There's No Place...
Lavon Crawston looked around himself with interest. This had been his home town, off and on, since his dear departed old Mom had brought him into the world. The city had changed almost as much as himself over that intervening half a century or so. However, just like him it had always retained its identity, its sense of self. The world had branded it 'H-Town' and it had taken on that name, made it its own for all that. He'd been away many times and returned just as often but the old city had always been there, waiting for him and essentially unchanged.
This time it was different. Nothing too surprising about that, nothing to be honest that he hadn't known was coming. The city, or at least this part of the city, was changing and changing fast. Everywhere you saw that name, 'North Capital', selling this district for what it had never been, separating it with brutal efficiency from its past identity.
It was ironic that this was the historic part of the city. Its finest buildings and all the sites marking its heritage, both good and bad. This place had turned back the Redcoats but its port had also been a key hub of the slave trade. All those places, steeped in heroism and blood, misery and evil, they were all now part of 'North Capital'. He didn't grieve for the fact. Change happened. That fantastic old bakery on the corner had been converted into yet another coffee shop. The produce market where his mom had seemed to spend half her life had been swept away so the new inhabitants could park their luxury SUVs. He turned a corner expecting to see an old favorite bar and saw a brand new gym.
Change happened and there was no point grieving for it. So he kept that to a minimum. The grief and his little trace of guilt. Hadn't he made his money by predicting just this. Buying property dirt cheap that now was coining it in for him. It wasn't like he could have prevented it. You might as well go down to the docks and tell the tide not to come in. That was life. You went with the said tide or you drowned.
None the less the realisation did hit him. He didn't feel at home any more walking these streets. Even in the two years since he had lived here full-time they had changed that much. The realtors had worked their magic; 'North Capitol' had become a thing no-one except him even took notice of any more. Prices and rents had gone through the roof and the old community couldn't live here any more. They had been replaced by the conspicuously affluent. There were no signs that said 'No Blacks' but there weren't too many ordinary African-Americans that could afford those new rents.
The distances involved were not great but he had his bags with him and so he had taken a cab. Outside of Police and advertising bill-boards the cabbie and Lavon seemed about the only Black folks in North Capital.
"Been away long?" The cabbie spoke over his shoulder in a Jamaican accent. Which probably explained his short dread-locks.
"It shows that much? I ain't been away long but this place is changing fast."
"Preach it! Not that I'm complaining - plenty of money come into the city. Shame is the assholes that bring it!" The two men shared a cynical laugh at the certain truth of that.
"Not that they all assholes - a few get with the vibe you know, but only a real few. Thing is," the cabbie continued, "go a few streets that way and there ain't nothing changing. May as well have fucking check-points and passport control. Ain't too many of these fucking yuppies going up to the Heights to live anytime soon!"
Lavon laughed again. That figured. The Fillmore Heights and gentrification were two concepts that really couldn't hang together in any world Lavon knew.
"Thank you brother." Lavon tucked a hundred in his hand and passed it to the cabbie after his bags had been unloaded. The driver nodded his approval and then he was gone. No need for a showy tip or a grovelling acceptance - these two men understood each other perfectly.
It wasn't hard to see Lavon's destination. It had what he hadn't seen up to now in the city. Two African-American men out on the porch and shooting the shit in the pleasantly warm morning air.
They both greeted him with broad and genuine smiles. For the first time that made Lavon feel at home. One of the men was DeShawn, the young man he thought of as his informal 'nephew'. The latter's frame had filled out a little as he had matured. Now he was a fine young man. Lavon noted with approval that the old ugly jailhouse tats on his arms had been replaced, or rather subsumed into, full tattooed sleeves of swirling patterns that seemed to shimmer on his dark skin. The young man also seemed to be looking after himself well. He hadn't lost the gym gains that had been the other result of his eighteen months in juvenile.
The other man was another very familiar face. Josh was a plumber who helped out on any maintenance jobs that DeShawn (or previously Lavon) couldn't handle. Given it was the end of the student year he wasn't surprised to see him there.
"How's it going man? Here for the usual?"
Josh laughed. "Yeah - same as always. They jammed the fucking pipes with paper and got the toilet overflowing so I made sure to check all the others too. No problem here but your other two houses got the usual. Regular as fucking clock-work!"
That figured too. DeShawn's house was 100% female. The other two houses were made up of male students. Prosperous trust-fund types who paid their rent on time but seemed totally unable to avoid blocking toilets and breaking fittings. If something broke the girls would tell you and you could fix it. White boys not so much.
"How you been getting on?" He kept his tone neutral but he knew that DeShawn would read him right.
DeShawn gave a slight nod and a slow smile. "It's all good Lavon. Nothing here I couldn't handle. Been a real good year."
Lavon didn't doubt that for one moment. DeShawn had matured into a likeable, handsome and powerfully built young Black man. Lavon had no doubts that his house's tenants had been kept well satisfied. Any repairs or other services required would have been handled almost as well as if Lavon were still here himself.
DeShawn picked up his bags. "Hey - I nearly forgot. We had a girl round here a couple of days ago looking for you. Said she used to live here."
"Name?"
"Didn't leave no name or no number but I told her when you'd be here. Just said she'd be back. Not the first to come looking for you but I gotta tell you that this one was a real fine piece. I mean built to the perfect specs and real sweet with it."
Why did Lavon suspect his 'nephew' had tried hitting on her. "Oh yeah?" He asked with a questioning look.
DeShawn gave that generous young smile of his. "Sadly she was only interested in talking to you. Seems she prefers the classic stylings."
They could both laugh at that. It wasn't like they'd ever be falling out over a white girl. First, experience showed that if you gave white girls what they wanted and needed then there would never be any shortage. Second, friends didn't fight - friends shared.
