Tasha usually wasn’t the type to talk much about her personal life, even after a few weeks living in South Minneapolis. She laughed easily, made friends quickly, and blended into the neighborhood like she’d always been there, but there were things she held close. Things she didn’t say. Things that explained the quiet sadness in her eyes sometimes.
As summer went on, she slowly began to open up—especially to Cathy, Terri, Yolanda… and Derrick.
Before she moved to Minneapolis, Tasha lived in the Rondo neighborhood of St. Paul, on a block where nearly every house had kids running around, women sitting on porches, men fixing cars in driveways, and music floating through screened windows. She loved it. She loved: the churches on almost every corner, the barbershops, the restaurants that smelled like soul food, the laughter that bounced off front steps in the evenings, Oxford Park, where she learned to swing high and run fast Rondo was alive. Rondo was community. Rondo was home.
The freeway changed everything. Interstate 94. She remembered being six or seven when the first rumors spread:
“They gonna put a freeway right through here.”
“Through where?”
“Through Rondo.”
Her mother didn’t believe it at first.
“No way they tearing down this neighborhood,” she said.
Little by little though, Rondo changed. First came the letters in the mail. Then whole blocks of people forced to move. Eminent Domain they called it, where the government bought the houses, but people didn’t have a choice. Then came the bulldozers. Whole blocks vanished. Her friends moved away. Her Sunday school teacher cried during class. Oxford Park felt smaller somehow—not because it changed, but because everything around it did.
Tasha didn’t understand all the politics behind it, but she understood the feeling of losing home. Losing familiar faces. Losing the sense that everything would always be the same.
Her father, who worked construction jobs around the city, lost steady work when the contracts dried up. Money got tight. Then tighter. Arguments got louder. More frequent. More painful. Her parents never stopped loving Tasha, but they stopped loving each other.
The day her father left the house for the last time, she didn’t ask where he was going. She just watched from the window and hugged her mother’s waist without saying a word. Her mother held her tight.
“He’ll always be your daddy,” she whispered. “But it’s just us now.”
Tasha’s mother tried everything—temporary jobs, part-time work, cleaning houses on weekends—but the rent in St. Paul kept climbing, and the neighborhood wasn’t the same anymore. Sometimes, at night, Tasha could hear her mother crying softly through the wall.
One day, Tasha’s mother got a phone call—from her sister, Cathy’s mother.
“You bring that girl and yourself over here,” her sister said. “You ain’t struggling by yourself anymore. We got room. Family helps family.”
And that was it. No long planning. No dramatic goodbye. Just a decision born of necessity and love. They packed what they could carry: Clothes. Some photographs. A Bible. A little jewelry. A few toys from when Tasha was younger. They hugged their neighbors. They looked at Oxford Park one last time. And then they left Rondo behind.
Cathy’s family lived on 42nd & 5th Avenue, in a small but warm house with more love in it than space. When Tasha walked in the first day, Cathy squealed like she’d won the lottery.
“You’re living with us? For real?”
Tasha nodded.
Cathy hugged her so hard she almost fell over. The house was full: Cathy, her parents, two younger brothers, a grandmother who visited every weekend, and now Tasha and her mom. Nobody minded.
Tasha and Cathy shared a room—two beds, two dressers, and twice as much talking at night. Her mother got a job at at Sears on Lake Street as a secretary in their Credit department. It was a bus ride away. Not glamorous, but steady. For the first time in a long while, Tasha felt safe again. Still sad sometimes. Still adjusting. Still missing Rondo. But safe. And welcomed.
Tasha didn’t plan on telling Derrick any of this. But one warm evening, after the crew had spent the whole day at Phelps, the two of them found themselves walking slowly down Portland Avenue—just a little behind the group, just enough to have space. Tasha was quiet at first, kicking lightly at stones on the sidewalk. Derrick noticed the shift in her mood.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded, then hesitated.
“You ever miss something so much it feels like it’s still there even when it’s not?” she said quietly.
Derrick thought about for a second.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I have.”
She stopped walking.
“My neighborhood in St. Paul… Rondo… it’s gone,” she said. “Or it’s still there but it’s not the same. They tore so much down. Some of my friends moved. Oxford Park isn’t the same either.”
Derrick listened closely.
“My mom… she tried,” Tasha said. “But she couldn’t keep things together. So we came here.”
Derrick’s voice softened.
“I’m glad you came.”
Tasha looked at him—eyes glistening, not quite tears, but close.
“I didn’t think I’d feel at home again,” she whispered. “But… I’m starting to.”
“Good,” Derrick said.
A long, quiet moment passed—warm, gentle, full of emotion neither of them fully understood yet. Then Tasha said:
“You make it easier.”
Derrick’s heart kicked hard, but his voice stayed steady.
“I’m glad.”
Derrick finally asked the question he’d been curious about.
“So… are you and your mom staying with Cathy’s family for good?”
Tasha shrugged lightly.
“For now,” she said. “Until my mom saves enough for a place of our own. Cathy’s mom said we could stay as long as we need.”
“That’s good,” Derrick said. “Cathy’s family… they’re good people.”
“They really are,” Tasha said, smiling. “They treat us like we’ve always lived here.” She paused. “It’s different. But it’s good.”
Derrick felt something settle warmly in his chest.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he repeated quietly. Tasha nudged him gently with her shoulder.
“I know,” she whispered.
As they reached the corner, the rest of the group waited up ahead, joking loudly, but Derrick and Tasha stood for just a second longer under the streetlight.
“Thanks for listening,” she said.
“Anytime,” he replied.
“You’re easy to talk to.”
Derrick smiled.
“So are you.” She smiled back—that quiet smile he was beginning to love.
As they walked to catch up with the rest of the group, Derrick thought to himself that her story wasn’t sad. It was strong. It was hopeful. It was a beginning. And now… he was part of it.