Perfect Tyler

CW: suicide

Theo shoved me to the ground, “Nice clothes, nerd” he laughed. Behind him, his two cronies laughed and I scowled at them.

“Where’d you find them? The dumpster?”

More laughter.

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

I looked up and saw Tyler running over. Tyler was six-feet tall with blonde hair and blue eyes. A star footballer and the most popular kid in school. 

Theo snorted, “What are you gonna do, pretty boy?”

Tyler didn’t back down, “You really wanna find out?”

He towered over Theo. It was a minute of staring before Theo stepped back. “Fine,” he said, then looked at me and said, “I’ll see if my grandpa has some clothes for you.”

He left, his cronies following and their laughter following after them.

Tyler watched them go and then he turned to me, held out his hand and helped me up.

“You ok?” he asked.

I nodded, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem. Will you be right getting home?”

I nodded.

“Alright then. I guess I’ll see you around?”

I nodded again and watched him head down the street.

There goes Mr Perfect with his perfect looks and perfect girlfriend and perfect clothes.

I brushed myself down, wiping dirt off my faded shirt and…

I groaned. My pants were ripped at the knee.

I sighed and, picking up my backpack, I followed Tyler down the street. We lived on the same street and I watched him disappear down his driveway. He lived in a two-story, white weatherboard house with manicured lawns and curated bushes. From time-to-time I’d see his mum or dad getting out of their BMW or Mercedes. An attractive couple who dressed in expensive designer clothing.

I swallowed the pang of jealousy. Imagine living in a house where you had room to move.

We lived in a 2-bedroom rental with no garden and the lawn was weeds. I continued on, lamenting my life. Mum and Dad tried their best but they weren’t highly educated and as such had low paying jobs; Dad worked in a warehouse while Mum was a cleaner.

I resented them for the choices they had made. They met and had my older brother when they were still teenagers, dropping out of school to get jobs.

I thought about Tyler. His parents. His house. The manicured lawns. The cars.

Couldn’t they have waited a couple of years? 

Who was I kidding though? I could never be like Tyler. He was a good guy but we were from different worlds. Popular and smart, he hung around the cool kids while I just tried surviving high school, avoiding the likes of Theo and his friends.

I trudged up the steps and opened the broken screen door, which fell off its hinges and crashed into me.

I sighed, untangling myself from the flywire and pushed open the door.

I wish I was Tyler.

Tyler! Tyler!

I opened my eyes to find myself surrounded by a roaring crowd of onlookers. They were watching a game of football. One that I was part of!

Why am I on a footy oval in the middle of a game? I actively avoid them!

And to make matters worse I had a football in my hands and everyone was trying to tackle me, or calling me…

“Tyler!”

I handpassed the ball, just as I was crunched in a tackle. The crowd let out a “ooo” of appreciation, which seemed cruel. My shoulder was throbbing with pain. I decided laying down would be the best idea but I got up.

I tried to stop myself but I couldn’t. I had no control of my body.

“Tyler, you alright?”

Tyler? Why are they calling me Tyler?

“Yeah,” I said, getting up.

That wasn’t my voice. 

What is going on?

“Shoulder alright?”

“I’ll manage.”

My voice was deeper than normal. I sounded like…

“Tyler!”

The ball rebounded out of defence and I marked it. As I stepped back, I glanced up at the scoreboard. It was the last quarter and we - the Demons - were down by 3 points with little time left. The other team, the Devils, our school rivals were trying to hold the lead.

This is the schoolboys final. Last game of the season. The only thing school talked about for the last week. It was talked about so much that even I knew about it.

I searched the forward line, but it was well defended and kicking it long wasn’t an option. 

How am I Tyler? 

A breeze blew across the field and I felt sweat running down my face. I kicked the ball sideways to a teammate, a boy named Rich, who marked it. 

As time continued to run, the crowd seemed to get louder, urging Rich to move it quickly. I could feel everyone on edge as they stood around the oval, not a single person in their seat. 

I ran behind Rich, yelling his name as I did. He passed me the ball and I crossed the edge of the square, bounced, then dodged around a defender. I was just outside 50 now and part of me wanted to have a shot on goal, wanting the glory, but I wasn’t sure I could make it, or if I had the accuracy. My body was spent and I was running on adrenaline.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Steven, the tall full forward, leading up the ground with a step on his man. I adjusted slightly, dropped the ball on to my foot and executed a centimetre perfect pass that hit him in the chest.

Steven marked it and the crowd roared. He was about 30m out on a slight angle. As he walked back, the siren sounded. The crowd went nuts, their screams almost deafening. The opposition were on their haunches, spent, with a handful of them standing the mark, trying to put Steven off.

