In a flash of gunfire, the life of Christopher Graham was forever changed.
Things were looking up for the 19-year-old Columbia man. He had just got a job. He was studying accounting at Howard Community College. He had his life ahead of him.
That all changed one warm evening last August when a bullet was fired into Mr. Graham's back. It happened during a fight with a 15-year-old neighborhood boy. Over a dog.
"I wish I could go back and change everything," he says. "Sometimes I don't even care if I live or die."
The bullet fired from a .38-caliber blue-steel Ruger lodged in Mr. Graham's spinal cord, paralyzing him from the waist down. The bullet is still there, but Mr. Graham can't feel it. It's unlikely that he'll ever walk again.
The tall, soft-spoken young man who liked to dance and play basketball now spends his days watching television as he sits in a wheelchair or lies in a bed set up for him in the living room of his townhouse in Columbia's Wilde Lake village.
Tomorrow, the youth accused in the shooting -- Raheem Ameen Jones, now 16 and living in Reisterstown -- will appear in Howard Circuit Court for a pretrial hearing on a list of charges that include attempted murder.
But not even the possibility that Mr. Jones may be sentenced up to life in prison if he's convicted eases the anger Mr. Graham feels toward him.
"Half of him is dead," says Mr. Graham's mother, Donna Livingston. "It is like a murder."
Youth shootings are rare in Howard County, says Sgt. Steven Keller, spokesman for the county police department. The most recent time, prior to Mr. Graham's shooting, that teens used guns in a dispute was in 1993, when two youths exchanged gunfire in East Columbia without injury.
But for Senior Assistant State's Attorney Joseph Murtha, who is prosecuting Mr. Jones, the case shows how the inner-city
"gangsta mentality" has spread to the suburbs. It's a case of innocence lost.
"It's even scarier when it occurs in a community that tries to nurture a peaceful environment," Mr. Murtha says. "No one is immune, no matter where you go."
Mr. Graham vividly recalls the evening of Aug. 16, 1994.
He had taken a nap after his second day on the job at the state Motor Vehicle Administration's office at the Dobbin Business Center. Later, a friend came to his townhouse in the Hannibal Grove complex and they played video games.
They decided to go to to a nearby convenience store for some snacks. Walking along a dirt path that serves as a shortcut to the store, Mr. Graham noticed about a half-dozen teen-agers hanging out, as they often do in the summer.
One of the youths was Raheem Jones. Mr. Graham knew Mr. Jones, who occasionally cut his hair, as he did for many of the people in the neighborhood.
"He's a comedian," Mr. Graham says of Mr. Jones. "He wanted to make everybody laugh. He liked attention."
Mr. Graham describes his relationship with Mr. Jones as friendly. He says they never had any differences. Until that night.
As they headed to the convenience store, Mr. Graham's companion stopped to chat with the group of youths. Mr. Graham was waiting for him when Mr. Jones' dog ran over to him.
Mr. Graham says he started playing with the dog, a cross between a German shepherd and a pit bull terrier. But Mr. Jones told him to leave the dog alone.
Mr. Graham says he pushed the dog away with his foot, perhaps kicking it. Mr. Jones then ran into his apartment, while Mr. Graham picked up the dog and headed for the convenience store. Mr. Jones quickly returned to confront Mr. Graham.
"He came outside with his hands in his pocket," Mr. Graham says. "I thought he had a knife. I said, 'You're going to stab me over a dog?' "
That's when Mr. Jones pulled out his Ruger, Mr. Graham told police.
Mr. Graham says he and Mr. Jones started wrestling for the gun. Bystanders tried to pull them apart, but the fight escalated. Someone called 911.
By this time, a third youth -- a friend of Mr. Jones -- had got into the fray, Mr. Graham says. This teen-ager fired a .22-caliber handgun at Mr. Graham, hitting him in the right leg, police say.
Mr. Graham says he started fighting with the third youth. Police have a warrant for a suspect's arrest, identifying him as Ronald Bassett, 17, of Old Tucker Row in the Harper's Choice village. He has not been apprehended.
As Mr. Graham fought with the third youth. Mr. Jones fired a single shot into his back, police say.
Mr. Graham says at first he felt a burning sensation, as if his stomach was on fire. And then his legs gave out. "I didn't feel my legs," he says.
Donna Livingston, Mr. Graham's mother, pulled into the Hannibal Grove complex off Columbia Road a short time later. There was a crowd. Police officers were there. She knew something was wrong.
Ms. Livingston, 43, was getting out of the car as one of Mr. Graham's friends ran up. Her son had been shot, she was told.
Ms. Livingston didn't go to her son. She couldn't.
"I thought he was dead," she says. "I didn't want to see it."
However, she did see Raheem Jones. Two police officers were with him. He was crying hysterically.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I did it. I'm sorry," he cried, according to a police report.
Mr. Jones and his mother could not be reached for comment. His attorney, Howard Cardin of Baltimore, also couldn't be reached. He previously turned down requests for interviews about the case.
As Mr. Jones heads for his day in court, Mr. Graham makes plans to go to the Maryland Rehabilitation Center in Baltimore in late March.
Mr. Graham will learn how to take a shower, open a refrigerator, operate a washing machine. He'll receive physical therapy as well as counseling, which his mother hopes will help him get over his depression.
"I don't know if he will ever pull it together," Ms. Livingston says.
Mr. Graham takes blood thinners to fight clots in his thighs. He frets over having to use a catheter. He plays with his dog, a pit bull terrier-Rottweiler puppy named Tiger.
Meanwhile, Ms. Livingston is searching for a new home, preferably a one-floor unit with large rooms and wide doorways so her son can maneuver his wheelchair.
Ms. Livingston and her husband, now estranged, moved their three sons to Columbia in 1987, leaving behind the mean streets of Jersey City, N.J., for what they hoped would be a safe, clean environment to raise a family.
Her son's shooting has left her befuddled. "I was confused," she says. "I was like, what went wrong here. This is supposed to be where people have a concern for human life."