Watching Her Back

By: Alysia TateLast year, the young, brown-skinned man with the scar across his forehead asked for her phone number. Later, he tried to get her into his car.

He must have been watching her, she figured. How else could he have known she would be leaving for school around 7 a.m. that day? Suddenly he was there, walking next to her, putting his arm across her shoulders. He tightened his hold and put something against her neck. It felt sharp. It turned out to be a comb, but it didn’t matter—it could have been a knife. Sixteen-year-old Chiquita Bannister pushed him away, hit him and ran. "I was moving so quickly," she said. "I just did what I had to do to get away."

She told police about the man, and they said he had also approached other girls. They arrested him but never called her about any court date.

On a summer evening about a month later, she saw a crowd gathered toward the end of her block. Somebody must have been killed, she thought—"probably one of the guys," over some gang business or something. The next day she heard about Ryan Harris.

Chiquita knew to avoid the abandoned buildings and "woodsy" vacant lots in the neighborhood. She remembers thinking Harris should have been riding her bike in a more public area. Men in the neighborhood hassled Chiquita so much as it was—and now a little girl had been killed. It scared her.

Chiquita’s parents already kept a close eye on her and her two sisters, one older, one younger. Now they are forbidden from even walking to the bus stop alone. To get to school, they leave together or get a ride. Chiquita has learned to watch her back. It is part of growing up in Englewood. You never know who you can trust.

The day after Harris’ murder, police asked Chiquita if she remembered seeing or hearing anything strange. Her mother said she heard screams coming from the area where Harris’ body was found but thought it was a child falling. Such sounds were "just natural" in the neighborhood.

After the murder, Chiquita’s parents and many of her neighbors grabbed rakes and trash bags to clean up the vacant lots and dangerous areas. The police come around a lot more than they used to, she said.

Every night, at 10 or 10:30 p.m., little children still play outside by themselves. But now, if one screams, Chiquita runs out on her porch.

"It keeps me alert all the time."

Harris’s death has become another reason to stay aware, to pay attention. There are fewer hiding places for criminals now but still plenty to "be used for evil," she said.

"It’s a shame I have to think about that constantly."