“You ever heard of Isaac’s Syndrome?” he asked as he sucked weed smoke into his lungs. The subject change was abrupt and caught me off guard.
“No. What’s that?”
“I went through damn near fifty different scans, MRI’s, blood tests, even a needle myomectomy or some shit. I can’t even remember the name. The doctor finally said he thinks I have an autoimmune disorder called Isaac’s Syndrome. It makes my muscles stiff and tight, all that good shit. It causes intense spasms and the whole nine.” Huncho pushed out a low chuckle.
“In college, there were times my calf muscle would be spasming and locking up so bad a nigga would dead ass cry tears. I thought it was a real bad Charlie horse or some shit. Sometimes it would last for thirty minutes, and my leg would be sore for the next few days. I always thought I was pushing myself too hard in practice and not drinking enough water.”
“Oh wow. I’m sorry to hear that. What are they going to do about it?”
“The doctor prescribed me some medication and suggested physical therapy. I haven’t started the medication yet. I’d rather smoke and drink my pain away.”
“And you know that’s not healthy right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I know.”
I took my slide off my foot and tossed it at him. Laughing, he moved out of the way just in time. “You really gotta get out of here with the old jokes,” I snapped. I wasn’t sure why I was bothered by him calling me old. Shit, I had called him a baby.
“Alright my bad. Dang, I just told you I have an illness, and you’re abusing a nigga.”
Gritting my teeth together, I just stared at him.
“No more old jokes.” He held his hands up in surrender while the blunt dangled from his lips.
Clearly, his recent diagnosis was bothering him. Maybe along with other things. I knew he had an open case that he was going back and forth to court for. I didn’t know much about Huncho, but it was obvious that he was fighting some demons, and I hoped he wouldn’t let them win.
“What kind of work do you do for Hymn?” I asked.
“I help him renovate houses that he bought to flip. He has a small crew of like three that does the things I don’t know how to do, but they’re cool about showing me the things I don’t know. I can manicure the fuck out of a lawn. I can also rip up carpet, lay tile, paint, replace window frames and the actual window, pressure wash homes, all that good shit.”
The way he described his job had my yoni aching with desire. I was officially sick. He was a man’s man that knew how to use his hands. That was refreshing. Too many of these new niggas only cared about being fly. They wouldn’t get dirty if you paid them, and that was so, ugh to me.He’s still a kid.
“That’s dope,” I bobbed my head. “Not only that you can do it but that you enjoy doing it. I pray that it takes you far if you decide to stick with it.”
“Thanks.” Huncho finished his blunt and opened the box of cookies.
Since he had indulged, his eyes didn’t even look like they were open they were so low. He was moving in slow motion as well, but he didn’t appear to be slurring his words anymore unless I was missing it. He was coherent enough to hold a conversation and make sense, but I still wasn’t sure he needed to be driving.
“Oh my God,” he marveled as he chewed with his eyes closed. “This shit right here, nigga.”
All I could do was giggle. “Thank you. You want something to drink?”
“Yeah, let me get a bottle of water, please.”
I stood to go get a bottle of water from the kitchen. After I passed it to him, I went back to scrolling on my phone. I became lost in a YouTube video and before I knew it, Huncho was snoring. Chuckling, I went back in my office and went back to work. An hour later, I heard my front door open. When I walked into the living room, Huncho and the cookies were gone but there was a one-hundred-dollar bill on the coffee table.
The next day, as I sat across from a guy named, Donnell, I was slowly becoming annoyed. We were supposed to be having a business meeting, and the lust in his eyes was beginning to creep me the hell out. I hated when I tried to put money in a man’s pocket by doing business with him, and he turned everything weird and creepy. I had been ignoring his slick comments for thepast ten minutes, but it was becoming harder to do. My skin was literally crawling.
“So, if I do four videos a month maybe even five, you’ll keep it at a set rate? Like a bundle deal? Does the length of the video factor in?”
“As long as there isn’t too big of a difference, say for instance three of the videos are thirty minutes, no more than thirty-five, and the fourth one is an hour and a half. No cap though. If you let me take you out on a date, I’d give you a discount.”
Calmly, I picked my coffee up and gave him a fake smile. “You have a good day, Donnell. I’ll find someone else to provide my editing services.”
His face dropped. “Wait, what do you mean? What did I say wrong?”
“What did you say wrong?” I repeated with a frown. “Bro, everything out of your mouth has been lowkey slick or sexual. I came here to discussbusiness. If you were professional and about your business, you’d be focused on that. Instead, you’re trying to exchange services for pussy, and I don’t get down like that. I’m going to find someone more professional. Thanks for the coffee.” I stood up.
“It’s not even that serious. Muhfuckas can’t even take a compliment,” he eyed me with disdain. “Bitches want to be so fake stuck up bougie.”
