(10 of 10)
The youngest of six and a high school dropout, Johnson drifted into gangs for support and identity. Asked why he was shot, he says, "It's a long story," which means someone was out for revenge. Recalling the streets, he tries to cling to some of his former toughness. "I guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," he says. "It could happen to anyone." But that's not enough. "Sometimes it's so hard," he whispers. "I get high temperatures and real sweaty, and I get these pains." He breathes on his own through a hole in his trachea, which a nurse closes with a plug when Johnson wants to talk. "At first I wanted to die. Now I'm happy to be alive, but I just want to get more feeling back." His voice is meek, beaten, almost hollow. When talk turns to football and basketball, he makes gulping, swallowing noises. Among cards and photos taped to the wall of his hospital bed, an old award certificate is proudly displayed. It reads, BANQUET OF CHAMPIONS FOR LITTLE PRO BASKETBALL. BOYS' CLUB OF OMAHA. 1984. "I always loved sports, you know. I mean I was pretty good." He pauses for air. "I had speed," he murmurs. He is too tired to continue. The nurse pulls the trachea plug so he can breathe.
FOOTNOTE: *Where only first names are used, they are pseudonyms.