Tyler Johnson Was Here(12)

Tyler pauses for a bit, his eyes blinking fast. He barely gets the names out, stumbling over the syllables, like rocks on the sidewalk. “Johntae, Fish, Zig, Big Money, and Moe.”

She gets out of her chair and slaps him hard against the side of his face with a popping sound. “What the hell kind of name is Big Money and Fish? What’re their real names?”

Tyler just shrugs his broad shoulders and scrunches up his mouth, confused. His scratching moves to his nose. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I just call them what they want to be called,” Tyler answers.

“You know what’s about to be calling you? This belt,” Mama shouts, pointing a finger into Tyler’s chest. But instead of pulling off her belt for real and waling on Tyler, she closes her eyes tightly, breathes in, cocks her head back, and then walks over to the table and pulls up a seat, shaking her head.

Then, she opens her eyes as wide as ever, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in between her fingers. “I just want y’all boys to be safe out here. That’s all I ask: Do your chores, get good grades, and be safe. There’s too much going on in the world. Folks done lost they minds, snatching up kids and killing everybody. I just couldn’t imagine what I would do if something were to happen to one of you.”

I look over at Tyler, and his face actually looks remorseful. “I’m sorry, Mama,” Tyler says, and even I fall for it.

“All right now,” she accepts, and points to the stove. “I made dinner. It might be cold, but a microwave’s over there.”

She puffs out an almost perfect cloud of smoke. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since she brought me into this world, it’s that you’ll never quite understand her. It’s like Mama’s cigarettes are the only things that wholly get her.





I walk by Tyler’s room. He’s sitting on the edge of his twin-sized bed, his eyes cold, brown, and drained, like coffee stains. 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.

“I’m never lying for you again, Tyler. You gotta stop hanging with Johntae and them. Please. For Mama and me. You heard what she said.”

He inches away a bit, his sheets rustling, and he finally says, “It ain’t that simple.”

“Look, I just want to talk.” I stare straight ahead, my hands folded in my lap.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Up close, I can see the dark circles underneath his eyes. And I can’t believe it, but Tyler is actually crying, and he’s giving it his all to hide it from me. But it’s a losing battle.

We sit in silence for a couple moments. I’m not sure what Tyler’s thinking, but I know the only thing running through my mind is the fact that my own brother is straying away from me, and this is just my desperate attempt at calling him back.

“Remember all those mixtapes you made?” I ask.

He laughs with watery eyes. “Yeah. They’re somewhere in here. In a box or drawer, buried, never to be heard by another human being.”

“No, man, you were actually good at beats. It used to be all that you’d listen to, remember?”

“Of course I remember! That’s when I thought I was the shit. I actually thought I could sell tapes and make it the way Biggie did. Still do, sometimes. FruityLoops and that illegal version of GarageBand I had helped me get through middle school and freshman year.”

“Mm-hmm, you were a bad middle school student,” I joke.

“Those were some rough years, and my beats were the only thing that kept me going. I had this fire in me that if I powered through, I could be, like, the next Dr. Dre or something.” He lets out a small laugh. “Those mixtapes were a perfect distraction from everything.”

He nudges me in the arm, and I look up at him as he flashes me a small grin. Then I look away.

It goes quiet. I breathe in deeply, and the strong and lingering stench of weed fills up my nostrils.

“You stink,” I say. “You should take a shower.”

He buries his head in his armpit; he takes a huge whiff and then smells his sleeves. “Dammit! I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

We lift off the bed simultaneously. “So, you smoke now?” I shoot him a disappointed look, furrowing my eyebrows.

Tyler rolls his eyes. “No. The guys did, though.”

He rips off his shirt and throws it across the room, into the hamper by his cracked and peeling wooden dresser. He puts on a tight black tank top, squeezing into it.

Out of nowhere, I blurt, “I don’t want to lose you to them, Tyler.”

He looks surprised—his eyebrows caving in, lines forming on his forehead.

“You won’t. I’ll always be here. For you and Mama.” He rubs his eyes. “No one will ever take me away from you two.”

It goes quiet again. The world feels like it speeds up.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is the quietest it’s been since I came in here. “I shouldn’t have said those shitty things to you earlier.”

“It’s okay,” I say, and he gives me dap, like he used to. “Ty, I know you think you need to be hanging out with Johntae and dudes like him to fulfill some sort of prophecy the world predicts for you—or for us—but trust me when I say there are better ways.”