"What're you still doing here?"
"I live here."
"You know what I mean; you supposed to be over at your aunt Hettie Mae painting that bathroom in one of her rooms, boy! You know she got that girl moving in with the Section 8!!" Mom was livid upon finding me reclining in my room taking in a Gamera movie on this Japanese streaming service.
"Oh you were serious about that?"
"YOU BETTER GET YOUR BUTT UP AND GET OVER TO THAT HOUSE BEFORE THAT GIRL SHOW UP, BOY!!" Mom was not pleased as her authoritative voice went a few octaves higher signaling the possibility of physical violence if I didn't move as fast as she wanted.
There was no way I was having a perfectly good Saturday messed up by parental violence. To put things in perspective, my parent originated from the south where severe corporal punishment was the norm. Mom wasn't about to change tradition even after I'd pointed out the suspect parallels between this behavior and the whippings of the days of chattel slavery. She agreed with me after some reflection before reaching for her belt.
A good forty minutes later, I was inside the rental unit of my Aunt's burgeoning B&B (By her standards.) painting this bathroom without the slightest possibility of remuneration for my hard labor. Besides the latent stinging from mom's belt, I was put out about losing part of my hard earned weekend toiling away for someone considered a distant relative. This unit was supposed to be going to one of her daughters and a friend, some female by the name of Porsha Simms. Aunt Hettie wasn't one to gamble, assuring she'd get money from their housing waiver.
"Oh hey; you painting already, huh?"
My cousin Deanna appeared at the end of the short corridor separating two bedroom, one smaller than the other. Part of the floor plan of the small rental incorporated this I shape schematic with a modest kitchen and rear patio door between them. The unit was originally part of a larger attached home next door before my uncle did a bit of carpentry magic by pulling a King Solomon on the home. Ironically he was divorced by my Aunt Hettie Mae shortly after that for cheating with a potential client, one of her friends.
"Yeah, I'll be done in about an hour or so, Deanna." She placed a bag of Chicken on the kitchen table along with a few sodas in styrofoam cups.
"Hey, thanks for doing this, man; we really don't have money to hire anyone."
I was on a short ladder using a roller to spreads the beige paint around above the sink. This was an old style bathroom taller than it was wide with the narrow doorway likely posing a challenge for my portly relative. I noticed a crestfallen look on her face prompting me to speak out of human kindness.
"You okay; you look worried or something?"
"It's my roommate Porsha; that bitch trifling."
"Oh, how's that?"
"She owe me money; she ALWAYS owe me money and I'm scared she gonna start flaking on the rent too; Hettie Mae don't play when it come to her rent check."
"Just put her out and get another roommate." I shrugged still painting.
"I can't do that, she my friend."
It was an oxymoron suggesting such a simple solution to my cousin who had always had a revolving door of best friends. Deanna was especially hypersensitive which complicated a lot of her relationships. The worst that could happen would be the cessation of all communication between the duo.
"Get somebody else to do it." I offered.
Deanna didn't say anything for a few moment pondering my suggestion silently. I'd been around this contingent of my extended family few times, but enough to see trouble on the horizon. She fished the large, greasy box from its plastic bag snagging a large fried chicken breast snacking and watching as I waited for the obvious request.
"You can help yourself to some chicken." There was no doubt she was getting ready to ask me something.
"Thanks." She started walking down the corridor to the larger of the two bedrooms.
"Hey uhm, what's this bag on the table?" Deanna sounded a little dodgy.
"It's just my camera bag; I was gonna shoot some stuff on the way back home." I wanted to do a little test shot to see how the footage looked shot from a bus window.
Also my mother was known to nose around my things when I was out and I had no way to gauge her computer literacy, also packing my laptop. I could only think of the unholy hell that would be unleashed upon my person were my mother to discover the videos made with Erica.
"That's cool how you like, into the movie stuff and all; uhm, could you do me one more favor sides painting the bathroom?" She was pitching and I didn't exactly feel like catching, but I'd inadvertently put myself in her path.
"WHAT?!" I stopped painting looking her right in the face manifesting my best angry brother expression.
"Well I told Porsha that a handyman was gonna paint the bathroom and all; so, she probably think you work for Hettie Mae. Maybe you could like; hit Porsha up for her half of the rent, hundred fifty?"
"Why don't you just ask her; she's your roommate."
"I don't want no drama; she my friend." That statement was starting to get old as I read between the lines knowing she would keep revisiting the question one way or another until I acquiesced. I reached in my back pocket checking the time on the face of my phone before giving the fateful answer.
"Hundred fifty?" Deanna's face lit up at the successful prospect of foisting her troubles off on me.
"THANKS COUSIN!!" She didn't answer the question quickly scurrying back to her bedroom like her life depended on it. Deanna emerged in a change of clothing minutes later hurrying towards the door.
"WHERE YOU GOING?!!" I was caught off guard.
"Now, if I'm here she gonna expect you to ask me for my half of the rent. So, get her half and slip it to me later; I'm going over my man place for a while."
"What if she don't have it?"
"Well, just put a little fear of god in her trifling ass; but I'd like to get that rent money, cuz." Deanna was out the door as I processed the asked favor which ended up sounding more like an order.
