adventures on my side of town, Friday, June 21

"You are bad as hell," he said.

It's not what I expected the saxophonist of a completely bada$ soul and blues band to say to me as I walked to my table from the bathroom. I hadn't been dancing. I think it was the dress.

It was a completely unexpected turn of events that I was even at The Broker on Martin Luther King, Jr. Avenue.

I happen to know the man who booked Shantelle & the Juke Joint Band to play there. His name is Mike Gill, and he also puts on Alive after Five, which is where I've been dancing and teaching the occasional lesson to get my name and face out about town. Mike had one extra comp ticket with him that Friday night, so I took it and met him, his wife, and their friend there.

You must first understand that I live in the historically black part of Knoxville. I knew where the Broker was before I went because it's almost in my neighborhood, so I knew that this would indeed be an adventure. As you read above, it's on MLK. In most cities I've visited, that generally means, "lock you car doors, roll up your windows, and do NOT make eye contact." I, however, was unafraid. I was very very excited.

You see, I have this affinity for all things African and African-American. They tend to move me deeply - African dance, African drums, hip hop, soul, African-American music and poetry, African & African-American men - I'll stop, but you get the picture. So I was completely excited and a little in disbelief that I was really going to the Broker, and I was even fairly certain that I wouldn't get mugged. "Hallelujah!" I thought, "it's about time."

Though I've been known to be adventurous, I hadn't yet ventured to a club on my side of town. It scares me. The reason it scares me is that I am no longer blissfully ignorant of the fact that racism is a two-way street: nobody likes it, but most people, whatever color, practice it. So my conception of the way I would be treated in a mostly black club did not appeal to me - I definitely expected hostility because I've gotten it before. I had no idea until I got to college that most of us in the South - both black and white - voluntarily maintain segregation. It just didn't make sense to me. But when I got to college, it was very clear that there was a black world and a white world, and there were lines, and you might be invited over, but you had to wait until someone else invited you. Needless to say, I didn't see the line then. My vision is a bit less rosy now.

So I was going to this club - yes, indeed! - but I was prepared to be incredibly meek or incredibly full of attitude. I was ready to deflect hateful stares with my uber-confidence or win over uncertain eyes with a shy smile. Maybe both.

I wasn't prepared to be myself. I wasn't prepared for the elegant, well dressed, and gracious black women to genuinely disarm me so that my face was plastered with smiles. I was not prepared to be too intimidated to get on the dance floor, at least until my newfound friend Dee Dee took my hand and insisted that we "get up there!" I danced with them. And they were tickled! They kept commenting on my smile, and they smiled back, too. They liked the way I danced. Franklin, Dee Dee's husband was very openly complimentary, and it didn't seem to bother her. He started calling me Smiley. She introduced me to her sister, Neeta, who is Mr. Mack's mother.

After I got comfortable, I got a little bolder. Neeta was on the dance floor alone, next to the wall, striking an odd mood to a hip hop tune. I instantly knew I could dance with her. I went up there and solo danced the way I would at Laurel Theater on Wednesday nights or anywhere in my comfort zone that is the dance world. And she responded. And we danced the whole song. And afterwards all those wonderful black people hugged me and said, "Girl, you can move!" And they were sad when I went home. I was pleased as punch- my cup overflowed.

The saxophonist kept looking at me and reminding me that I was bad as hell until I left that night.