For the second time in the same night, Solomon took a lonely drive home, confused about his feelings. This time, though, there was an added emotion: anger.
He resented Michele taking his incident with another woman from four years earlier as an indication of something sinister about him. Solomon believed he deserved the benefit of the doubt; especially from someone who had professed her love for him.
It was too late to call Ray or any of his friends or his dad. He had to deal with the turn of events by himself, which was dangerous.
A fragile mind like his could go to some dark places, and Solomon’s anger guided him away from the light. By the time he reached Panola Road, near his house, he was practically sweating, he was so angry and so full of disdain.
Simply put, his feelings were hurt, which, to a man, was tantamount to challenging his pride. The idea that women were stronger than men was hardly something any man agreed with; but the reality that a man’s emotions were more sensitive than a woman’s was something few men would admit.
Solomon learned that men actually were as emotional as women, in different ways about different things. He told one of his fraternity brothers, Tony, “No, don’t get me wrong; I’m not talking about men crying over a movie or because you break up with a woman,” he said. “I’m talking about women always say, ‘Men are so unemotional,’ and I’m saying think about how we are when we get together to watch a football game at a sports bar. We’re jumping up and down and giving high-fives, ready to throw stuff at the TV.
“That’s emotion; more emotion than you see a women having about something she’s passionate about. So, the idea that we’re just stale with no emotions or we’re afraid to show emotions is crazy. It’s really about showing our emotions about them. We just aren’t as excited about them as we are about our sports teams.
“And if we are as excited about them, that’s when we get into heated arguments over something that really shouldn’t matter that much. But we care, so we engage in it. Our emotions with women don’t come out in shedding tears. They come out in how we respond to some of their nonsense, but only if we care enough.”
Solomon came to this way of thinking in the most ironic way. Because of the “domestic violence” arrest, he was entered into a diversion program to have the charges dropped and his record cleared. It required him to take twenty-four counseling classes that addressed a number of areas around dealing with relationships and emotions.
Since he was too embarrassed to tell anyone about his arrest, he only shared what he learned when an opportunity arose. By the time he pulled into his garage that night, it occurred to him that he needed to find a way to temper his emotions, which were running on inferno.
So he did something he rarely did. He pulled out a notepad and pen and started writing. Something about the ink oozing out of the instrument soothed him. He had rather neat penmanship, for a man, and liked to see his handwriting on paper.
There were so many thoughts careening off his brain, so many raw emotions that he spent more than two hours at his kitchen table writing. He started by venting about Michele and how disappointed he was that she had misjudged him after he opened up to her.
“It would be one thing,” he wrote, “if I had shown her some indication of being physically abusive. It actually was a relief to tell somebody about what happened. I chose her as that person, and she totally blew it. The sad thing is that I regret being honest with her. That’s not something I, or anyone, should ever feel; regret telling the truth. But if I had not, maybe I would not feel as I do about her and us.
“And how do I feel about her and us? I’m not sure. That alone is not good. Just a few days ago I was as sure about her as I had ever been about a woman. And that made me sure about us. Now...I’m confused.”
About Gerald, he wrote: “I can’t be mad at him; he did what he had been allowed to do. But I think I got my point across. Still, I must admit that I’m a little afraid that he will go into a shell and not feel the same about me as he did.
“If that happens, I don’t know what I’d do. It’d be devastating. But I also know he’s a kid and he wants his dad around. And if I’m around, we’ll get past this and become even closer.
“But will we ever be as close as he and his mom are? I’m not jealous, but I am envious that she got those seven years while I had no idea he even existed. In some things you can’t make up seven years. With this, I believe I can. I will.”
He also wrote about the other women in his life. “Before I talked to Evelyn, I never was straight up with a woman before. Not in that way, at least. I was upfront about what I didn’t want in the relationship, but I was never upfront about what I wanted. And there’s a big difference.
