I'd forgotten.
The pandemic kept us indoors; holiday shopping online.
This year things are more or less "back to normal" and many have returned to the wild. Shopping malls are packed. Targets are overrun. Parking lots are as full as bellies on Thanksgiving.
I'm at the Nordstrom Rack minding my own beeswax. I'm perusing a row of clothes when I encounter a white woman who won't give way. This white woman expects me to give way except she is in my way.
She approaches me as I inspect the oversized cardigans. I've been standing there for a few minutes so the area is temporarily mine. (This is clearly stated in the unwritten Spacial Relationship Handbook.) Right as I am about to move on from the cardigans she is in front of me and wants to continue walking.
She has 4 options:
a) expect/wait for me to give way
b) give way
c) say "excuse me" before she expects me to give way
d) mow me over
In a different part of the store another white woman advances. I'm walking on the right side of the aisle between clothes and shoes. She is on the left side and is drifting my way. As she drifts I stay the course heading towards the fluffy coat aisle. It's all about keeping warm for me this season.
Lady Drifter has wafted kitty corner to my periphery.
She has 4 options:
a) expect/wait for me to give way
b) give way
c) say "excuse me" before she expects me to give way
d) mow me over
Oh, the countless times I've encountered white women with a reflexive entitlement to space. One time in a bathroom I stood by the paper towel holder. My niece was standing at the sink. A white woman left the bathroom stall, washed her hands and headed towards me. Remember, I was standing next to the paper towel holder. I wasn't standing in front of it.
The woman started giggling and saying things under her breath. Her comments caused her to giggle more. She was completely flustered and would not approach the paper towel holder. She waved her hands in front of her face like she was clearing away spider webs. It was clear she wanted me to move further away.
I didn't move. There was no reason. I wasn't in the way. There was already space between me and the paper towel holder. I refused to engage in the theater of making myself disappear for her comfort.
Now, in the past I would have stepped aside and on top of that said, "Sorry." Yes, "Sorry" even though I wasn't "in the way".
I grew up in an all white neighborhood and went to all white schools. I was locked in relationship to white women and girls. "Giving way" was a means of survival and pathway to acceptance. Accommodating white women's needs is habitual. I have to consciously break the habit today. The older I get the more I have unlocked this dynamic but it takes focus.
This isn't only about me and white women. It's about the historically troubled relationship between white women and Black women. It was born in slavery, extended to the suffragette movement all the way through to the Women's March. This embroiled sisterhood is wrought and a reckoning is long overdue.
I was out of practice at Nordstrom though. The encounters threw me off guard and I had to grit my teeth and clench my toes to hold my ground. Eventually she chose option B and gave way.
Black women remember that we have the right to take up space. We have the right to peruse the cardigan aisle without disruption. We have the right to be in any store, in any place, claim a spot and abandon it only when we are good and ready.
And white women if you read this and feel insulted look within. Maybe you are one of the women I am referencing? Maybe not. I have certainly encountered white women who go out of their way to give way. It's a bit extra but I kinda appreciate the effort.
Little steps play a role in undoing decades of harm. Recognizing how you take up space, when to hold it and when to give way makes a difference in the long run. It builds comfort and trust. It's a start.
The woman in the bathroom finally got a paper towel and dried her hands. Then she giggled her way out of the door.
My niece witnessed the whole encounter.
"That was amazing," she said.
"We have to take up space," I told her.
Then we giggled too.