When you walked down the lane from 4950, you’d go by the opening of 4947, a building that was still full like mine, but the third and final building slated for demolition on my block. Mama liked to tell the story of how Mayor Harold Washington, Chicago’s first Black mayor, walked down the fire lane, with his army of politicians. She said the residents, who’d voted for Washington, felt proud that he’d come back, to shake hands and inspire them. Every time she shared this story, I’d enjoy watching her face warm up at the memory.

I passed by that building, and people looked at me like I was a sleepwalker.

Then I saw Stacia. I almost walked right by her because I didn’t recognize her. She had her hair weaved into a long, straight wrap, touching her shoulder, and these tiny, stiff shorts hugging her butt.

Stacia, the skinniest and shortest of all the girls in a huddle, and her sisters, Pumpkin and Peach, and those same girls I didn’t know from before—they looked at me, then turned back around. But Stacia took off running, and I wasn’t quick enough this time. She ran up on me, and though I had a good lead on her, she extended her arm out and scratched the back of my neck before I could get away. I ran so fast and hard that when I looked up, I was almost at 47th—two whole blocks from home.

When I got to the space where 4848 used to be, the old high-rise where Stacia grew up, I wasn’t sure I was even in GD territory anymore. With her building demolished, the power could’ve shifted to another gang. There was only one building left on 48th Street, and there were so many people standing around it that it looked like a party. I knew if I turned around, I’d look scared, but I couldn’t walk into a building I didn’t know. I wondered if it was where the Black Disciples lived.

I cut across the playground, and when I passed one of their sliding boards, this dude said, “Shawty, come here.” Instead of responding, I bolted toward State Street, where there were blinding lights and cars going by. I would be in so much trouble if Mama knew what I was doing.

The number 29 bus zipped by me. I felt safer in the light, on a street that looked familiar enough. Then a car slowed down and started driving on the side of me. The guy in the passenger seat leaned out the window and said, “Ain’t you Meechie little sis?” I nodded.

He frowned. “Get yo’ little ass in this car. What you doing out here?”