30. Wyn
Wyn
I’m trying to keep a straight face, but it’s not working.
Especially when Red keeps starting over his slated single over and over to record different videos to promote it. His eyes are squinted, and he keeps licking his lips, trying to appear sexy.
Everyone got pulled into a meeting, and ordered us to stay here.
The other artists scheduled for sessions got to go home, but not us.
Maybe because we aren’t moonlighting as actual crips, but the way Red throws around “cuh” I think I may be mistaken.
He won’t tell me either way. He’s serious about me knowing only good things about him, even if I’ve heard him speak what sounded like Russian on the phone earlier.
I glance over at his phone to see he’s now switched to Live, and grin. It’s finally my time to shine.
“Tronzel Levi Rhodes! Get yo ass off’a Live!” I bark. His phone goes unsteady in his hands, but he quickly recovers, turning off his phone before glaring at me.
“Who… the fuck gave you that classified info, cuz?!” He seethes, his chair gliding down the dashboard to me.
I shrug. “You shouldn’t leave your after summary papers lying around. Oh; how does one get a q-tip stuck in their ear, Tronzel?”
His face twists up more, and I can’t hold in my laughter.
“And how did your parents even come up with that?!”
He rolls his eyes like the child he is. “My mommy combined ‘the two most handsome men she knew’... my daddy and Denzel Washington.” He slaps the sides of his head before sighing.
“C’mon, Twin. Don’t be like them girls who wanna always say somebody government.
Nobody calls me that bullshit but my mommy. Even my pops calls me Red.”
“But Tripp calls you Tron.”
Red’s face softens. “He ever tell you about our fucked up family?”
“A little,” I mumble, trying hard as hell to conjure up something besides the fact I’m a ginger like Red and their deceased sister. The one conversation we did have is blocked out by watching him get shot right in front of me, and I feel a headache coming trying to remember.
“Aight, well, you can’t say shit. But, Tripp, you know, that usually means you the third. My pops is Tron Junior, so when Tripp’s mommy got pregnant–”
“Why do you keep saying mommy?” I giggle.
“Focus, Twin! It’s a habit. Anyway, Pops would always call him Tripp, ‘cause he’d be Tron the third.
But, she wasn’t fuckin’ with leaving the First Nations, so they broke up.
Tripp’s moms didn’t know Tripp was a nickname, so on the birth certificate, she just put Tripp.
Pops was pissed, but he never changed it.
So like, I think Tripp be calling me Tron and shit ‘cause we both Trons. He Tron the third, and I’m Tronzel. ”
“Aww, brotherly love.” I lean over and pinch his cheek, jumping back when he snaps his teeth at my fingers.
“He aight… it’s funny though. My mommy hardbody as fuck.
‘Specially was with Trin. They butted heads so bad. She hard up with Pops, too. But any time Tripp came, she became soft as fuck. First time I seen it, I was shocked. Nigga ain’t even wanna be there, but whatever he wanted, Mommy bent over backwards to get it.
You know how special you gotta be to get a six-two white lady who grew up in a trailer park to be nice?
! Her foot damn near live in my ass! She the one who called up Tripp, but I ain’t gon’ lie, I been having the time of my life in exile. ”
Red lugs his heavy shoes onto the dash and leans back, but his chair gives way and he falls. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard, and my lungs constrict from lack of air.
“What… is… wrong… with you,” I choke out. He doesn’t make it any better, rolling around the floor like he’s building a lawsuit.
My phone vibrates on the dashboard, finally giving me a reprieve. But when I see the name, the air leaves my lungs once again.
Auty and I never stay mad at each other for long. She calms down and cries and then she reiterates whatever she meant to say without cursing me out.
But I’ve never gone as hard as I did at Peanut’s house. And while finally putting words to how I’ve been feeling did feel good, I don’t like adding more onto the burden her selfish ass carries every day.
I finally grab my phone and swipe to read the message. Perplexed that she’s outside, my eyes roll when I remember I never stopped sharing my location with her.
She probably is outside of the building.
“Uh oh. What’s wrong Twin?”
“Our other twin is here to hash things out,” I sigh, standing up. “I’ma go get her and we’ll be in the conference room on the first floor. Text me if anyone hits you back.”
Red’s face twists. “Man, aight. But don’t let her talk to you all crazy, or she gon’ have to see me. I don’t play ‘bout my Twin.”
