The Houston Chronicle recently ran this excerpt from Ashley Nelson's book THE COMBINATION:

The Lafitte Public Housing Development on Orleans Avenue in the Sixth Ward is a combination of friends, family, support, and love, but it's also a place where a lot of people are scared to go. I wonder if they're scared of us and that's why they are afraid to spend time there, or maybe it's because our buildings aren't as beautiful as other neighborhoods. Either way, you wouldn't see someone from the suburbs just walking through saying, "Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd swing by." We do have problems in Lafitte, but damn, it doesn't mean you have to run away from us.

Lafitte is the neighborhood I grew up in. As I began to write my book, I wanted to include stories that showed that Lafitte is a combination of both good and bad. My mom got caught up in the bad part -- the part that outsiders use to the label the whole community. At first, I was afraid to write about my mom because I didn't want people to judge her or me. But as I wrote about the neighborhood, it was impossible for me not to write about her.

Meet My Mom
My mother's name was Jalna Nelson and despite the drugs, the cries, and all the broken promises, she was still a good person. I remember what she was like before she would smoke the drugs. She was a mother, a mother with all the love that a mother who didn't use would have. Drugs changed her. Every time she was high, drugs made my mother forget she loved us so she did things she normally wouldn't. But I forgave and loved her even if she forgot she loved me. The way I saw it was, "That high woman isn't my mom. The woman deep down inside her is, and that's who I loved."

My mother and I were close -- in fact, very close. We always talked about the ways of life and the power of a choice. My mother told me once she wished she never had kids so we wouldn't have to go through so much. It didn't make me sad, it made me wish I wasn't born only so she could be happy because her happiness meant a lot to me.

Meet My Dad
The first time I met my father, Darren Nelson, was at my mother's funeral. I had lived with him and my mom since birth but I never knew him. He is a very secretive person, but I think that's only to us. I don't know much about him because when I was young he never talked to us. He would come home from work and just go to his room. When I was young I feared him, not because he physically hurt us, but because I didn't know him as a person -- all I knew was that he was my father.

At my mother's funeral, he truly acted as a father. We were sitting in a black limousine on the way home from the cemetery and he told us it would be okay because he'd take care of us. And he does. We live with him and he tries to be a good parent. I know it's hard because he misses Mom. He wears their engagement rings on a necklace. It makes me sad inside that he's like this locked door with no key. Despite it, I still love him.

Meet My Parents
My mom graduated from John McDonogh at the top of her class and then attended community college before working at City Hall. My father graduated from Joseph S. Clark and was one step from being a cop, but then changed his mind.

I loved to hear my mama tell the story of how they got together. He was working as a delivery man and used to deliver packages to City Hall.

My mama was a frequent topic of conversation amongst his co-workers. Slim and dark-skinned, my mama explained, "I was a stallion." My daddy and his co-workers made a bet over who could get a date with my mama. Being the scam artist that he is, my daddy told her what the bet was about and proposed that they pretend to be going out together and split the money.

"Fifty-fifty," she said, "cuz I don't play that." They wound up falling for each other anyway.

My mother and father were together for years. They seemed so happy at times. I mean, we did lots of family things like going to City Park on weekends to feed the ducks or sometimes we'd all sit in the living room and play board games.

The fun times I remember with my dad, my mom was there, too. On Easter they'd wake us early so we could dye eggs and make baskets. My mom and dad were Catholic, so afterwards we'd go to St. Peter Claver, which wasn't too bad. On regular days, my dad did simple things like wrestle with us or crack jokes.

I do remember my dad combing my hair one time. I think I was about seven years old. My mom must have been gone. I can't really remember but I know it was very pretty and I was grateful.
SIXTH WARD SIGN: 5 + 1 = 6

In the Lafitte and everywhere else in New Orleans we have hand gestures we use to represent our wards. The Lafitte is the Sixth Ward so we can put up three fingers on each hand -- 3 + 3 = 6 -- or we'll put up my personal favorite: five fingers and a middle. I see it like, "This is our ward."

Lots of people mistake our gestures for gang signs, but they truly are not. They only remind us of how much we are proud of our hood. People in Lafitte respect these gestures because they let outsiders know where we live and how we coming. And believe me, we coming strong.

My father did drugs first. He introduced them to my mom when my brothers and sisters and I were young. They used to be in the kitchen with a curtain hanging up. That stanky smell would drift into the living room and we used to get all dizzy off the contact. Sometimes they used to lock us kids in our room so we wouldn't be near it. In that locked room, we'd all have long talks about our dreams and wishes. I can honestly say that they were all the same -- to be happy with mama and daddy.

My mom and dad used heavy. My mom would leave for three and four days at a time -- God, I missed her so much -- and when she'd come home, we wouldn't be angry. We'd all run over and give her a hug because we missed her. My dad would come home from work, see her gone and leave, too. All we kids would have was each other.

My father quit long before my mom. His willpower must've been stronger than hers because she kept using and hurting us. I don't think she knew how much I cried when she would leave. At night, I prayed she'd quit but she never did, so then I started praying for her to be safe. I never blamed anyone for my parents or for my life because I looked at it like this: "The rain will soon be over."


Her book is one in a series of five, the product of The Neighborhood Story Project.

These books are available for pre-order at Soft Skull Press. All of the money goes to the writers and the NSP.