We met at Fort Knox during an hour officer training camp where the heat is unforgiving, the bugs are relentless, and land navigation has claimed more souls than we'd like to admit. Tyshea was originally in a regiment ahead of Michael, but fate had a plot twist. Despite being great at finding her way around, she somehow failed land nav and got recycled into Michael’s regiment. Coincidence? Destiny? Either way, it happened. Michael cracks up every time he tells the story of Tyshea’s grand arrival. There she was, stepping off the truck with the biggest smile on her face—like it was a family reunion—until a cadre member dramatically yeeted her ruck sack off the back like it owed them money. Welcome to the party! The highlight for Tyshea? Oh, just a casual six-mile ruck march to land nav. Again. Michael happened to be the platoon sergeant that day—and let’s just say… he was struggling. Like knees-buckling, back-hurting, “please let this be over” struggling. Then the cadre pulled him and the platoon leader aside and said if the whole group didn’t catch up soon, they’d both get a big fat “U”—military speak for FAIL. Cue Michael, normally calm and quiet, suddenly yelling like a man possessed: “Let’s GO!” “MOVE!” “KEEP UP! I’m not getting a U for nobody!” Tyshea was dying laughing. If you know Michael, you know yelling is not his thing—he’s got more “cool uncle energy” than drill sergeant vibes. After that, Tyshea and Michael became battle buddies. (Which wasn’t hard considering they were the only two Black people in the platoon—bonded by both survival and melanin.) If you ask Michael, Tyshea was constantly following him around. Tyshea denies it and says they were both just locked in… mostly because nobody else was really talking to them. They kept in touch after camp, chatting here and there. Then, about a year later, they crossed paths again at Michael’s graduation—which, fun fact, was also a graduation for one of Tyshea’s close friends. And from there? The rest is history.