Sweet Innocent Us

A good friend of mine, M, and I went to see Jill Scott sing at the Paramount Theater last night in downtown Oakland. Jilly from Philly, so she’s called. May from Oak-town. Doesn’t have quite the same flow. If you don’t know who Jill Scott is, I suggest you run out this very instant and get all her CDs. Go now. I’ll wait. You back yet? Good. Now put on her first CD, Who is Jill Scott?, Track 4, Getting in the Way. It’s about a woman, essentially, warning another woman to stay away from her man (who used to be her man but was unceremoniously dumped). At first, Jill tries being nice: Suga, honey girl fly fly away…But by the end of the song, she’s had enough and threatens a “smack down” and taking the girl out to the middle of the street to “whoop (her) tail.” Get her mad and that sweet-faced woman with delicate features turns into a pimp that’ll open a can whup ass on you faster than you can flinch. Tru dat!

Some would say Jill’s the most dangerous kind of woman. The kind you underestimate. If this were true, then all women are dangerous. Last night, I was sitting next to M in a pre-dominately African-American audience. We’re in the first row, to the right of the stage, in front of massively huge speakers. We’re waiting, excitedly, as folks file in, sharply-dressed couples, quartets of sassy girlfriends. Many women in the audience are gorgeous and soft-looking, and this being Oakland, drip with that urban, street sensibility that pulls off that tough-yet-sexy look to a tee.

I think of myself: a short, little asian woman with brand-new chunky black shoes (the kind thats popular with high school kids and the exact opposite of the super-pointy-toe style found at Ann Taylor) and M, a slim, blue-eyed, white woman with curly, dark hair and comfy, suede, brown clogs. Inside, my secret evil self laughs hysterically. Daaayuumm, we’re so innocent-looking, so unassuming. Who would ever suspect that if pushed hard enough, and I mean if our lives or our families or friends lives were in immediate and grave danger, we could probably kill anyone to protect and defend. And I’m not talking wussy deaths like slowly feeding someone poison until they got sicker and sicker and finally die. Because that would be cruel and doesn’t suggest the kind of urgency that would push us to kill. I’m talking swift and violent death brought on by our own hands, feet, arms and legs. The kind of death brought on by bones breaking and necks twisting. Does that worry you, Reader? Don’t be scared. I think that most women wouldn’t think twice about clocking someone with a frying pan if it meant protecting their one-year old from being snatched out of their crib. Just something to ponder the next time you’re thinking about stealing that parking space out from under that Soccer Mom’s nose.