I finally met Fannie Flagg.
Stood in line for hours.
I didn’t want to nag.
(Should have taken flowers.)

But she had to know who I was
and she had to know who I knew.
She just had to know because
her daddy knew my Granddaddy and uncle too.

Uncle Grover owned the theater,
in Birmingham’s West End.
If I hadn’t gotten to meet her
I’d have been madder than an old wet hen.

Her daddy worked at the picture show.
He ran film in the projector.
Fannie hung around there, I know
and watched every movie they’d let her.

My grandaddy loved to kid around
so Fannie was his kind of girl.
They laughed, joked and acted like clowns.
Who knew she’d be famous in the world?

So, the line eaked up and I held her book.
My heart was pounding and I shuddered.
I rehearsed my speech and as I shook,
then she said, “Come on up he-ah, Sugah.”

I said, “My-uncle-owned-the-old-West-End
where-your-daddy-used-to-work-
my-granddaddy-loved-being-your-friend
would-you-please-take-a-look-at-my-book?

“I remember Mr. Berry” she said with a smile.
“My daddy worked at the West End”
Her eyes drifted off and she gave a sigh.
“It was a sweet time with such good friends.

“I would love to read your book” she said.
I nearly fell on the floor.
“OH, thank you thank you,” I said as they led
me away, because of two hundred more.

All of those people waiting in line.
But I felt so special that night.
I was floating and gloating and felt divine
as the night turned into light.