Tyler Johnson Was Here(56)

But all I say is “Shush, keep your voice down. Mama is trying to get some rest. And Faith and I did not have sex.”

“Why not?” Ivy asks, not looking at me as she tosses her skateboard down with a clatter.

“I just get the feeling she’ll want to wait.”

“Or maybe not. Maybe she’s just waiting for you to bust a move,” Ivy says back, but when she sees the look on my face, she throws her hands up like she’ll lay off.

I turn on my lamp, and we change focus. My application is due soon.

But I think about what Faith told me. Think about the fact that maybe I don’t even want to go to MIT at all. That’s just what I’ve been told I should want, so it was what I told myself I wanted, too.

Now I don’t even know what I want anymore.

If I even want to go on living my life without Tyler. Why do I get to live while he’s gone?

So instead of putting myself through that, the three of us play some NBA 2K Blacktop for a couple hours.





When I walk into the kitchen, I see Mama sitting at the table, and my nose gets a huge whiff of macaroni and cheese that might be on the verge of burning.

“Hey, honeybunches,” she says to me. She seems distracted.

I slide into the seat across from her. “What’s going on?”

“I got a call from a man today,” she says. She looks at the stove, like she suddenly realizes the mac and cheese is burning. She gets up, turns off the stove, stirs the pot.

“Yeah? Who was it?”

She turns to face me, confusion on her face. “Someone from MIT.”

My heart sinks. I haven’t told her about any of this with MIT, because I could already tell how she’d react. She’d say I was crazy for applying to a place like that, a place that’s so out of my league, a place where black boys don’t belong.

I nod. “Oh. Yeah. What’d he want?”

“He asked for an update on your application. What’s going on, Marvin?”

I take a deep breath. “I interviewed with him at the college fair, and he told me he’d recommend me as long as I send in my application, and I haven’t done it yet. A part of me feels like I just can’t even physically do it. Like I don’t deserve to go after my dreams after everything, y’know?”

“You interviewed with MIT?”

“Yeah,” I say, and wait for her yelling to start—but she just slips on a small smile and sits at the table, putting a hand on mine.

“That’s great, honey.”

“Really?”

She nods.

I swallow. “I don’t even know if I want to go anymore. I mean, I feel like I’ve been told all my life that MIT’s the best school if you’re serious about science, but I don’t know if that’s just a lie I’ve been forced to believe. I’ve been thinking of applying to an HBCU instead, if they’re even still taking applications.”

“Really? Which one?”

I feel the weight being taken off my shoulders. “Howard.”

Her smile makes me think she’s excited for me, and we both stay quiet for a moment, just looking at each other, and then she gets up from the table and walks around to me and hugs me tight and tells me that she’s proud of me.

And then she goes back to finishing up dinner, but I know that deep down she’s probably feeling a hundred different things. Like how Tyler will never be able to apply to college now.





? 30 ?



DATE: JANUARY 15, 2019

TO: MARVIN D. JOHNSON (MY SON)

FROM: JAMAL P. JOHNSON

PRISON NUMBER: 2076-14-5555

MESSAGE:

Son,

I’ve been thinking a lot about freedom.

What does freedom mean?

Who gets to be free?

Is someone free when they don’t have to think about the way people look at them or treat them because of the color of their skin?

Is someone free when they don’t have to spend time on this earth with people who have hearts made of hate?

Or is someone only really free when they’re no longer a part of this world?

I don’t know the answers. But I can only hope that Tyler is free, wherever he is, and that you can find your freedom, too.

I know you’re hurting. Hell. I’m hurting, but never forget that I love you.

Daddy



I’ve started a social media page for Tyler on just about every site possible. The Facebook page has over five thousand likes. The Twitter page has over two thousand followers. Even Lance Anderson is following the Tumblr.

I check each page every day, monitoring what everyone’s saying about Tyler, in an attempt to preserve his legacy. He was a good kid and he wanted things out of life—even things that he never told anyone. That’s part of being a person. He wasn’t a thug who deserved to die, and I make sure everyone remembers that every day.

I’ll never forget Tyler.

I don’t want the world to either.





I’ve already missed the MIT deadline, and I guess Mr. Ross has figured out that I’m not the right fit after all, because he stops calling, stops e-mailing. I check the Howard University website. The deadline is February 15—one month from now. One month to get my shit together. One month to get into the new school of my dreams.