by Curtis Bunn
CHAPTER 17
TROUBLE IN PARADISE
On the way to work, while negotiating the perpetual traffic on Interstate 20 West into Atlanta, Solomon came to a dramatic conclusion: He was at the most peaceful point of his adult life.
Things were going well at work. He and Michele bonded so tightly it was scary. And his relationship with Gerald was out of some storybook.
Then, as suddenly as a sneeze, a major part of that idyllic life came crashing down like an imploded skyscraper.
With the return of school approaching, Solomon and Michele agreed Gerald should begin going to bed earlier to get into the routine that would take place once school began.
The first night, Gerald abided by his mom’s command to turn in with no problem. Solomon walked with him and chatted with him until he finished his prayers and jumped into bed.
The next night, when nine o’clock arrived, Solomon would not agree to another game of Trouble with Gerald. “We can play tomorrow,” he told his son. “It’s time for you to hit the hay.”
“What’s ‘hit the hay’?” Gerald asked.
“Bed,” his father told him.
“I don’t want to go to bed now,” Gerald said with defiance.
“It’s time, Gerald,” Solomon said. “We can play some more tomorrow.”
“No,” Gerald shot back. “I want to play Trouble.”
Michele put down the Essence magazine she was reading. “Listen to your father.”
“Michele,” Solomon jumped in. He didn’t say anything else; she understood that was his situation to handle and backed off.
“Gerald,” Solomon said, “do not say ‘no’ to me again. Now, I told you to go to bed. So go before you’re sorry.”
“Mommy,” he said, turning to Michele, “can I stay up and play Trouble?”
Solomon became incensed. “Don’t ask your mother anything,” he said, rising from his seat at the kitchen table. “I told you go to go bed. Don’t say another word or I’m going to pull my belt off and beat your butt.”
“Solomon,” Michele interrupted.
“What?” he yelled at her. “Honey, let me deal with this.”
Turning back to Gerald, he said, “You have five seconds to get to that room.”
Gerald ran over to his mother’s waiting arms.
If Solomon’s anger could be measured, it would have to have been done in miles. He started unbuckling his belt as he stormed over to the living room to get Gerald.
“What are you doing?” Michele said, pulling Gerald away from Solomon’s reach. “You can’t beat him.”
“What? Watch,” Solomon said. “He’s not going to disrespect me. No way.”
“But you should talk about it,” she said.
“This belt will do the talking.”
He held the folded belt in one hand and pulled Gerald from Michele with the other. It was chaos. Mother and son were both screaming and crying. Solomon was seething.
He was quite aware of the new wave of parenting; more talking and less beating. He considered it a reason kids were more troublesome and just plain worse than older kids who were disciplined with a belt—or a switch or extension cord or anything within arm’s reach of a parent.
One of the concerns he had with Michele that he did not share was how he would deal with having to discipline Gerald. It was bound to happen. Hardly were there any kids so angelic that a moment like that one would not occur—especially if he has my blood running through his veins, Solomon thought. I got so many whippings I thought I was a slave.
Gerald was about to get his first. Solomon did not want to be on that side of history with his son, but he insisted it had to be done. Making it worse was that Michele was not in agreement with him.
He didn’t care. With Gerald locked in the death grip of his left hand, Solomon tattooed his butt with strikes of leather. The boy screamed. Michele could not take it; she got up and ran to the bedroom, holding her ears.
Solomon actually smiled to himself as he was beating the boy. It amused him that he saw his father in himself. As he whaled on Gerald, he did just as his dad had done to him. That is, simultaneously he struck Gerald and ordered commands.
“Don’t...(strike) you...(strike) ever...(strike) dis...(strike) re... (strike) spect... (strike) me...(strike)...again (strike).”
When he let Gerald’s arm go, the boy lay on the floor writhing in pain. Solomon knew more than his feelings were hurt; he was mindful that he was beating a child and did not try to really hurt him. The idea was to let Gerald know he was in charge and that running to his mother was not a safe haven from his father, and that disrespect would not be tolerated.
