The Deadline. KiKi Swinson

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СКАЧАТЬ angst underlying my words. Honestly, saying it all made me feel like someone had lifted a one-thousand-pound weight from my chest. I let out another long breath and felt slightly better. I guess my mother was right about how beneficial speaking to her about my problem was for me.

      “Hmm, what kind of story does she want?” my mother asked, rubbing her chin as if she could help me. “I mean, news is news, right? You can only report on whatever you know to be happening. Sounds like she is expecting a miracle in this little area,” my mother continued.

      “She didn’t say exactly what type of story, which is another thing all together. She just wants something so hot it will make the whole world want to know and watch our news station. My entire life and livelihood are hinging on me bringing in something that would blow her socks off. As if I could just come up with something off the top of my head like a damn fairy godmother or something,” I said. I was so disgusted by Christian’s never-satisfied ass. I could’ve just screamed and pulled all of my edges out by hand.

      Just then, Kyle started fumbling with the locks to get into the house. My mother and I both turned our attention to the door as he used his key to come in. After he closed the door behind himself, he bopped toward us with the street swagger that he swore made him so manly. He was funny. I smirked because as hard as Kyle played, I knew he was a loving brother. We looked like the male and female version of one another, but we were vastly different in most ways.

      Where I had always been strongly independent, Kyle was more needy and dependent. He was still living with my mother at our age. Sometimes it annoyed me, especially when I had to pay my bills at my place. I would sometimes be left with fifty bucks to get me through until the next paycheck, while I knew Kyle was here mooching and living for free. Every dime of his money was his to spend, which was why he could afford a fancy car and lots of high-end clothes. Yeah, it sometimes annoyed me to know he was living the good life, with no real worries, but other times I felt better that if I couldn’t really look out for him, because I was off on my own, then him being here with my mother meant that she could.

      “Aye, twin,” Kyle sang, in the smooth, street way he spoke. His hazel-colored, cat-shaped eyes were low, so I knew he had just blazed some weed. That was another habit he’d picked up as we grew up—smoking weed. My mother got up right away. She hated to see Kyle after he was drinking or getting high off weed. I guess it was kind of a trigger for her. She said she would go make me some food and left the room with quickness. It was odd to witness her scurrying away like that, but I was too busy greeting my brother to think too much of it.

      “Hey, twin,” I replied, standing up to give him a hug. Sure enough, Kyle smelled like he’d just burned an entire field of marijuana plants around him. I didn’t scold him this time. I was glad to see him. My brother and I were closer than close. He was my other half, even when I had boyfriends. Nobody really came in between my brother and me. I’d dropped many dudes over conflicts with Kyle. If they couldn’t accept my close relationship with my twin brother, then they couldn’t accept me or be with me. Kyle and I were bonded from the womb, and that was no exaggeration. When Kyle was sick, I was sick, and vice versa.

      The only thing opposite about us was the path we took in life. I chose to go to school and go “the lame route” (as Kyle called it), and he chose to go the street route and be in the mix, like both of our parents were in their heyday. Kyle was into a little bit of everything and made his living off the land . . . literally. Kyle was like the middleman to everyone in the streets. If you wanted something, you could always go to him. It could be as simple as information, or as complicated as a whole houseful of furniture. If you asked for it, Kyle could get it. Kyle was the literal hustle man of the neighborhood and he had his ear to the streets about everything. Nothing got past my brother. Nothing at all. I always thought that could be a good and a bad thing. I was always worried about him out there doing nefarious shit to get money. The world was a crazy-ass place.

      “What’s wrong with you?” Kyle asked, immediately sensing something with me. I still thought that shit was amazing, and it had been.

      “Damn, you too,” I said, chuckling. “Mama just did the same damn thing when she hugged me. That’s so crazy. Y’all really act like that bond thing is that serious.”

      “C’mon, twin. You know better. You know I know shit when you feeling down and out or hurting,” he replied, one eyebrow raised like I should already know this. “I can feel it all up in your body and see it all up in your face. You’re stressed about something. It better not be no nigga stressing you. I will tighten somebody up over you, twin.”

      “It is definitely not a nigga stressing me, boy. And, really, what’s going on with me is actually not that big of a deal when it all boils down. My boss giving me shit, that’s all,” I said, not really wanting to elaborate all that much, all over again.

      “Who is he? You know I don’t play that. He might be the boss at that job, but I’m the boss in real life,” Kyle said, cracking his knuckles for emphasis and his face going serious.

      I laughed a bit and pushed him on the arm playfully. “First of all, it is not a he, it’s a she. And I don’t need you to beat anyone up like when we were kids. She’s just giving me a hard time about my story content. She’s pressuring me for a big story. She’s always putting the pinch on me for bigger and bigger stories. No matter what I bring in, no matter how good it is, she is never satisfied. She wants some kind of scandalous shit that she feels will earn me the spot on TV that I’ve been working for. She is even hurling threats around that if I don’t come up with something soon, she will be forced to let me go . . . blah, blah, blah . . . You know how white people with a little bit of power act . . . like they’re the master and you’re the slave,” I explained.

      “Damn, she sound like a real bitch,” Kyle replied. “I know you be out there getting busy with them stories too. Your ass even be going undercover and all that. I remember that robbery at that strip club, while you was under in there trying to get a good story. And what about the time you was faking like a prostitute to find out who was snatching them prostitutes off the street down there?” Kyle recounted. He shook his head in disgust. “What more the bitch want? She want you to sell your soul to the Devil or some shit?”

      I shook my head and agreed with what he was saying. I’d been going hard from the day I started working at the station. “I don’t know. She keeps using the word ‘scandal,’ ‘scandal,’ ‘scandal.’ She doesn’t want your run-of-the-mill robbery or missing person. She wants something bigger and better. I’m just at a loss, that’s all I know,” I said, even though I knew that I wasn’t going to get any real feedback from him. He wasn’t big on giving advice. He was more of a listener than anything. But for some odd reason he seemed engaged and concerned. I watched him as he rubbed his chin, just like my mother always did. He looked like he was thinking, and I was shocked.

      “Shit, I know plenty of scandals you can report on,” he finally said, taking his hair pick from his pocket, sticking it into his neat Afro, and picking his hair as he spoke.

      “I’ve already tried these petty-crime stories. You just said you remember the robbery I almost died trying to report on and the prostitution thing I went undercover for. That type of street shit won’t fly anymore, twin. She doesn’t want any more of those,” I said, lowering my eyes to the floor. “She wants something earth-shattering, I guess. She wants me to be standing over a dead body, or chasing down the killer, or something that will shake up the world,” I said, gesturing with my arms spread wide.

      “Don’t discount the shit I know, sis. My shit ain’t all petty-crime stories,” Kyle said like he was a tiny bit offended by my comment. “You think everything I got my hands in is in the hood?” he asked, chuckling. “Think again. They don’t call me worldwide K.Y. for nothing, you dig? I can rub elbows with the best of them . . . from tracksuits СКАЧАТЬ