Now No One Dares Tell Chicago Police Who Killed Him.
The sun had just set, and before heading home, Ramaine Hill kissed his girlfriend, Kaprice, and hugged their 2-year-old son, RJ. He hopped on his nephew’s BMX bike, which he rode standing up since it was too small for his five-foot-11 frame. He always listened to music, mostly Lil Wayne that summer of 2013, and so he put in his earbuds. This was when Ramaine felt most at peace. By himself, with his music. He began the three-block ride home.
A sleepy-eyed, open-faced 22-year old, Ramaine had a quiet demeanor, a shyness. He felt uncomfortable around people he didn’t know well, which included just about everyone except for his family and Kaprice. One time, when his grandfather, whom he’d never met, visited, Ramaine disappeared upstairs, slipped onto the roof, and left the house through a back staircase. Anything to avoid having a conversation. To avoid having to explain himself. To avoid contact. Kaprice remembers that when they started hanging out together, in their early teens, she’d sit with Ramaine on a park bench because he didn’t want to come inside and talk with her mom. Ramaine was old-school, though. When, at 14, he decided he wanted to officially date Kaprice, he asked for permission. “I’m really feeling her,” he told Kaprice’s mom. “I want her to be my girlfriend.” She laughed and gave him the okay.
Esta historia es de la edición March 4, 2019 de New York magazine.
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