“Now get up from there and go to bed,” Solomon ordered.
Gerald scurried off the floor and ran down the hallway, holding his butt. Solomon laughed to himself, but not long. He was exhausted. “Damn,” he said aloud. “That was a workout.”
He heard Michele’s bedroom door open. She was headed to Gerald’s room when he interrupted.
“Michele, don’t go in there,” he said. “Leave him alone.”
She stomped her way into the living room.
“I’m not having that,” she said, looking up at Solomon. “You’re not beating my baby. That’s not acceptable.”
“I know it’s hard, but he has to be disciplined,” Solomon said. “You think I’m going to stand for him disrespecting me and running to you like you’re going to protect him from me? No. That’s what’s unacceptable.”
“I don’t believe in beatings,” she said.
“Your parents didn’t beat your ass when you messed up as a kid?”
“Yes, they did—”
“So why would you think now that it’s unacceptable?” Solomon said. “That’s the contradiction of today’s parents. Your moms and pops whipped you, but you want to talk? Meanwhile, the kid has no fear of the parent and no respect. Michele, come on.”
“Come on nothing,” she barked. “You don’t beat my child. Period. He and I have an understanding that bad behavior gets punishment. That’s what we’ve done all this time.”
“Well, it’s a new time; I’m here now,” Solomon said. “If he does something to you that you want to punish him on, then do that. But he will not disrespect me without me whipping his ass.
“It almost makes me laugh when I say this because it’s the same stuff my parents said to me. But it’s true. It does hurt me more than it hurt him. You think I liked doing that? That shit was painful. But a greater good will be served.”
“You did like whipping him,” Michele said. “Why else would you not try to talk to him first?”
“This isn’t a democracy when it comes to parenting,” Solomon answered. “The child does what the parent tells him to do. There’s no gray area about that, Michele. And I’m a little pissed at you, too. He runs to you and you try to pull him away from me. That’s not cool.
“We’ve been working together on raising Gerald and it’s been going well. But it has to be a united front on discipline, too. Listen, I ain’t stupid. I’ll talk to him in the morning about all of this. But he needs to sleep on his behavior and what will happen if he disrespects me again.”
“He’s almost eight years old; he doesn’t even know about disrespecting anyone,” Michele said.
“Well, he does now,” Solomon said. “And even simpler, he knows what telling me ‘no’ is, and I’m not having it. Not for one second, Michele. Next thing, he’ll be telling you when you should go to bed.
“You’ve got to nip that crap in the bud right now. Why did he think it was okay to tell me he wasn’t going to bed? I don’t know where that came from, but it won’t happen again. Watch.”
“You’re not going to beat him again, Solomon,” Michele said.
“As his father, I’ll discipline him as I see fit,” he responded. “You do not and cannot control that. Now, I understand you’ve spoiled him and all that. I wasn’t here. But I’m here now and he’s not going to grow up thinking he�
��s above getting his ass whipped. It’s not happening.”
“Well, we’ve got a serious problem because I don’t agree with that,” she said.
“You act like the boy is in Grady Hospital,” Solomon said. “It’s not about physically hurting him. I’m sure his butt might be a little sore, but he’ll be fine in the morning. This is about the mental, letting him know who is in charge, letting him know that there are real ramifications for being disrespectful or disobedient.
“There has to be a fear in him that he knows I’ll knock him silly if he gets out of line. You need to have that fear in him as well. Listen, my mother is seven inches shorter than me and getting up there in age, but if I got her really mad, she would grab the nearest thing and bust my head with it.
“She still commands fear and respect from me. If you don’t have that in your child, then who’s really in charge?”
“I don’t think that way,” Michele said. “Gerald is a sweet boy. He’s respectful.”
