When I first moved into the neighborhood Irf told me that the neighborhood was turning over. The lower income homes are being demolished as new town houses are built on their lots. We looked out the window and watched a drug deal go down.  The dealer planted his scouts to be on the look out for cops.  Wide eyed with curious stupidity I laughed because they use NEXTEL as a means of communication.  The neighborhood is indeed changing socio-economic paths but I didn’t realize how very slow this process is.   This area of Houston is not necessarily a bad part of town, it’s under redevelopment and I’m off the same street that L.F.C. and I.W.S.I. live on. Only, I’m on the other side of the tracks. Literally.

Week 1: Sitting comfortably on the couch I watched as five men are arrested and the cops raid a house.  Two days later I arrive home and find the neighbor across the street’s 1983 Oldsmobile car with all four windows broken in.  Calmly I walked upstairs, peeked out the window, and felt comforted as a cop car arrived.  Irf called and I told him what just happened.  I peeked out the window again and starchly noticed a man in handcuffs squirming in the back seat of the police cruiser.  “Holy shit!– this is way better than watching cops. It’s my own reality TV. version.”

Week 2:   5:00 am I wake to the sound of a car alarm going off.  This was to be a noise buffer for the five gunshots that followed.  I told myself they just shot the bad guy and pulled the comforter tighter around my head, crawling back into my cocoon.

Week 6: After arriving home from the gym I see a mess of cop cars and a truly sad site.  A brand new white Jaguar was being towed. That alone is pure tragic. I wave to Erwin, town home neighbor across the driveway, knowing I will get the full story at a later date.  The next day Erwin and Irf tell me “A crystal meth lab was in the house at the corner and was busted, oh and two strippers are moving in to that new town home.”  Lovely.

Week 7:  Desperately trying to forget that Christmas was but two days away, I sat on the floor reading my book when I hear BANG –BANG a brief pause –BANG.  3 shots fired.  Bewildered I was, but not surprised.  I tossed the idea around in my head and did exactly what you’re not supposed to do in this type of situation, peek out the window. What if I needed to call an ambulance? This was not the case.  Three cars were stopped in the road each pointing a different direction when suddenly they pulled away from one another faster than a speeding bullet. Two of the locals nonchalantly walked up the street.

Christmas – Irf, roommate, joked that he had a bullet proof vest upstairs if I wanted to sleep in it.  Favorite Ex-boyfriend told me I could borrow his gun so I would fit in – in the hood.

Week 8:  I woke last night to the sound of the train’s horn. Shortly after a loud bass stereo blasted the sounds of TuPac as it approached our street.   The music stopped and the commotion set in.  Verbal smacks were tossed and left to hang in the open air like a firecracker on the verge of exploding.  I then heard doors slam, the bass returned, the car pulled away.  Silently I sat thinking, ‘well, I suppose they are holding down the neighborhood,” when I realized the car with the bass merely drove around the block and was approaching the corner again.  More shouts and threats were tossed when I heard a BANG.  Jumping out of bed I crumbled into the fetal position keeping the bed, glass doors, ten feet of lawn, and Iron Gate between me and the outside world. 

Having never been one to be scared of situations or people for that matter, a choice was to be made. I could be scared of the neighborhood thugs or make friends with them. First I’d wave to them then I’d ask stupid questions like, “Do you know when the liquor store on Washington closes?” I’ve sat and talked with them and heard their stories.  One is an ex-NFL player, one owned his own business, one a factory worker, one who doesn’t know what else to do so now he’s self-employed (in sales no doubt), the list goes on.   They have a nickname or two for me, “Little Momma” or “Red”    You may ask why I don’t call the cops and quite frankly what happens if I do? I’d get on their bad side and we can’t be having any of that.  The cops do patrol the area in the day and make themselves scarce at night.  In the past few weeks there has been less activity on the street and more police patrolling the area on a regular basis.  Irf will tell you it’s due to pressure from the builders. I don’t know what to tell you and  one of the local thugs will tell you, “Man, I don’t know what’s happening to the neighborhood.”

I’m at a loss of where to begin with this life I have contrived, having allowed people to walk out the door and slammed it in their face the moment they turned around to tell me they forgot their coat.

 “Be a man. Don’t just disappear on her,” I shut the car door and walked ten paces; unlocking the gate to the house.  Years earlier I had sent an email to him that involved phrases like, “it’s time to move on”, and “another time in our lives” at the time it had derailed him perpetuating a loss of 15lbs.  The great wonder of the breakup diet.  Last night, he reminded me, “Do you remember you broke up with me in an email?”  Through shattered emotions I said, “No. Yes. I don’t. I did. Didn’t I?,” after a five second pause I  recalled how cold I had been years earlier.  I shuttered thinking how the present me is shocked at the things the former me has done.  Snapping back into the present, “John, I did it regardless.  Indeed, I was a pussy about it and broke up with you in an email but now you’re trying to disappear on her. We’ve already had this discussion and you know how I feel about what you should do. You think by not acting, by disappearing… you think she will understand.  You think by not saying anything she will know that it’s over when in fact in the end all that does is make her think less of you.”

He swallowed hard and for the first time in years I saw him play vulnerable.  His throat was to dry to speak.  In that one sentence I stole his manhood with purpose and continued, “John,  we’re females and emotional by nature.   She’s waiting for you to say something back.  She sent you a package, you don’t send a message like that unless you want something in return.”

“Yeah but it was so impersonal.”

“It doesn’t matter. It was still a message.”

“After six months she can’t even spell my last name.”

“She spelled it right on the first letter she sent to you,” at this point I stopped myself realizing this conversation played into one Jodi and I have been discussing for weeks now.  It’s simple really.  Girl meets boy. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. Boy says stuff. Girl pulls back with apprehension, Boy moves in closer and Girl lets herself half fall for Boy.  Boy disappears without a call, text or email.  Girl wonders what happened and analyzes everything.  Boy moves on. Girl moves on. Both question everything. Ahhh, The Great Houdini Act. Without  cause or reason Adult Boy feels he can’t say to Adult Girl, “Hey, I’ve found another avenue to travel.”  Simple as it seems., men, may not be MEN. And women, as smart as we are, may not be that smart after all.

Snapping back to reality I noticed how he fixated on the hurt in my eyes, “ I asked you two weeks ago if your sister was dating someone and then one day he just up and vanished cause he couldn’t handle the confrontation of breaking up…you interrupted me and told me he needs to be a man and tell her it’s over.