TYLER
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Tabula Rasa noun
ta•bu•la ra•sa ('täbyo͝olə ˈräsə,ˈräzə)
An absence of preconceived ideas or predetermined goals; a clean slate.
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January 12, 2006.
It's cold in Stilwater, Michigan this time of year. There's snow covering the streets, windows are frosted over, and there's still hoes and drug dealers working the corners of the red light district. Though it's to be expected, the seasons may change, but there's still the everyday struggle. The Row ain't never been the type to slow down for some snow, sleet, rain, or hail. And it seems like the people from the Row ain't slowing down either. I know damn well I'm not. I can't. If you slow down, you drown. You get left in the distance, strugglin' for the will to live and make a way for yourself. Meanwhile, everyone else around you- they're moving forward. Pushing their way towards their peak, ready to get the fuck out of depressing ass Stilwater, Michigan.
Everybody is trying to get the fuck out of Stilwater, Michigan. But there's barely anybody who makes it. Once you're a part of this fucking city, there's no way in hell you're getting' separated from it. So, you weave through the rich, racist fucks in the suburbs, the inbred trailer park trash, the ungrateful college kids, and then the law. The law who doesn't give a fuck about you, might I add. The police here in Stilwater are so fuckin' crooked, with the right price, you could murder damn near everyone in this fuckin' city and they wouldn't bat any of their pretty little lashes.
Yet they're forever preaching about how they love to serve the citizens.
I shouldn't be talking shit about the police, because it seems that every time I get into some bullshit, I'm let off with a warning. Of course, I know it's not because they have a kind heart. Just like I said before, if you got the right price, these assholes won't bother you. And it just so happens, my boss seems to have the right price. And every time, I'm let off with a slap on the wrist. Cause my boss told them to. And even though he'll bail my pitiful ass out, he isn't the most patient of people. He doesn't do mistakes. Making him lose money over something as small as a ticket pisses him off.
Which is why I'm walking home in one of the worst blizzards in Stilwater right now. I'm risking getting pneumonia and frostbite because I couldn't keep my stupid ass out of jail. And the streets are empty, which is always rare. But, if I'd learned one thing about prostitutes is that when the weather is too cold for a mini skirt and heels, they retreat. All this knowledge from a colleague of mine, Bambi- that's not her real name. She was one of the working girls my boss hired. A college student from Bangkok, studying here in bullshit Stilwater, didn't have enough money to pay for her books or dorm and low and be-fucking-hold, that's when our boss found her, working at some liquor store around the corner from the university. He won her over with sweet words and after a week or so, he had her fucking her first man. She lost her virginity in the bathroom of a seven-eleven, that was when I first started working for our boss. Because I was so young he didn't have me out there. And I'm glad he hasn't, to be honest.
Bambi's always tellin' me about the perverts she comes into contact with. This one time, she was set up with some old fuck who told her he'd pay her extra if she pissed on herself. I asked her if she did it and all she did was pull out ten grand, all the while she kept pulling her dress down so it can cover her bare ass. She looked at me, eyes full of rage and said, "I hope you don't have to go through that type of fucking humiliation, Tyler. If that asshole even thinks about putting you on these fucking streets for these perverts I'll fucking kill him. You're too fucking pure for shit like that."
Later on that night, she and the boss were arguing. She'd told him that she didn't want him booking her for anything like that again. That if he even thought about doing that shit again, she'd leave and she'd take me with her. But, she and I both knew she wouldn't get far. Like I said before, once this city has you in its fucking grasp, you ain't goin' nowhere. Bambi didn't believe that, always saying how she's gonna go back to Thailand and become the fucking doctor her parents always wanted her to be.
She asked me what I was gonna do when I get enough money to get outta this life. I told her I'm getting the first ticket to Steelport, New York. And from then on, I'm gonna work my ass off to become an author. She says I got the talent for it. So, I'm gonna work towards my dreams. Because if it's only one of us making it out of this fucked up city, I'm going to succeed for Bambi, the closest person I have to family.
I'm locked out of the apartment as punishment for getting arrested. It's freezing out here and I ain't got nowhere to go except for the damn Motel 6 six blocks away. I don't have a change of clothes, but coincidentally, I have a hundred dollars to rent out a room with a damn heater in it. I'm sure if I run there I'll conduct enough body heat to keep me from freezing to death. This thin hoodie I'm wearing isn't nowhere near warm, and soaking wet from the heavy snowfall, and the ripped jeans aren't doing much for coverage either.
