Chapter 3: Tyler (Remastered)

“They call me the “nice brother”. No, that isn’t really as big of a compliment as you think it is, the bar is just set that low.”

Punk

Punk is an expression. It’s a scream, a cry, a voice. It’s freedom.

It’s authenticity

It’s that ability to break away from conformity and stand up to authority while saying

“No, I’m doing things my way and no one is going to stop me. Up yours!”

I love punk rock, so does Sam, but do you know who really loves punk rock?

My brother Tyler.

All you have to do is travel back in time to his bedroom from a few years ago.

Immediately you’d spot band posters littered across the walls, a turntable atop a bookshelf filled to the limit with vinyl records, and his red and black guitar connected to an amplifier sitting in the corner.

I found myself there earlier today, I’m not sure why. The room isn’t a punk oasis anymore. It’s barren, generic, and empty, like what a home buyer comes across on an episode of House Hunters.

It’s a disgrace really. Which is why, whenever I’m in here, I try to change that, much like I’m doing now.

Flat on his old bed. Headphones in. A favorite song of his cued up.

“Sound System gonna bring me back up, right, one thing that I can depend on…”

There, much better.

Tyler ain’t a saint by any stretch of the imagination but he’s tame when you compare him to Pat and Sam. If you wanted to describe him as the most “normal” of the three, I wouldn’t totally disagree with you.

Again, he’s never been as wild as them due to having a bit more self-restraint. He’s not the type to constantly test limits (like Sam) or bounce off the walls in high octane bursts (like Pat). The most trouble he’s ever got into with our parents was when he secretly dyed his hair bright red one summer.

He‘s also gotten caught breaking curfew a few times to go to punk shows and parties, he’s been an accomplice to a lot of Pat’s shenanigans, oh and there’s also the tattoo on his leg Mom doesn’t know about, but really that’s the full extent of his rule-breaking.

At the end of the day, all Ty wants in life is to jam out with his buddies and not be bothered.

But that doesn’t mean he’s an introverted deviant or anything. In fact, it’s the opposite, he’s a social chameleon.

Ty had a lot of friends in High School, his circle was mostly made up of fellow musicians, some of our older brothers’ friends, and numerous other people who were all drawn to his chill yet driven attitude like a moth to a flame.

It was sort of annoying actually, I could be out with him in anywhere, a local record store, a comic books shop, the playground, even a convenience store, and sooner or later, like clockwork, I’d hear in a high pitch voice:

“Heeeey Tyleeer!”

Or conversely in low deep baritone voice:

“Yo, Ty! My dog! what’s up?”

And thus I’d be sentenced to awkwardly standing around by myself while Ty talked away with some stranger about school, movies, rock bands, sports, and weekend plans for the next hour and a half.

Fun times, especially the part where one of his lady friends would compliment him for having a cute little sister.

“Oh my gosh, that’s her?! She’s sooo adorable!”

Inconveniences like that are why I didn’t fully gravitate towards Ty for advice until after Sam left. Big mistake on my part for not doing so sooner.

Sure, he was always busy doing his own thing, but when Ty had a rare moment he’d always listen. He’d always been the one who kept things light, who made me giggle or simply smile even when I didn’t want to.

“Yo, sis, wanna hear a quick joke?”

“Ok?”

“I’m a book, check me out.”

Indeed, he was a book, because thanks to him, I got a full fledged Rock & Roll education, probably better than whatever they teach at School of Rock. I also learned to play a little bit of guitar on the side as well, nothing too sophisticated, just a few chords or so.

Energy by Operation Ivy is Ty ‘s go-to album, and the up-tempo ska-punk tunes would often be blasting on his turntable as he eagerly pitched band after band to me, convinced they could find a permanent place on the soundtrack to my life.

He started with the basics of course, Green Day, The Clash, The Ramones, Misfits, and all that other entry level stuff. Then he pushed deeper, digging up Distillers, Bikini Kill, The Replacements, Agent Orange, Epoxies and any other group in need of more affection from listeners.

“Alex, I’m telling ya Living In Darkness by Agent Orange is super sick!”

“You sure?”

“Totally, I mean, hello? Surf and punk mixed together? What’s more badass than that? C’mon you gotta give it a listen Al, trust me on this!”

At times it was nerdy, preachy even, yet somehow his strategy always worked, for I ended falling in love with every single one.

Speaking of groups he turned me onto, a lot of stuff by this band, Screeching Weasel, has really gelled with me these days.

It all began back when Ty introduced me to their 3rd album My Brain Hurts. He said something about it being Sam’s favorite when he handed me the LP.

Duh, if that was true how could I possibly turn it down? After all, anything Sam liked had to be cool.

When I eventually found out that My Brain Hurts wasn’t actually Sam’s favorite album, I wasn’t disappointed. Instead, I didn’t care because by then I’d already made it mine. With the album’s unique blend of raw energy, unfiltered uncertain rebellious emotion, and solid dosage of sarcasm, what wasn’t there to instantly fall in love with? It, along with the band’s other material, now had a permanent spot in my listening rotation.

