A Wave of Violence Engulfs a Life on the Mend

Last week, Hines told his mother -- his father died when Keith was 5 -- that he was glad he had been sent to prison, where grim reality forced him to decide what he really wanted to be. He also told his mother, for the umpteenth time, that he wanted to give her one of his kidneys so she could lead a better life.

"I just kept procrastinating on it because he was so young, and I've been around," Gloria Hines says.

Retired from work as a housekeeper at Catholic University, she cannot accept that she is on her own. "We never had any trouble in 55 years in this house," she says. "One time, somebody took a ladder out of my yard, but that's the only thing."

"Every weekend is horrific in this city right now," says Lori Kaplan, director of the Latin American Youth Center. "How somebody can walk up to someone on a porch and just shoot them in the head speaks to some level of alienation that's beyond my capacity to understand."

Ever since Keith returned from prison, he and his mother had a routine: Every time he walked out the front door, she says, "we always said, 'I love you.' Every day."

Keith had paid his tuition for classes in the fall at the University of the District of Columbia. His bicycle sits on the porch, ready.

The door opens, and his mother says it again: "Love you." Then she answers for him. "Love you."

Join me at noon today for "Potomac Confidential" athttp://www.washingtonpost.com/liveonline.