Thu.gs and The Women Who Invite Them

This...I imagine, is how muhfuckas get slashed up in their own home...

Jeffery has a unique perspective of the world. At 6'7", he encounters few people who can look beyond him, and his demure charisma captures what little attention his daunting physical stature doesn't.

His easy smile is misleading. He's neither happy nor lucky. By 8 years old he had a nicotine addiction. By 16 it was weed...that was around the time Jeffery Sr, his pops, passed away. A graphic headstone inscribed with "RIP" adorns the inside of his forearm.

His easy smile is distracting. The Black btwn those Africanesque lips hangs at an impossible angle, and unfortunately hides a smile worthy of private-practice pride.

Those lips kiss his girl every morning when he arrives at their job. They pucker again when he leaves for his GED courses. A few weeks shy of 23 years old, he is just now accomplishing the task of a young man five years his junior. But that paper will validate a life of education that has stretched well beyond any school yard.

At 18 he was with a woman with 5 kids...because he loved her, and them.

He was a decent defensive end on the high school football team. Had a bitter out of school rivalry with Carmelo Anthony back in those days.

While Melo shot 3s, Jeffery was shooting .38s.

He doesn't throw the word 'thug' around loosely. He will, however, flash a few Blood signs.

Today smoking is his last hurdle to climb. He allows himself maybe 4 Newports a day, or a Black, like today. No weed. No liquor. He understands the power and lure of addiction.

"I've done every drug known to man."

Weed. Coke. Her'oin. PCP. Acid. Got caught up with the shit he was dealing. Got caught up in the pain of losing his father. Of the gutter he called home in West Baltimore ("Bawduh'more").

Went on his last drug binge when he was eluding the jakes. Cuz his girl was so shook that he would get 20 years that she aborted their unborn child.

Fcuked him up.

Got caught. Locked up. Got put in a halfway house. Has to be home by 9. Curfew. That was only a year ago.

Went to a job interview today. More dough. More in line with the law enforcement career he seeks. It went well, except he only managed to type exactly half the required wpm. He did 20. Never took a typing course.

But he'll be out of the halfway house on Oct 3, after 6 months there. That day he goes back to court, hopefully for the last time. Coincidentally, it's also the day he was born. He's looking fwd to going back to his family, to spending more time with his girl. To starting over.

He's a contemplative thug. A polite, smiley gentleman. A giant who swears by telling a woman's age by examining the depth of lines in her palm. A man with the curiosity of a child sneaking a Newport at 8, and the insight of a war-torn veteran. Honest to a fault. Introspective, determined, and confident.

Jeffery is my neighbor. We met a few weeks ago as I was on my way to my whip, and then again the next morning as he was on his way to work. That was when he showed me the gang signs...and the smile.

I saw him again today for the first time in a while. He was smoking and drinking water out on his stoop. We chatted for a while, him asking how my day at school was, me asking him the same. He told me most of his personal details sitting on a crate in my kitchen (I aint got no chairs yet).

Um, Wise...that IS your name right? You appear to be of at least average, um...wise-dumb...so I it is with all due respect that I ask... WHAT IN THE HELL WAS A REFORMED GANGBANGING, SLANGER DOING INSIDE YOUR CRIB!?

Well.....[back outside on the stoop, as my legs were growing weary from standing]

"You good with a screwdriver, Jeffery?"

"Yes, I'm pretty good, why?"

"Cuz I went to I.kea on Saturday and got this big dresser, and to hell if I can't put that shit together by myself.""You wanna take care of it right now?"

The answer... I need someplace to put my shit. Tired of living out of suitcases! [back story...I just relocated to Bawduh'more to pursue my Masters. For those concerned readers, I do not live near The Wire nor The Corner. I live on a quiet block a few blocks from JHU, ie - amongst white folk...and apparently, a halfway house.]

So Jeffery came over right quick, about an hour before curfew, and put my shit together. I have friends I could have asked, but I'm the 'I can do it myself' type who knows even your best friends dont really wanna do the shit you dont even wanna do for yourself.

He was on his best behavior...tho an Amber alert did flash thru my mind when he asked if I knew Prince and 'Preme...some ole drug nggas from NY. I let him taste this Rachel Ray shit I made last night...chicken breast and pesto and green beans (Jameil, you gotta try it!). He politely finished it and said it tasted "different." So I made him some turkey cheeseburgers (sans the bread...I'm low-carb, yo).

And I gave him my copies of B-More Careful, and The AutoBio of Malcolm X. Turns out he's Muslim. He's partial to books about war and ancient leaders like Hannibal.

Who do I think I am, a fake azz social worker??

Naw, just an independent girl and marginal carpenter. A girl who wants a place for her panties.

A girl, who could have very easily ended up cut in half.

Idiot.