such a lovely jacket. It was large of course but was shiny and had beautiful jewels on it- like a bigger, shinier version of my angel jacket. It was heavy and smelled like a preacher. Which I was certain this man was NOT.

He put it on me and then said, “There. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’”. He smiled put out his cigarette threw the remaining ice from the glass in his mouth and walked to the exit door.

“Thank you!” Then, he stopped and looked back.

“One condition, don’t tell nobody but I’m leavin’. I need a nap.”

“Never, ever. Pinky Promise!” I said almost excited to be in his secret.

I heard the crowd roar indicating my mother’s performance was over, and apparently was a good one. I suddenly felt guilty that I hadn’t watched it all and spent the whole time talking to the man. Then I realized I never even got his name.

Momma was in a hurry to leave so we rushed off to the dressing room.

“Where on earth did you get that jacket” she asked.

“That man with the shiny boots” I said, “he insisted I wore it cause it was cold, Momma”.

I was hoping she would let me keep it.

Momma laughed and then began to take it off of me. I was disappointed but knew I couldn’t keep it forever.

Turns out he left before his show started and they had to cancel the entire rest of the show from what Momma said. So she gave the jacket to a stage hand.

The jacket was so sparkly and heavy and I felt some sense of privilege in wearing it.
 Even for a minute.

We gathered our stuff to go. everyone was asking if anyone saw the man. I kept my mouth quiet with his secret, just as I had promised him. I looked back at the jacket and thought how beautiful it was. “Momma,” I asked sincerely as we left, “Why is there a diamond rat on the back?”

Momma laughed. “Its not diamonds, baby. Those are Rhinestones and that  isn’t a rat, it is a possum.”

Even more baffled I asked, “Well WHY ever would somebody want a possum on their jacket”?

She smiled as we left and said, “The same reason you had an angel on yours…”
Years later I saw an article on him. They called him George Jones. They also refered to him as "The Possum". 

xoxo, Missy