Remembering Antoine - He Was More Than a Statistic

A year ago today, Antoine was shot and killed on the streets of Baltimore.

If you look him up online, there is almost nothing about him. Just the basics: name, age, race, cause of death, location. Another red pin on a map. Another statistic in Charm City.

But Antoine was so much more than a statistic. He was my friend.

He was funny, kind, and unbelievably resilient. Even though I’m white and nearly 20 years older than him, we connected through a lot of shared experiences. One of the biggest was becoming fathers. My daughter and his son even share the same birthday. She was my fifth child and his first, but that never mattered. We talked constantly about the struggles and joys of parenting.

When Antoine first told me his girlfriend was pregnant, he was nervous about the future. He knew he needed a job so he could support his family. At first, that sounded simple enough. But what I learned was how incredibly difficult our systems can make even the most basic things for people who are already struggling.

For over a year, we worked just to get him a state ID.

The pandemic made everything harder. We would go to the Social Security office only to find handwritten signs saying they were closed because of COVID. We would call and be told to do it online. We would go online and be told to call instead. We mailed applications that seemed to disappear into the void. We spent months trying to get replacement documents like a Social Security card and birth certificate just so he could apply for an ID and eventually get a job.

The whole process drove me crazy. I was angry all the time about how broken it felt.

But Antoine never reacted that way.

He would smile and say, “No worries, Kev. We got this.”

Then he would immediately focus on the next step. His optimism in the middle of constant setbacks inspired me more times than I can count. I was the grumpy one. He taught me that anger does not solve the problem in front of you. You just keep moving forward and work on the next thing.

Finally, after more than a year, we had everything he needed.

We scheduled an appointment at the MVA for January 12, 2022. I remember feeling so excited for him because it felt like we had finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel. He was already talking about jobs he wanted to apply for.

I talked to him on January 9th to confirm everything, and he told me he’d see me then.

That was the last time I ever spoke to him.

When I tried calling him again on the 11th to confirm pickup details, he did not answer. At first, I did not think much of it. When you grow up with stability and resources, you forget how fragile basic things can be for others. Phones get shut off. Internet disappears. Power goes out. Sometimes weeks would go by before Antoine could reconnect. So I assumed it was something like that.

I canceled the appointment and figured I would hear from him eventually.

Almost a month later, a friend called and told me Antoine had been shot and killed on January 10th.

I still remember the feeling of that moment. It did not feel real. My mind immediately went back to our last conversation and then to those missed calls on the 11th. While I was trying to reach him, he was already gone. Sitting unidentified in a city morgue.

Those calls were never going to be returned.

For weeks, I tortured myself with questions.

Originally, I had planned the appointment for January 10th before moving it to the 12th. What if I had kept the original date? Would his path that day have been different? What if I had worked harder over the previous year to get his documents sooner? Would he have already had a job and been somewhere else entirely?

What if. What if. What if.

It is easy to spiral into that kind of thinking after loss.

Over the last year, I’ve thought a lot about Antoine and about how many people quietly fall through cracks most of us never even notice. Something as basic as getting an ID became a year-long battle. A process that should have been simple became exhausting, confusing, and defeating.

But through all of it, Antoine kept moving forward with hope.

That is what I remember most. Is tenacity and positivity.

Not the statistic. Not the headline that never existed. Not the red pin on a map.