“Sweet, yes, but if you don’t think he was disrespectful tonight, then you’re right; we do have a problem.”
Michele looked away for a few seconds. “What he did tonight did not deserve a beating, Solomon.”
Solomon’s heart dropped. He discovered in Michele something he detested. Weakness. “I’m leaving.”
“Why? There’s no need to go.”
“Yes, there is,” he said. “We’re in this raising Gerald thing together. You told me it was important that he have a man in his life, his father. Well, I’m here. I’ve been here. And now you’re basically telling me that it’s okay for him to disrespect me and that I should handle that disrespect through a sit-down?
“We’ll never agree on this, which makes this a real, true problem for us. If he get’s out of line with me like that again, he’s getting another whipping. You think I should sit down and have a summit with my seven-year-old son about him being rude to me. That’s crazy and dangerous.” He put his laptop in its case and zipped it up. “I’ll be back in the morning so I can have that talk with him that we need to have.”
“Fine,” Michele said. “Go. You should go because you’re not going to abuse my son. I’m not allowing that.”
“You’re not protecting him, Michele; you’re handicapping him,” Solomon said. “I know it was just you and him for a long time. But the moment you told me the deal, it all changed. I have a say in how he grows up, Michele. You can’t stop that.
“And I resent that you think you can. You know him better than me, but you don’t love him more than me. He’s not untouchable. It could be that this was the one necessary time to send that message and he’ll listen and do what he’s told. But if it isn’t, depending on the issue, he has more butt-whippings to come.”
“I don’t think so.” Michele held the door open for Solomon.
“Well, you don’t get to determine,” he said. “I’m sure when I leave you’ll get him a lollipop and lay down in bed with him and cuddle and wipe away his tears... Fine.
“But that’s not helping him; it’s making him soft and weak. You said you always wanted me in his life because you can’t teach him how to be a man. And now I’m here and you still want to treat him like a baby. I don’t know everything, but I know that’s not good.” He stepped outside Michele’s front door. “Babying him is not giving him strength.”
Michele’s eyes were sad. She was scared. Her man was mad at her. Her son was upset. Her emotions were everywhere. When Solomon turned and walked away, she closed the door and burst into tears.
This was their first true test of the relationship. It had been fantasy-like to that point. Now they had seen each other at their worst. That’s when love needed to kick in and hold it together.
But Solomon could not think about love just then. He thought about respect. Respect meant as much to him as anything. When he looked back on all the disappointments with women that had made him cold, he concluded it was their lack of respect for him that had caused it.
So when Michele told him that Gerald’s actions did not merit a whipping, he took that as her disrespecting his role as a father. And that made him furious.
He called Ray, Gerald’s godfather. “I’m telling Michele tomorrow, ‘If you don’t respect me enough to discipline my son, then a time will come when you’ll disrespect me as your man, too. And I can’t have that, either.’”
Ray, always a contrasting voice, said, “So, what’s that mean? That you’re breaking up with her?”
“Yeah,” Solomon said. “It’s like she thinks she’s going to run things. I don’t need to run them, but she’s not going to run them, either.”
“I understand no one should be in charge in a relationship,” Ray said. “But you’ve got to calm down. You and Michele got back together and that’s a miracle. You’ve been faithful to her, which is another miracle. Bigger than that, though, is that you didn’t run from her because of what she might do.
“Now it sounds like that’s what you’re saying; that you want to break up because she might disrespect you.”
“Nah, it’s more than that,” Solomon answered. “She DID disrespect me. She tried to prevent me from disciplining Gerald. She told me that I couldn’t whip him, like she’s in charge of what I do.”
“The second talk you have tomorrow needs to be with Michele,” Ray said. “This shouldn’t be the end of the relationship. You’ve got to talk it through.”
“Yeah, well, I need to hear some stuff from her that shows me that she respects what I’m trying to do,” Solomon said. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“The point is you’re a father and you need to be a father,” Ray said. “The other point is that you love Michele. No way around that.”
