More flight

A couple months later Donald’s girlfriend demanded they move to the suburbs. He did not want to go.

“She’s white,” he complained. “She’s the mother of my kids, but she don’t understand about me being with my people. She wants to live in the suburbs where she thinks we’ll be safe. Like the white neighbors aren’t going to look at me like I’m a drug dealer or something. But Shelly says we got a drug dealer down the block here, and there’s gangs, and already people be movin’ out. I keep telling her, we’re gonna make him move, but she can’t wait and I really can’t argue with her.”

Donald sold his house to a Hmong family. Ronald and I made a visit to invite them to the block club, but we couldn’t find anyone who spoke enough English for a conversation. We stumbled back across the street to our houses.

“Just imagine how happy they’d be if they could speak English,” I said to Ronald. “Hi, we’re your new neighbors and we came to warn you about the drug dealer down the block but don’t you worry, we are organized. You hear gunshot, you call this number. Welcome to America.”