Tyler Johnson Was Here: Chapters 1–8

Streetlights smoldering in a fog...potholes mazing the roads, gravel driveways, and garden gnomes with bullet holes.

I’ve heard all the horror stories of people walking all alone at night ending up missing or something, so I’m about to wave him down—maybe even invite him over to join us for some geeking out over A Different World—but all of a sudden, coming out of nowhere, is the striking sound of gunshots.

As I lift the bike off me, I feel this huge pang in my head, like I got some sort of goddamn concussion from colliding with the concrete sidewalk.

My next instinct is to stay quiet, to internalize all my cussing and fear, to make sure Ivy, G-mo, and Tyler do the same.

My chest gives in and out, constricting tighter and tighter as each bloody second slips by. I’m stricken with fear.

And I’m telling myself that right now is the best time for me to listen to her. Listen to this cop. Comply. Don’t make a move. Keep my hands up.

“We didn’t...do...anything. You have...the wrong people. We were just...heading home.” I try and try and try so hard to explain, but nothing, no remorse, no sympathy, no second thoughts, no step back, no removal of the gun from innocent kids’ faces...

She likes to pretend that her sons are safe in a world where they really aren't, so she tries to force oblivion.

Two seemingly racist cops.
An unconscious black boy.

Tyler is my somewhat troubled, somewhat gullible twin brother.

Mama’s 1990 Volvo station wagon smells like a blend of cigarette ash, Tyler’s gym socks from intramural sports, and mildewy leather.

“Have a blessed day, you two,” she says, strangely detached. Her tone is serious, but her words are sweet.

A past participle is a verb, typically ending in ed.

Ethos, pathos, and logos are the conjoined triplets of persuasion.

Ethos, pathos, and logos are the conjoined triplets of persuasion.

Out of all the schools in all the counties within a twenty-mile radius of Sojo High, our school is known to have the most expulsions. Most of which come from fights. And since our sports teams aren’t that good, we pride ourselves on being recognized for something, even if it is the highest number of physical altercations.

She just gets things, gets my way of thinking, like she’s the girl doppelganger of me.

After they go, all that’s left around us is a lingering waft of sweat and musty armpit and hair grease.

“Not to be rude or anything, but black people aren’t a monolith, and we’re allowed to be inspired by more than one thing or a handful of people. Hughes is my favorite poet, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only person who inspires me.”

“You really have the audacity to think that MIT’s gonna accept somebody who doesn’t take school seriously? I’m going to be real clear with you. Unless you’re going to start treating your education with respect, you might as well keep MIT out of your vocabulary.”

“The. Guys?” She punctuates her words, slow and jabbing.

He gives me one slow nod, and I walk inside and sit next to him on the bed, looking around like I’ve just stepped inside Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. His hideout is a graffiti mural plastered in posters and sports cards.

“So, you smoke now?” I shoot him a disappointed look, furrowing my eyebrows.

There’s a bouncer and a slew of security guards standing on both sides of the red carpet and cutoff line rope.

He twists his...hat, turning it backward to look more suave than he really is.

The angst is all over my body now, like goose bumps. I remain fixed on him as the anxiety pinches at the back of my throat. I’m afraid to see something I don’t really want to see. I'm afraid of knowing the truth.

“Go on in and enjoy all this party has to offer you, lil homie,” Johntae says, blowing his blunted breath all over me, a huge grin stuck on his face, like he and I are estranged cousins.

It obviously takes a damn herculean effort to move and think, but I do it the best I can, peeling back the layers of blankets on top of me.

I get back to my room, feeling like I’m being smothered, my heart palpitating.

After eating, Mama and I find our way to sitting on the dingy and holey little red sofa in the living room, watching the news.