As Steven made his approach, the crowd went silent. Everything was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Even the wind had stopped.

He kicked the ball. All eyes were on it as it sailed through the air.

Everyone watched and waited. But even before it split the middle, I knew it was a goal.

Elation filled me. I screamed with joy as the ball sailed through the big sticks. 

We won!

I, and everyone else, ran to Steven, jumping on him and hugging and celebrating. Then the crowd followed and they surrounded us. None of it made sense to me. High-fives were exchanged and things were said, but it was all nonsensical. I was caught up in the moment and it was a feeling I’d never felt before.

This is great! Is this how it always is?

Sure I’d achieved some things in life. I beat Super Mario Bros without dying and I won a raffle. But they weren’t exciting, they didn’t compare to this. This feeling, this happiness, was absurd to me. It was foreign.

I never played in a team. I didn’t help others win games. I couldn’t. I wasn’t capable. Not everyone is though. Tyler was and for some reason I was experiencing it now.

As a team we moved into the change rooms I realised I wasn’t controlling Tyler, I was witnessing everything through his eyes. Like real life virtual reality.

When I say ‘I’, I mean Tyler. We were as one at this moment.

The team song was sung with gusto, like we were rockstars and we were surrounded but parents and friends who joined us in singing the team song..

After the song and the spraying of Gatorade, the coach gave his speech and I basked in the glory he praised me. I’d never been lauded for my performance in anything. It felt great. This life was great.

The change rooms quietened down as others got showered and changed but I sat back just enjoying the moment. While I could experience his emotions, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Slowly the rooms emptied as the players left and I got up and showered. The hot water was a welcome relief and I felt stiff and sore. There was a shooting pain in my leg and my right shoulder was impossible to lift above horizontal. I ran it under hot water, slowly rotating it to loosen it.

After the shower I dried myself and got dressed. As I did Sarah came in.

Sarah was Tyler’s girlfriend. Stunningly beautiful with long red hair, green eyes and a dash of freckles, she was the envy of every girl and the desire of every boy in school.

“My hero,” she said hugging him. “I am so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, looking away.

Sarah grabbed my head between her hands and gently forced me to look at her, “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry.”

“They didn't bother to stay back and celebrate,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry about them. It’s almost over. You’re going to get past it. Just hold on...for me?” 

I didn’t know what they were talking about but I nodded and she kissed me. Whatever they were talking about was instantly forgotten. I could feel her lips on mine. 

My first ever kiss and it’s not in my own body? Does that count?

I decided it does.

I kissed Sarah goodbye, saying I’d join her at the party later. I don’t know why but I felt like Tyler wanted to be on his own. The day was turning into night as I walked home. We passed by my house and I looked at it, wondering what was going on inside. Was I even there? As we looked I felt Tyler’s mood change. His joy at winning had all but disappeared, replaced by a feeling of...jealousy?

Unlikely!

I walked on, crossing the road and up the driveway to my/Tyler’s house. The lights were on and I opened the door. The house was huge and spacious, brightly lit with white tile floors and pristine white walls. It opened to a living area on one side, a study and staircase on the other and the kitchen ahead of me.

I headed upstairs into my bedroom. The room was huge with a giant TV opposite the king bed, a desk and bookshelves near the window looking out onto the street.

This is incredible. This room is bigger than half my house!

Everything in here was expensive, the highest quality, and I wondered what it was like to live having everything you could ever want.

I sat down on the bed, took a deep breath and winced in pain as I tried to raise my shoulder but pain shot through me. I unzipped my bag and rummaged around until I found what I was looking for. A small white bottle.

Medication? For the shoulder?

I held it up and read the label. It was prescription medication for pain relief, but it wasn’t for Tyler. The label read: Harold Garrard.

What? That’s not...oh.

I opened the cap and tapped out two pills, popped them into my mouth and swallowed. 

What the hell, Tyler! Why was he taking medication that wasn’t for him? Was the shoulder giving him that much pain?

I stared at the pill bottle for a good minute before standing up with a sniff. 

What is he thinking?

With a sigh, I put the bottle on my desk and headed downstairs into the living room. Laying on the couch was mum. There was a half finished glass of wine on the table and a similar white pill bottle next to it. I shook my head and knelt beside her:

“Mum?”

She groaned and her eyes opened. Up close she was a striking woman but there were cracks in her facade. She tried to hide the imperfections with make up and botox but no one beat age.

“Tyler, honey. Is it time for the game?” she spoke with a slur, like she was drunk.

I shook my head, “It’s past dinner, Mum.”

There was no anger in Tyler, only sadness. Exhaustion.