“Do you beat little Ray when he’s out of line?” Solomon asked.
“Hell, yeah,” Ray said.
“So you see my point?”
“But I also see this: It’s been Michele and Gerald for almost eight years,” Ray said. “She probably tried to compensate for you not being there by spoiling him and throwing her whole life into him. That’s basically a woman’s nature anyway.
“Then you come along and now you’re trying to change what she built for eight years. It’s hard for her.”
“That may be true, but it’s hard for me, too,” Solomon said. “And I can’t bend on discipline. Respect is everything. I was raised that way and that’s what I believe in.”
CHAPTER 18
ONE DOWN, THREE TO GO
At home, Solomon felt strange, alone. He had an evening all mapped out with Michele. She was on her menstrual cycle, but he still planned to nestle up with her on the couch, eat popcorn and watch a funny movie they rented: Somebodies by a young filmmaker named Hadjii. And, he had thought, if he was lucky, Michele would give him a little “oral love” before they went to sleep.
It was fifteen after ten on a Friday night and he literally had nothing to do, except ponder the drama that had unfolded. In the past, when a woman disappointed him, he had a simple solution: move on to the next one.
Those feelings did not come over him on this occasion. Well, they did and they didn’t. He did think of contacting another woman, but not for the same purposes of the past. Rather, it occurred to him that he should begin the inevitable conversations he had to have with the women who still, however barely, hung on to hope that he would be in their lives.
That thought let him know that Michele held a special, untapped place in his life. Even as he was disappointed in her, the pervasive feeling was that he loved her, which was an emotion he had never, truly experienced. He did, however, consider her position on him disciplining Gerald a real breach of their relationship.
Still, the more he thought about beating Gerald, the more of a funk he sank into. He loved his son, and he hoped that he would react as Solomon had as a child when his father (or mother) beat him. That is, in the morning it would all be forgotten.
The lesson was learned and, even at a young age, he understood tha
t the beating came as a necessary evil of parenting. But would Michele’s opposition to his method of discipline make the pain of it all linger with Gerald?
Solomon’s mind became clouded with frightening thoughts. What if he hates me now? What if Michele hates me? How do I overcome this?
He started to call Michele to feel her out. He knew she was upset, but he did not want it to escalate into something really big. Before he could dial her number, his pride kicked in.
“Don’t do it,” it said to him. “Calling her would minimize all the points you made. Let her know you mean business.”
And that was that. Solomon discarded the idea of calling Michele and, instead, called Evelyn, one of his stable of four women he “dated” before reconnecting with Michele. He called not to get with her, but to let her free.
“I know this must be a mistake,” Evelyn said when she answered the phone. There was noise in the background, music.
“No mistake, E. How are you?” he said. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Hairston’s. I felt like dancing. I’m just walking in,” she said. “Come dance with me.”
She had more than dancing on her mind. Other than running into her briefly at Target a few months before, he had not seen Evelyn in about seven months.
“I might do that,” he said. “Be there in about thirty minutes.”
Hairston’s was a nightclub ten minutes or so from Solomon’s house. It had been around in Stone Mountain, east of Atlanta, for at least fifteen years. It had staying power because it was a rarity: a nightclub for the over-thirty crowd.
The owners stopped investing money in the space—it had looked virtually the same for the last eight or ten years—but the music was good, the hot wings were tasty and the crowd was mature.
So, Solomon went upstairs and changed clothes and headed out to meet Evelyn. She got into his rotation one winter night when he pulled up at a Bank of America on North Druid Hills Road, right near Interstate 85, to go to the ATM.
Standing outside her car, shivering, was Evelyn. Her car was running. “You okay?” he asked. She was short and cute, brown-skinned with shoulder-length hair. Her coat was tied tight around her waist, offering a view of a hint that she had a shapely body. Solomon processed all that in a matter of seconds.