I wave him off, biting back a smile as I leave him in the studio. I can only imagine how he was with his actual sister, since in the short time that we’ve known each other, Red’s become my bodyguard.
When I step off the elevator, there she is, standing behind the glass doors.
Her coily hair is brushed and pulled into a bun on the top of her head, showing her slender neck, courtesy of going vegan.
She always talked about it–one day giving up meat and dairy.
I’d eat a wing in front of her, and put more on her plate, telling her she shouldn’t starve herself.
She gave me some lame excuse that Rue is lactose intolerant, like I don’t know her. Like I don’t listen.
Like she’s not part of me.
I nod to the security guard at the desk and he hits the buzzer to unlock the door for me.
Auty brushes by me, looking as contrite as she can.
I lead her to the small conference room just past the elevators.
The table is small, with only five chairs.
Locking the door behind us, I take the seat closest to the door as she takes one by the whiteboard.
“Hey, Wynnie.”
My lip pokes, of course. Wynnie is so few and far between these days, and never fails to transport me to a time when it truly was just Auty and I, against the world. Before she met Turkey. Before Summie died, and everything went to shit.
I keep quiet, waiting her out. She can’t stay still, moving her hands from the table to under her thighs. After a moment, she scoffs, and rolls her eyes, earning a smirk from me.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accuses, leaning back in her seat.
“Enjoying what?”
“This! You haven’t returned any of my phone calls. You didn’t come by for Christmas or New Years. What about Deucey?” Her voice raises an octave with every word as her eyes stretch. I bet they’re morphing colors as we speak, undecided between angry green and melancholy blue.
“I’ve talked to Deucey several times–”
“Well, what about me?!”
“Auty,” I chuckle, “you told me I’m dead to you. You don’t talk to dead people, unless you’re psychic and I missed it.”
“See!” Her finger whizzes through the air to point at me. “Right there. You’re enjoying this. You’ve never just done this before, not even when you were out of town. You never just ignored me.”
“Well, you’ve never told me I was dead to you,” I volley. Clearing my throat, my eyes dance all around the room before landing back on her. She flinches, before poising herself to speak again.
It’s the same song and dance. A weak ass apology is coming, followed by us reaffirming that we are sisters and we’ll do better. And I’ll agree, even though most of the time it’s her own fault she got so worked up she felt the need to cut me down until I was an acceptable size for her.
Tiring.
Not conducive at all to this new totally drug and alcohol free lifestyle.
Because to say that our volatile relationship doesn’t bother me would be a lie.
I meant what I said; I’m a junkie from dealing with her.
From holding her together, and for feeling guilty about feeling so free when I did leave her to chase my dreams.
She’s a big part of why I need to feel numb. But those days are over; I feel everything, all the time, and until I came back to the city, I’d been managing. Clearing out all the dust and hatred between myself and Rico helped, and you know, changing addictions of course.
Being back in the belly of the best, I keep that gum on me. My new building has a gym that I stay in, too. But ignoring Auty hasn’t given me the peace I foolishly thought it would provide.
Though it is nice she didn’t take no for an answer. Usually her ego leaves her to stew way longer.
“You know I didn’t mean that,” she whispers, snatching my attention back.
She meant it. Maybe not toward me, but definitely toward Rico, and that fact hangs heavy in her silence.
A fact with implications we’ll have to cover later. Right now, there’s something more pressing. I pull up my proverbial big girl granny panties and push away all the warnings firing off for me to leave well enough alone.
“Were you listening to what I said, or were you too focused on trying to beat me up?”
“Wynnie, I’ve never–”
“Auty. I’m serious. Do you remember what I told you?” It’s unfair to ask, since bits and pieces are lost on me. But I know for certain I told her things I never did before.
She blinks, averting her eyes as her arms fold and her hands rub her bare upper arms. “You said… you said we were both left behind.” Our gazes lock. “But, Wynnie. How is that true? I mean, yeah they’d go off for some weekends, but you made it seem like they were gone for months–”
“Auty.”
She stammers, before her eyebrows pull. Now it’s my turn to sit back.
“They left us, Auty. They don’t give a fuck about either one of us, especially Mom.
Dad might, but he loves Mom more. I came home and they were gone, and I…
I couldn’t tell anyone and we get separated.
And I couldn’t tell you because… because I’m your big sister and I felt I could handle it.
So I did. They were gone for seven months and you didn’t even notice. I did my job, I guess.”