She opened the doorto the stairwell and was blasted with a cloud of smoke. Her littlesister was with her. I followed about 5 or 6 feet behind. When I got up to them, I grabbed them, and said, “come back here.” The firstdude was already up and heading down the stairs. Before the doorclosed, the second guy turned his head slowly and said, “Oh, shit”and started getting up.

Fifteen years ago Iwas familiar with the aromas of lots of different kinds of drugs.This wasn't pot, opium, or hash. It smelled like evergreen, Ithought, or household cleaner. I've been saying it was crack, thoughI suppose it could've been meth. As I mentioned, I'm not up on thedrugs these days.

To say this hasbeen a learning experience is one thing, and it has, for me and my 8year old. Unfortunately, it has also been an awakening. Weeks ago I started with plans to “organize” the tenants in our apartmentcomplex. I want to know who my neighbors are. The people I've talkedto have, for the most part, seemed similarly interested. I hadvisions of a community garden, a newsletter, volunteers from eachbuilding communicating with each other to help keep the place cleanand safe. I contacted Hour Exchange Portland to discuss thepossibility this could be a time credits project for me and thoseinvolved, and they were interested.

What I am doing nowis reminding myself that nothing has really changed. My olderdaughter plays outside with the neighborhood children after school. She still will. We love it here, and we mostly will continue loving it. But, we're going to move. She doesn't know that, andI won't be discussing it with her until next spring when we begingetting ready to go.

There is a policeofficer I've become familiar with who works in our area. I saw him inthe corner Starbucks a few days after he had been at our neighbor'shouse. He had put our neighbor in the back of his car and my daughtersaw him get “patted down.” I asked the officer if there wassomething I needed to worry about with that guy and he said no, hewas getting a ride to the hospital. He patted him down because“nobody gets in back there unless I check 'em.”

Last night I sawthe same cop at a different Starbucks and I started talking with himabout the stairwell drug users. Earlier that evening, I posted a note on each of the doors ofour building saying that I had no interest in getting into anyoneelse's business but if it affected my children, things weredifferent. I said if I found someone using in the stairwell orhallway or laundry room again, I wouldn't hesitate calling thepolice. After a good and in-depth conversation with this cop, I madethe decision last night to move. Examining all our options (he suggestedforgetting the security deposit and moving immediately), I've decidedI have to be pragmatic. If I were to pack up and go now it would costtoo much, financially and emotionally. Mostly financially.

I told him how Ihated that good people couldn't stay. I told him that I wanted tohelp the place be a better place. He understood and agreed thatknowing neighbors, invested tenants, people who care are allimportant. He even seemed to agree that in some cases ideas like minewere good. The fact was, though, he knows our apartment complex andour building in particular. He pointed out our landlord has knownabout the lockless (door knob-less) back door for months and hasn'tfixed it. “He hasn't shown signs that he is doing anything about it[the drugs],” he said of the landlord. “It's a transientpopulation. There's no one who has been there for 15 years, for example. Even ifyou have a bunch of good people in a building, you get a few who arebringing in really bad characters and it's not a good thing.” Of myidea to get to know my neighbors, he said, “Most of them justreally don't care. It would be an uphill battle.”

Hearing efforts toimprove the lives of our community would be an uphill battle normallywould inspire me to do it. I'd kick that uphill's ass. But, that'sjust me. And as much as I feel like “they win” when I realizedthis, I have to think of my daughters. As the officer pointed out,once the users are high, they are unpredictable. He forced the imageon me of my daughter coming up the stairs, running into two guys whowere high, and them “pulling her into the laundry room.” It wasprobably at that moment, when he made me “see” and, worse, feelthat imagined scene, that I decided we had to move.

Bad things couldhappen to my children anywhere. No matter where we live, my childrenwill need to learn that going with a stranger (even one who claims toknow me) is never okay. Common sense is something I need to teachthem. In the six months we have lived there I have felt safe enough.I have enjoyed my daughter running around outside, and I willcontinue to let her do that. She won't use the back door anymore,she'll have her own key, and I'll always be able to see her from mywindow. The world of high-crime areas—and the officer told me thisparticular complex is one—brings with it risks I won't subject mychildren to. I'm sad about it, though. Sad because if people likeme aren't willing to stick around, the cycle will just continue. Mybabies must be safe(r), though. We will move in the spring. We willfind a place where the police don't spend much time (the coprecommended a few places to me), where my daughters can come and gofrom the building with only the “regular” level of caution. We'llbe as safe as we can be.