Matthew as a child, probably 9-years-old or less. Living in a very bad neighborhood. I wasn't his mom. A tall, large, black woman was his mom. I don't know if his mom didn't realize how dangerous the neighborhood was or if she just didn't think much about it. She would let him walk places alone, even after dark. There were two opposing gangs in the area. The first time he went out one of the gangs went after him but an older man stopped them. He was working with the other gang to get them to change their ways and use their strengths and abilities to contribute to the community. After that first time, whenever Matthew went out this other gang always looked out for him and protected him. There was an old, run-down, cracker box of a house, except it was only one square room. All four walls were mostly windows and the only furniture was a few worn wooden benches with no backs. This was a hang-out spot for the good gang. One time I was in there with Matthew. It was very dark in there and there were signs of some kind hanging in every window, blocking the view. Some members of the bad gang were outside trying to look in. As I got down to lay on the floor under one of the benches I told Matthew to do the same and to stay very quiet until they went away. Some members of the good gang showed up and got rid of the other men. When they came in they said something to Matthew and I. Something happened with the old man. I don't know if he died or if he had move away and not be with the gang. Maybe he was losing the house. I just have this sense of loss. Matthew went home to his mom. They lived in a very strange looking apartment building. When he entered the front door there was a long hallway in front of him. The floor was dirty, white tiles and the walls were white also, but not clean at all. The people who lived there were very cautious with their locks and such because it was such a bad area. Someone got upset because he had made too much noise. He went into his apartment where his mom was. As soon as he got home she bolted and chained the door. I have this sense of a very large, almost poster size, color photograph of her sitting on an easel, and again a sense of loss. I think she died.