#tylerjohnsonwashere

*SPOILER ALERT*

“... and I’m left thinking maybe Tyler’s in heaven , whispering things to the drops of rain as they trip on their tiny tails and splatter onto the earth, and I imagine that they know how it is to be black in America, to have a destiny of falling, to have a fate of dying on impact.”

This book feels so utterly real and not only because it is semi-autobiographical, but because it speaks in volumes even if you are not a black person. It calls the reader out and with a heartbreaking rawness teaches us the reality of minorities, especially the black community. The book focuses a lot on police brutality, it is graphic and violent, because that is the reality of the society we live in. People die everyday solely based on the color of their skin.  

One of the major themes of this novel is grief, how it feels to lose someone that you love, how someone keeps living after that, the impact it has on your life. The way the author writes about grief feels so familiar, having lost my mom, I felt understood by the character in a way that I hadn't felt understood by many people. 

Marvin loses his twin brother to police brutality. From the very beginning of the novel there are several encounters between the characters and the police; no matter where they are or what are they doing, no matter how innocent they are, the officers always see them as a threat, because they live in the hood, because they dress like “thugs”, because they talk back, when in reality it is simply because they are black. 

For my blog post for Tyler Johnson Was Here, I thought it would be interesting to write a piece of flash fiction from the perspective of Tyler Johnson if he was still alive after his encounter with the police officer. Too often, the news highlights black folks dying at the hands of police brutality or killed due to the color of their skin. It's unfair for the black community to experience this level of violence at disproportionate rates. In response to the text, I've decided to write flash fiction, not to erase the trauma families endure as a result of systemic racism, but rather to raise awareness of these issues in a way that uplifts black lives.

Johntae's grip still lingers around my neck as I take one last look at him and Marvin before storming away. I could've handled myself without Marvin, even if I appreciated his help deep down. Seething with anger, I make a beeline towards the back door, but not before making my way through the crowd, who's currently dancing to an overplayed Drake song. 

A sigh escapes my lips when I make it outside. The thought of ditching this lame party and just going home to forget about everything crosses my mind when sirens and screams start ringing in my ear.

Pow! Pow! Pop!

I take off running. I'm all too familiar with what gunshots mean for black folks, aka me, and I'm not dumb enough to wait around to see what happens. Once I'm far enough away from the party, I steadily walk beneath the fluorescent streetlights, hoping I'm far enough away from the party the cops are about to bust.

"Put your hands in the air where I can see them!" a booming voice yells.

I instinctively throw my hands up and slowly turn around. It's just my luck. It couldn't be any clearer under the streetlights that it's another run-of-the-mill white guy in a cop's uniform who's about to give me shit for doing nothing. Marvin, let alone Mama, definitely will not let me hear the end of this when they find out. 

 "Leave me alone. I'm just going home." I blurt out. Both me and Officer Caucasian, as I've named him in my head, have the ultimate staring contest while sirens are faintly sound off in the background. I take a step back but still keep my hands in plain view. 

"I'm only going to fucking ask you once. Don't make me arrest you for resisting, boy." he threatens as he reaches for his holstered gun.

I repeat what I said earlier with more vibrato, standing my ground. I'm not about to let some middle-aged white guy hold any power over me because he can. Just as Officer Meredith, his name gleaming off his tacky badge, approaches closer to me, I lightly push my hand forward, barely skimming the buttons of his shirt.

 "Leave me alone. I'm just going home." I say once more before turning around

Pop! Pop! Pop!

I felt a sharp pain in my chest area before falling over on the sidewalk. Steadying my breathing, I try to focus on anything to distract me from reality, namely how Mama would beat me when I got home. If I even got home. The thought haunts me as much as Pop's wrongful conviction while the pain continues to sear through my chest.

I hear Officer Caucasian mutter a string of curse words and an unfamiliar female voice. "Don't bother trying to deny what happened. I already called the ambulance and shared this video on Twitter."

I see a young girl with a dark complexion looming over me. Her reassurance that help is on the way is the last thing I hear before my world turns black.

...

My eyes flutter open and adjust to the dingy, speckled ceiling, and dimly lit room. I turn my head to see Mama's eyes welling up, overwhelmed that I'm alive, I’m sure. Marvin is in the room too, but he doesn't say anything. He just stares at me while Mama praises the Lord that I'm still here with her.

While Mama hollers at the nearest nurse that I'm awake, I sit up processing, how I nearly died. I expected to be another black kid who got shot by a cop, but instead, I get to live. Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, and Sandra Bland-- they will never know this "privilege."