Ok so, now, this is going to sound really corny, but there’s this particular track on their album Wiggle called “Second Floor East” that’s been a mainstay on my playlist lately. It’s not one of their well known songs or anything, but something about it hits me to the core in a way that I can’t really articulate in written form.

“She thinks about how everybody smiles

But no one ever seems to have the time

To ever stop and try to think

To ever crack a little bit

She knows that someday things are gonna change

Things will get a little better

But it just seems like everyday

It slips a little more and fades

It should feel good to be alive

The world keeps dropping back but she’s still trying

She leaves the TV on at night

So she won’t have to keep on crawling back inside herself.”

There is just something with those lyrics, like it perfectly encapsulates my own struggle of feeling trapped in a predetermined social prison that I can’t quite escape from. Maybe I’m overthinking it, maybe I’m not, but somehow the words reach home every single time.

Anyway, enough with the sidetrack, back to Tyler.

He’s not solely a music guy. He’s also really into comic books and superheroes. On the opposite end of his room used to be his massive collection of figurines, all systematically posed and organized in a way that only ever made sense to him. No one was ever allowed to lay a finger on them without his permission.

Mom used to always rail on him for how much money he’d routinely spend on them. She’d lecture him on how it’s such a waste of money, and how it would be better served to use his savings on something that actually mattered instead of flimsy pieces of plastic.

“You spent $100 on a Lego minifigure?! Tyler Bradley, are you serious right now?”

“Sure am! It’s a discontinued 2002 Tobey Maguire Spider-Man Lego minifigure, so it’s like doubly worth it!”

Those interventions didn’t really ever sway Tyler though, I think he only continues to buy more these days just to spite her.

Mom kind of got the last laugh though because anything he left behind is now collecting dust in a big container up in our attic.

I guess you wanna hear about his band now right?

His best friend Matt Foster is the bassist, he was the one who first proposed they start a band, and Tyler was immediately on board, even if it meant juggling between rehearsing in our basement and Matt’s garage.

They’ve gone through numerous drummers, enough to make Spinal Tap jealous, but have yet to land a permanent one. If you can play drums, please don’t hesitate to drop them a line. If you’re thinking of applying to be a rhythm guitarist or a keyboardist you’re out of luck. Matt and Tyler are very adamant about being a three piece because all of their favorite bands are three pieces.

“Nirvana, Green Day, Husker Du, Blink-182, get with the program dude! Three pieces for the win!”

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, but their band is called Losers of the Year. It’s taken from the name of some song by an obscure band I didn’t catch the name of.

Ty and Matt used to spend countless hours writing songs at our house, practicing late into the night, and dreaming of the day they could perform in front of real crowds. I still vividly remember how the floor of my room would often shake and vibrate incessantly as it struggled to absorb the booming sounds of another lengthy jam session unfolding below. By their senior year, the band had really started to take off in the local scene to the point that really started to conflict with school.

Speaking of, Ty wasn’t shy about confiding with me about his academic standing. Like me, he wasn’t a standout student, but he wasn’t struggling either. We both had the same problem of being unfairly compared to our older brothers. Teachers often assumed he’d clash with them like Sam or be unable to make it through class without causing a scene like Pat, and were surprised when he didn’t fall into either of those roles. His teachers instead found him easygoing and friendly, though often disengaged.

“Your son, he’s a special case.” His 4th grade teacher Mrs. McLaughlin explained to my Mom once while me, Pat, and Ty were playing on the school playground nearby. “If the class assignment is to research polar bears on the web, ten minutes later I’ll find him looking up US Presidents or some other completely unrelated topic. If the assignment’s the other way around he’ll be studying polar bears. He’s a bright young kid with a big future ahead of him, but he needs to do a better job with sticking to the program.”

Description’s spot on I’d say, for Ty was always more interested in going with his own flow than doing schoolwork. I think the only reason he even made the effort to graduate was because he promised our parents he wouldn’t drop out like Sam did.

I’m honestly really envious of the fact that Tyler was able to so effortlessly figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Since day one his plan’s always been:

“I’m gonna start a band and rock out with my friend Matt for the rest of my life.”

It’s like he listened to “Rock and Roll All Nite” by KISS one day and decided he was content with modeling himself directly after it.

He’s never had any second thoughts or guesses about anything, just that one singular path, a straight line he’s followed since Elementary School. God, I wish it was that easy and simple for me.

When one talks about Tyler, it is unavoidable to not also mention Pat. Their relation to each other is no secret among people who went to school with them. With just over a year between them, it was impossible for them to be anything but inseparable. Pat used to always seek him out, whether it was to chat, rope him into one of his schemes, or pull him away from his band practice to play some street hockey or goof off.

“Ty, Ty, Ty, Ty! Hey bro, party at my friend Webs’s place at six, might even have chicks there. You game?”

“Right on dude!”

Pat’s always been erratic, but Tyler holds a soft spot for him and he’s rarely ever tried to push him away. When Ty’s band booked its first tour during the summer after his senior year, Pat quickly jumped at the opportunity to tag along as a roadie.