How often did this happen?

“Oh, ok.” She closed her eyes again.

Gently, I grabbed her arm and said, “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she gave me an absent smile, “It’s bedtime already? Ok.”

I escorted her upstairs to the bedroom where she climbed into bed and immediately fell back asleep. I sighed. 

“You promised to stop,” I whispered in her ear before kissing her on the forehead. I left the bedroom and went back into my bedroom. I changed into more casual clothes, and sat at the desk. I opened a drawer and pulled out a leather-bound journal. Opening up I wrote in it. As Tyler wrote, I read. He was angry with himself for believing her. For doing nothing but accepting her word because it was easier than getting her help.

Just as I finished writing, I heard the front door open and my heart sank. Dad was home.

I closed the journal and closed my eyes. 

“I can’t deal with this,” I whispered. I grabbed the pill bottle and downed two more and went downstairs. Dad standing in the living room. He had a beer in his hand and he was swaying slightly.

“Good win today,” he said, narrowing his eyes and I wondered how many of me was he seeing.

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t the best game I’ve seen.”

“A real slog.”

“You did good at the end there.”

Relief washed over me. 

“Thanks. Lucky Stevo kicked it in the end.”

Dad nodded, “It was a good kick.”

I felt an urge to leave, like I’d just avoided something dangerous and didn’t want to hang around to see if it came back. But just as I turned to leave, Dad said, “Why didn’t you kick it?”

I closed my eyes and the relief disappeared. 

“I thought Stevo was a better chance.”

“You could have kicked it,” his voice was quiet now. I could see a storm brewing behind his beer-glazed eyes.

“I was 50 out.”

Dad shook his head, “You lack a winner's instinct, Tyler.”

I sagged, “We won, ok?”

“Why did Keith play you forward in the third?”

Keith was the coach.

“It was part of the plan,” I explained. “He knows about the shoulder. He wanted to rest me in the third so I could go in the fourth.”

Dad snorted, “Your shoulder. Walk it off, sook.”

He took a last swig of his beer and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and the rattle of bottles. Then he was back, one more beer under his belt.

“You know I once played with a broken arm,” he said walking past.

“You’re tougher than I am,” I said and immediately knew it was wrong.

“Don’t be a smart ass,” he said. “You know the scouts were there? They saw you missing a chance to win the game. Missing the killer instinct.”

I said nothing which annoyed him. Tyler knew this game. This wasn’t the first time, so he changed tact. “Maybe if you focused more on football and less on that slut, you might get somewhere.”

The room went from cold to absolute zero.

“Do not call her that,” I said quietly, biting off each word. It was almost a whisper but it carried across the room.

But Dad ignored it, “You think she’s going to hang around a loser like you when you get delisted after 2 years?”

“She’s not like that,” I murmured.

Dad gave me a cold smile and took another swig, “You keep thinking that.”

I turned and left the living room. As I reached the stairs he called out, “Don’t piss away the opportunities you’ve been given!”

What the hell? This clearly wasn’t the first time this happened between them. And they just won the grand final. What was he like when they lost?

I thought about his mum, doped up in bed. Is this what it was like? The perfect family on the outside, but this on the inside? 

“You could have everything but you want to fuck it up away for-”

SLAM!

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the door slamming shut. I walked over to my desk, chest heaving. Anger was radiating out of me like a heater. I paced the room, up and back. Then I sat at the desk. I was fidgety, whatever Tyler was thinking it wasn’t good. I urged him to stop, to breathe and think but it didn’t get through. My vision blurred and I realised tears were falling.

Tyler was crying. The idea of him crying would have been impossible to me yesterday.

The journal was sitting in front of me, open to the last entry. I stared at it for a long time. Then I glanced at the pill bottle. 

I reached out for it.

Stop!

I opened the cap and looked inside, it was half full. I tipped all of them on to my hand.

No! Don’t do this! 

I shoved them all into my mouth.

I was sobbing now, tears flowed freely as I chewed on the painkillers. Then I picked up a pen with shaky hands. I sniffed, I was feeling light headed, numb. It was pleasant and that scared me. Somehow I managed to scribble down a note:

Sarah,

I can’t take it anymore. I love you and I am sorry.

Remember the happy times.

Tyler

Tears stained the page. 

Then the pen dropped and my eyes closed.

I later realised that the pills weren’t for his shoulder pain, but for the pain of living with the expectations, the pressure. Despite the perfect appearance on the outside, Tyler was crumbling inside and in the end it was too much.

I cried when I heard the sirens. I hugged mum and dad and said sorry for being ungrateful. They were confused, but they would never understand that, for one day, I lived as perfect Tyler.