Sheltered Girl in The City
After moving officially to the bay area, I wanted to visit my favorite places from childhood vacations. The Stanford mall in Palo Alto, Candlestick Park, Santa Cruz and more without my parental figures looming around. A life long local and new friend became my tour guide.
First, let me give you a little background. Never in my life had I ever been exposed to gang related activity except on a few movie screens or television shows. The bloods and the crypts were a mythical problem of East LA. Next, from where I grew up, a bandana was something you tied around your leg at a rock concert or if you were older it was for wiping your brow. If you were my age at the time, it was probably something you hung from your rearview mirror while listening to Motley Crue or Metallica. That's it, for real. Lastly, violence was something on TV or movies, most of which I was too scared to watch and most of all, it was a movie, it wasn't real.
Not knowing what I didn't know, I picked up my friend and we headed to the Stanford shopping mall. As we entered east palo alto, my friend snapped the bandana off my mirror. When asking him why he was messing up my image, because I thought I was cool, his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. He explained how a blue bandana is a gang sign and in order to go through East Palo Alto without getting shot we need to remove it.
My perception of the world was so different and I argued that was irrational and impossible. He refused to give it back to me and I decided to believe him but I really couldn't fathom that kind of reality.
When we drove through East Palo Alto it looked poor, boarded and barred up with some folks, but not many on the street. To me, they weren't scary or threatening just poor. It seemed like he was exaggerating. I never feared going to the mall and for different reasons probably wouldn't be afraid today, afraid of the citizens that is.
Some days later, we traveled to the city to see a pre-season football game at Candlestick Park. Roadwork required we take a detour through town. I can't recall the neighborhood but apparently it was dangerous. We were in my friend's little car, not the kind you'd feel safe in unless your big fear was gas mileage or monthly payments. I could tell my friend was nervous as traffic began to back up at a stop light. Navigation the abundance of street signs became my responsibility but sad lack of detour instructions. Finally figuring out the properlane, we came to a halt in the middle of an intersection and prayed to God the freeway would be coming up soon and that no one stole the detour signs.
As we fretted for the light to change a car turned down the street to our right. In front of my very eyes I watched at least four people with what may have been bats attack the turning car. Now I was a believer. Now I was scared of the citizens. Now I was scared of the neighborhood.
Later someone said it was probably a drug dealer. Actually, this is something I've pondered every so often. Did I really see what I thought I saw? The older I get, the more I want to reconcile my memory to this suggestion. Why is it so difficult for me to believe people would behave this way? Why do I ponder explanations for what I think I saw in order to make the act rational to me? Is this the way you make yourself feel safe?
