from our back door, dashed past the man, who grabbed for her, and ran next
door to the bootleg to call the police. The man stood in the bootleg door, screaming and cursing at the top of his lungs.
I stood peering around the side of the project building with Little Mark.
As we watched, our fight-or-flight mechanism clicked. Which one would we choose to do, aid Junior or run like cheetahs? Sudden
fear came over Mark. He dashed for his house. I decided to run also and darted through the Deadman units. I felt guilty for
leaving my brother and angry because I was too skinny to do anything. But too many people had been killed by men like that.
Besides, I had decided this was my last run. I headed to a friend’s house to call the police. I would send them for Junior.
But I was never going back.
Alone in an empty Deadman unit after making the call, I played until the sunset. Never in there after dark, I headed to the
redneck store. For the first night, I planned to stay awake and roam the streets, watching all the depressed, noisy people.
But as I played a video game in the store with a feeling of dread, a man tapped on my shoulder. I spun around in a whirl of
fear and saw a short, smiling black man. He was my uncle James, my mother’s brother. “She said I would find you here,” he
said. He turned and walked out the store. Without question, I followed. As soon as we stepped through the door, a hard rain
began to fall.
In the car on the stormy highway I talked with my sister, who had called our uncle, then showed him where to find me. She
said the police, who she had called also, came hours later. Our mother never came back. But Junior was safe at our uncle James’s
house.
Since my mother had not stayed in contact with her three brothers and four sisters across town, Uncle James was unaware of
his sister’s life. We let him know how bad things had gotten. He shook his head in disbelief. Later he postponed conversations
for the night, and after we ate a small meal, everyone went to bed.
Plans were made the next day. My sister was sent to my aunt Cheryl’s house. Junior and I remained with my uncle James. In
a few days, he had moved our clothes and furniture from the Hitler camp. And we began to settle down.
James lived in East Ledbetter Apartments on Ledbetter, one of many apartment complexes scattered throughout Oak Cliff. The
complexes were a grade above the project units, slightly larger, and had central air and heat.
A shopping center, barbecue shacks, and other restaurants were located at the busy intersection of Ledbetter and Bonnie View,
just before the school. Most everyone around there, it seemed, tended to his own business.
My uncle James was the oldest of the boys, maybe three years behind my mother, the oldest of her family. He had shared the
same family environment as my mother and had settled into hard, unrewarding labor to feed and clothe his family—although this
clearly was not his ambition or the extent of his potential. He had a job doing office cleaning. He didn’t smoke, drink, or
do drugs. And he seemed to care about us. He had married in his early twenties but was divorced and the possessor of his three
young children, two girls and a small boy. He had since remarried.
The noise and violence was less in Oak Cliff. It seemed a vast colony of minimum-wage workers, and I realized I finally had
moved up to the minimum-wage group. I hoped my sturdy uncle would adopt me. But, at the same time, I wanted my mother to be
here also. She could do better away from the projects.
Junior stayed for only a short time with Uncle James, then was sent to live with another aunt close by. I grew closer to my
three cousins, all preschoolers, often riding them on the back of their bike in the scarcely populated apartments, the way
Bad Baby had done for me in the projects. We played nonsense kid games all the time. Or watched TV!
In the near distance, the
door to the bootleg to call the police. The man stood in the bootleg door, screaming and cursing at the top of his lungs.
I stood peering around the side of the project building with Little Mark.
As we watched, our fight-or-flight mechanism clicked. Which one would we choose to do, aid Junior or run like cheetahs? Sudden
fear came over Mark. He dashed for his house. I decided to run also and darted through the Deadman units. I felt guilty for
leaving my brother and angry because I was too skinny to do anything. But too many people had been killed by men like that.
Besides, I had decided this was my last run. I headed to a friend’s house to call the police. I would send them for Junior.
But I was never going back.
Alone in an empty Deadman unit after making the call, I played until the sunset. Never in there after dark, I headed to the
redneck store. For the first night, I planned to stay awake and roam the streets, watching all the depressed, noisy people.
But as I played a video game in the store with a feeling of dread, a man tapped on my shoulder. I spun around in a whirl of
fear and saw a short, smiling black man. He was my uncle James, my mother’s brother. “She said I would find you here,” he
said. He turned and walked out the store. Without question, I followed. As soon as we stepped through the door, a hard rain
began to fall.
In the car on the stormy highway I talked with my sister, who had called our uncle, then showed him where to find me. She
said the police, who she had called also, came hours later. Our mother never came back. But Junior was safe at our uncle James’s
house.
Since my mother had not stayed in contact with her three brothers and four sisters across town, Uncle James was unaware of
his sister’s life. We let him know how bad things had gotten. He shook his head in disbelief. Later he postponed conversations
for the night, and after we ate a small meal, everyone went to bed.
Plans were made the next day. My sister was sent to my aunt Cheryl’s house. Junior and I remained with my uncle James. In
a few days, he had moved our clothes and furniture from the Hitler camp. And we began to settle down.
James lived in East Ledbetter Apartments on Ledbetter, one of many apartment complexes scattered throughout Oak Cliff. The
complexes were a grade above the project units, slightly larger, and had central air and heat.
A shopping center, barbecue shacks, and other restaurants were located at the busy intersection of Ledbetter and Bonnie View,
just before the school. Most everyone around there, it seemed, tended to his own business.
My uncle James was the oldest of the boys, maybe three years behind my mother, the oldest of her family. He had shared the
same family environment as my mother and had settled into hard, unrewarding labor to feed and clothe his family—although this
clearly was not his ambition or the extent of his potential. He had a job doing office cleaning. He didn’t smoke, drink, or
do drugs. And he seemed to care about us. He had married in his early twenties but was divorced and the possessor of his three
young children, two girls and a small boy. He had since remarried.
The noise and violence was less in Oak Cliff. It seemed a vast colony of minimum-wage workers, and I realized I finally had
moved up to the minimum-wage group. I hoped my sturdy uncle would adopt me. But, at the same time, I wanted my mother to be
here also. She could do better away from the projects.
Junior stayed for only a short time with Uncle James, then was sent to live with another aunt close by. I grew closer to my
three cousins, all preschoolers, often riding them on the back of their bike in the scarcely populated apartments, the way
Bad Baby had done for me in the projects. We played nonsense kid games all the time. Or watched TV!
In the near distance, the
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