All this damn hardship for something that wasn't even my damn fault.
And you wanna know what's even worse? I think I've got hypothermia, because suddenly I've gotten really warm and I can't feel my fuckin' fingers.
Fuck.
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"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone."
-Orson Welles
I've been sitting in this warm bath for the last hour. My fingers are pruned up and I still can't get warm. I'm thinking about calling Bambi to bring me a change of clothes, but I know she won't be able to drive in this type of weather. So, I'll wait until tomorrow morning, when my boss calls me and tells me he wants me at the apartment, to change my clothes. I'll sleep naked tonight and pray that the asshole at the front desk doesn't get any ideas to come in while I'm sleeping.
One of the lamps in my room's broken. It's partially dark in here, and I'm curled up in a ball under these cheap, thin blankets with the heater on full blast. My clothes are laid out in front of it so they can get dry enough to wear to the apartment. And I only hope that Bambi has a spare set of clothes I can wear. Other than the obvious problems? I'm fine. I'm used to struggling like this, seeing as it's something I've dealt with since I was seventeen and graduated high school.
I've been alone since I was eighteen. I don't have any family, my mother passed away when I was twelve, and I spent the majority of my life in a foster home. I never knew who my father was, seeing as the asshole ran off right before I was born, though my mother says it was her decision to split from him. I'm used to sleeping in the cold, I'm used to walking alone, and I'm used to being left behind.
It's easier to sleep at night. When you're alone. You don't have to bother with the thought of losing those close to you. Especially when you've already lost them. Then you have nothing else to lose. Which is why I take the risks I do every day. Every day, it's feared that I'll get caught up, and I'll end up just like everyone else. Dead in the middle of the street, blood oozing outta my head. Breathing my last breath, a gun in my cold grasp.
I'm content with that. I know the risks of doing this gang shit. I know how much time I have left, and it's not much. So, long as I'm working for my boss, I risk being murdered. Whether it be for the drugs I sell, the act of getting to that asshole, or plainly because I'm chillin' in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bambi, even though she'd be distraught, she knows what I'm riskin' too. And every time I go out onto those streets, she makes me promise to come back without a scratch. Because she knows how easy it is to be swallowed up by these streets. We both know what it's like.
I'm dying of thirst.
The thirst of freedom. Power. Justice. All the things I crave for myself. For the people of the Row. For Bambi. I want to help her get back to where she was. I want her to be happy, at home with her parents. Or out there getting married. Having a family. The shit I won't ever be able to do. Because as long as I stay in Stilwater, I'm stuck doing the same shit. I won't be able to ever be happy.
I'm fine with that, too. As long as Bambi is getting out of here, then I'm cool. Her happiness is worth more than my own. All of the girls that work for that piece of shit deserve more than what they're getting. The manipulated, hurt, and trashed all end up in the same arms though.
• • •
"If I'm gonna tell a real story, I'm gonna start with my name."
-Kendrick Lamar
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If someone told me I'd be out here on the streets, sellin' dope, I'd have laughed in their fucking face. I had dreams, I had plans to fulfill those fucking dreams too. I planned on getting the fuck outta here and starting over; going to college, getting the education, my mom never got to have, and get a job legally. It's funny how life works out though, cause instead pursuing my passion, I'm stuck in this suck ass city, with these crazy, suck ass people, doing nothing with my life.
I'm nineteen.
Nineteen.
Fuck.
What the fuck am I doing with my life?
• • •
"In a sane, civil, intelligent and moral society, you don't blame poor people for being poor"
-Andrew Young
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Disclaimer: I Do Not Own The Saint's Row Franchise, Or Any Products Mentioned In This Story, Just The Plot And My Characters.
Thank You For Reading.
Backstory:
This was a play on Johnny's idle dialogue (Gat Outta Hell), when he mentions wanting to start over, but being worried about what the Boss would think. I thought "why not play on that", adding aspects of one of the endings from GOH when Johnny becomes an officer. All will be further explained in time as the story progresses.
Note: The Boss Mentioned In The Story Is Not The Canon Boss, It Is My OC Who Will Be Explained Later.