It was like any other night in the city of Compton. My mother, my brother, Michael, and I were walking back from my grandmother’s house after spending the day with her. We usually don’t stay this long into the night without a car, but we thought it would be okay to walk since she only lived up the street. I always walked in between my mother and Michael because I always felt safer that way. My mother was asking us how we were doing in school and I told her I was doing fine. Michael on the other hand, was silent. She always wanted us to have good grades because she wanted us to get out of Compton and go to a good college. I knew he wasn’t going to school, but he made me promise not to tell. “Michael, how are your grades?” she asked again. He still didn’t answer. “Michael Chad Johnson, I am talking to you! How are your grades, boy?” She asked a final time. “They’re fine, Ma. Stop worryin’” he finally said. She knew he was lying because he wasn’t looking at her. “Michael you better look at me and tell me the truth! Now!” She said as she raised her voice. He still wouldn’t look at her and she knew something was wrong. “Michael, is something going on at school?” “I haven’t been going, ok? I haven’t gone to school in almost a month.” He finally told her. Mother stopped walking and stood in shock. “I just can’t do it, Ma. I can’t do that work they give us.” Michael told her. “Now you listen to me, and you listen well. I don’t ever want to hear you say you can’t do something. That’s not how I raised you. Like your father would always tell you, ‘Can’t Should never be in a man’s vocabulary.’” She said sternly. “If you haven’t been going to school, where have you been going?” She wondered. Before he could answer, someone with a mask on ran up to Michael and placed a gun to his side. “Where’s my money!?” The man shouted. My mother and I stood in silence as we were terrified to say anything, fearing the man would shoot at one of us. “You’re two weeks late on your payment! Where’s my money?!” The man shouted again. Tears started to pour down my face as this went on. Michael was still as ever. “I told you I’ve got you, man. Just – just give me a little more time” Michael said not looking the man in the face, but looking straight ahead. “Michael, what money is he talking about?” my mother asked not trying to make any sudden movements. “Aye, stay out of this! This is between me and him!” the man shouted as he then pointed the gun at my mother. “Chill out, man! That’s my mother you’re pointing that gun at!” Michael said loudly as he stepped between my mother and the gunman. “I care who she is! I want my money now!” the man shouted still pointing the gun at my mother. “Alright, alright! You want this money so bad? Here!” Michael yelled as he threw the stack of money on the ground. The man bent over to pick up the money, and Michael pulled us as he started running. We ran as fast as we could until we heard “Hey!” and *POP*. I screamed cause I had never heard a gunshot that close before. I stopped running when I realized my mother nor Michael was with me. I turned around and saw the most horrifying scene of my life. My mother knelled on the ground cradling a bleeding Michael and screaming, tears pouring down her face. “NOO! Not my baby! Not my Michael! Somebody help us!” she screamed repeatedly. I walked over to them slowly, not wanting to see what had happened. “Michael?” I called out his name. No answer. “Come on, Michael, get – get up.” I said again hoping he would sit up. “Don’t just stand there! Call for help!” my mother yelled at me. I tried unlocking my phone but couldn’t get the password right because my hands were shaking so badly. “Janay!” my mother screamed my name again. “I’m trying, ma!” I yelled back at her, getting frustrated because I still couldn’t unlock my phone. After another minute or so trying, I finally got it unlocked and called 911. “911 what is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked. “Yes I need an ambulance now! My brother has been shot and he’s not responding! Please help me!” I shouted through the phone. “I’m sending an ambulance to your location, please stay on –“ was the last thing I heard from the dispatcher because I had dropped my phone on the ground and ran to Michael. “Please be ok. Please” I mumbled as I cried next to him.

Michael died that night. 1:38 a.m. June 28, 2013. Gunshot wound through his back to the front of his chest. We found out that instead of going to school, Michael had been on the streets selling drugs. He had made one of the dealers upset and the dealer decided to deal with the problem by ending it. That night was the saddest night of my life. I never thought I’d be losing you so soon. Michael Chad Johnson, son, and big brother.