A RESIDENT OF THE BERNARD, 3726 GIBSON | KENNETH PHILLIPS

I never thought I would have to break into my home.  But in October of 2007, that’s what I did.  I walked past the chain link fence put up by HANO to keep people out of the project, and realized how much had changed. I never heard anything so quiet, but I could just picture everything—how it used to be. A girl told me one time that it was stupid to live in the project, but I never thought it was.  It was hard work living there and we all had responsibilities. 

But we had fun, too.  Every Friday was a hang out day—that’s when every court was packed full with people.  On Saturdays, there would be block parties, a splash, or card games on the porch.

As I walked around the St. Bernard, none of my memories were wiped away, but I knew nothing would ever be the same. It didn’t feel right to walking through the courts without saying, “Hi, how you doin?”  There wasn’t anyone in the St. Bernard to greet.

It’s a hard thing to look back at, but as I step in different spots, I was catching flashbacks. I passed up the spot where my uncle was killed on February 25, 2001.

A bad feeling ran through me, but I kept my head up high.

When I walked through my court, I could see my little brother playing football while I was sitting on the porch with Kobey, the best dog ever.  I pictured my dog running down the stairs and all of us having to chase him up and down the court.  My neighbor, Ms. Lewis, used to say, “Run Kobey, run Kobey.” He adored her and she’d call him her baby.  After I caught him, everyone would be laughing cause he was the dog of the court.

I miss all the noise in the project.  I miss the times when my mama used to come out on the porch and holla, “Doodie, come inside and eat.”  I miss the times when cars used to slowly come up the driveway to avoid hitting all  children in the way.

I remember Ms. Pat on the porch, smoking her cigarettes, telling me she was going to call my grandmother if I don’t behave in the court.  Ms. Pat was a family friend for many years.  She used to work with my grandmother.  She stayed to herself, but we used to talk a lot.  Ms. Pat wasn’t nothing nice when it came up to her kids.  She raised four children  

by herself.  One time, my little brother and I were outside in the cold.  Ms. Pat said, “Get y’all behind inside and put on a jacket before I call y’all mama.”

This time, there was no one looking out for me.  I started walking towards the gate, and the HANO people drove up.  I thought maybe I was going to be arrested, and wanted to run.  I took a deep breath, held tight, and walked away.