None of that ever made Ty immune from Pat’s pranks, but having dealt with them for years, he’d learned to negotiate. There were times when Pat would offer him a deal:

Help St. Patrick pull off a particularly devious prank on a certain kid sister and his little bro can enjoy a few days of peace.

“Please, baby bro?”

“Alright fine, just… just don’t overboard like last time.”

“You mean like I always do?”

“Exactly.”

I would be mad about Ty selling out, but I don’t completely blame him. The prospect of having temporary immunity from being the victim of an unwitting prank is simply too enticing to pass up and I too would take the dishonorable deal in a heartbeat.

But still, whenever Ty was a conspirator in Pat’s schemes, it felt like a stab in the back. Again, Tyler had always been someone I could talk to about music, school, and life without feeling overlooked or the butt of a joke. Having someone I trust assisting in the execution of Pat’s pranks on me made them burn way more than usual.

Seriously, I think I deserve a veteran’s discount for all the mischief they put me through growing up.

There’s the tame and in the moment hijinks like giving me a blindside shove into a pool or subjecting me to the circle game….

Then there’s the clever and thought out stuff like hiding all of my stuffed animals before bed, conning me out of good Halloween candy, or tricking me into thinking that I’d somehow turned invisible…

And then there’s the pranks that left me scared and traumatized for life, like “accidentally” locking me out of the house when our parents weren’t home or chucking a big slimy sea bass onto my back while I was resting on a float at our old lake house.

Make no mistake, Ty does find enjoyment in fooling around with me, but luckily, unlike Pat, he always knows when it’s time to pull back.

Take for instance, when they forced me into playing yet another game of Where’s Waldo? with my cap in the backyard. I probably searched every last inch of the area for hours while they just stood there and laughed. Worst yet, they wouldn’t give me a single clue. Eventually, I was so thoroughly exasperated with the search, with them and with everything, that I was on the verge of having a major meltdown.

“Shiii… Pat, she’s about to cry. I think we’re done.”

“Wuss.”

“Knock it off. Hey, Al, come here, I know where it is.”

In the end, it was Ty who finally caved and told me where it was, before helping me get it down from where it was stashed up on the roof of the house. I guess he didn’t want to see his sister cry or later deal with getting lashed out by our parents. While it didn’t erase the initial sin of siding with Pat, it was still reassuring to know that Ty always had a limit to his mischief.

Tyler also used to be really close with Sam, looking up to him in much the same way I did. Ty owes so much of his own love of punk rock and his many connections he’s made in the scene to our brother. It’s no big secret that Sam was very instrumental in helping Ty’s band get signed to a local indie label. When things were smooth between the two, everything was good, everything made sense.

They had this big falling out a few years ago. A bunch of fights and a lot of arguments. Something about the band, their ideologies, and their life choices, I’m not 100% sure. It seemed to coincide with Losers of The Year getting blacklisted from their favorite venue, the Blackroom, and Sam’s decision to move to New Hampshire with Sidney a year or so down the line.

I don’t have the specifics or the full story. Neither of them ever want to talk to me about it. Sam will shut down any attempt at discussion of the topic immediately, but Tyler will occasionally give an off-handed remark, mentioning how Sam’s become too self-righteous and hypocritical or how he can’t stand the way our brother seemed to think he knew everything. There’s this bitterness in his voice when he speaks about Sam, one I don’t quite get. How can he be this mad at someone who helped him out so much?

When Ty chose to move out so he could tour more and be closer with his band a few years ago, it stirred mixed feelings for me. I was happy for him, but it also meant losing another person who‘d been a rock for me in a world that always feels like it’s against me. When he left I knew, like Sam, he wasn’t coming back, not in the same way. He didn’t belong in our chaotic house anymore, not when he had the freedom of the road and ambitions of musical success to chase. I don’t blame him for leaving to pursue his dreams, but a part of me wishes he’d stayed a little longer.

He’s somewhere out there with his friends, doing his thing, and living life to the fullest, while I’m left here by myself, desperately trying to figure out mine.

“Sound System! Sound System! Sound System!”

Heh, the song I was listening to just ended. Talk about poetic timing.

Despite being off in his own world, Ty tries his best to remain as someone I can turn to for advice, he’s usually busy but always responding to my texts and phone calls when he has the time, unlike a certain other enigma. It definitely helps, y’know, not being completely ghosted, but it just isn’t the same, for I’d much rather lay out my gripes in person.

All it does is leave me wishing more than ever that things could somehow go back to the way they used to be. Back when the three of them: Sam, Pat, Tyler were an unlikely team, united by their love of music, sports, and a shared sense of following the beat of their drum. It was the team I looked up to. The team that seemed close but also so far. The team I chased after. The team I so desperately wanted to be part of and now may never be, as I instead remain the tag-along sidekick to a disbanded squad and nothing more.

Deep down, I’ve accepted that things have changed and that there may never be a way to fix things between Ty and Sam, yet I keep holding out hope that one day, they’ll bury the hatchet and get along again. Part of me doubts it. Tyler’s not the type to look back, Sam’s insistent on always being right, and I’m in no position to be the one to force anything.

It goes without saying, but man, do I really miss having Ty around.