in one hand and twenty years of memory in his chest.
What Tyler Had Been When He Was Seventeen, and the Hallway Moment He Had Never Stopped Carrying
His parents died in late 2005.
They had been driving home from a holiday party when the car spun out on the highway in icy conditions. Tyler was in the back seat. He was seventeen years old, and he was the only one who came through it.
The months after were blurry in the way that months are when grief and physical recovery are happening simultaneously. He was on crutches for most of that winter. His aunt June and uncle Ray took him in before the hospital had finished explaining what rehabilitation would require, without making it feel like a transaction or a duty.
He stopped going anywhere optional. He ate because the physical act of chewing gave his jaw something to
do while his thoughts did what thoughts do in the absence of any other occupation. The weight came on quickly. He understood it was happening and couldn’t find a reason to stop it.