“I also never told a woman that there was someone else I wanted to be with. But when I think about it, that was never the case before now. What does it say about me that I never had a woman that I really felt the need to be committed to? I trusted none of them. Then I trust Michele and she basically betrays me in a different way from the others. But it’s still betrayal and I know me: I don’t get over that easily.”
On and on his writing went, some thoughtful, some the ranting of a hurt and confused man.
By four-thirty in the morning, Solomon’s eyes got so heavy he could not read his own writing or recall what he was trying to convey. He knew then it was time to put the pen down and lie down. But the mission was successful: penning his thoughts and feelings cleansed him of the anger that engulfed his body.
He mustered the energy to move to the couch in the den, where he stretched out fully clothed, curled up with the remote control in his hand and a sofa cushion under his head and fell into a deep sleep.
The dreams he had that early morning were related to his plight. He dreamed that Gerald defied him again, and when he didn’t whip his son, the kid turned to leave the house. Before he exited, he turned to Solomon and said, “Bye...punk.”
He dreamed of skydiving with Michele—and the parachute was stuck. As they plummeted toward the earth, Solomon pulled out an umbrella and they floated down, Mary Poppins-style to the beach of some indentified island.
Finally, Solomon awoke in a sweat; Michele had moved from her house and taken Gerald with her. He was afraid at first and when he realized it was a dream, he became more determined. He sat up on the couch and turned down the volume on the flat-screen.
“She can think what she wants and do what she wants,” he said aloud of Michele. “But I’m going to do the same thing.”
Translation: He was going to be the father to Gerald and the man to Michele he believed he should be.
To himself, he thought: If I can’t be true to who I am, then who am I?
The sun could not have come up soon enough. Solomon was eager to confront the people in his life who caused him the most grief. “That’s how it is,” he said to himself. “It’s hardly strangers who weigh on you. It’s the people you care about who are heavy.”
By seven-thirty in the morning, he was fully dressed and ready to go to Michele’s house. He was not sure what he would say or if he should even go. But he knew he had to do something; his son was likely confused about getting a whipping and his woman confused about who he was.
Clarity is what he sought. What he got was more confusion.
Solomon waited three hours before heading back to Michele’s house. He killed time watching news reports of the popular Bishop Eddie Long’s homosexual sex scandal with teenage boys.
“Can you believe this guy?” he said to Ray over the phone.
“You shouldn’t judge until you know all the facts,” Ray responded. “For all he has done, he deserves the benefit of the doubt.”
On another day, they would have had a serious debate, as Solomon had a much stronger stance and would have gone through great measures to express it. But his mind was on his issues, not anyone else’s. So he let Ray off with this: “We’ll finish this later.”
He considered calling Michele before leaving home, but shunned that notion. He went over there and rang the doorbell.
Michele answered.
“You here again?” she asked. “Solomon, not today. I really don’t have anything to say to you right now.”
“Well, just listen to me,” he said. “Can I come in?”
Michele stepped aside and let in Solomon. “Where’s Gerald? I really need to talk to him.”
“Talk to him about what?”
“About what happened, why it happened and what respect is. I want him to understand all that.”
“Well, seems to me all that should have been discussed last night. Talking after the fact is a little late to me.”
“Well, that’s where we again disagree,” he answered. “But I didn’t come here to argue or get you upset. I came here to get things right with all of us. Two days ago we were great. I mean, fantastic. Now, there’s too much between us. Let’s get it back to where it was, where it is supposed to be.”
Michele gave Solomon a look he could not quite decipher. And before she could say anything the doorbell rang. Solomon was closer to the door. “Want me to get it?”
“No, I got it,” Michele said in a way that seemed uncomfortable to Solomon.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, hurrying past Solomon to the door. She opened it and in came Gerald.
“Hey, man, I came here this morning to talk to you. Where you been?” Solomon said to Gerald.
The kid just looked at him. Then he turned behind him to see his mom let in someone else, a man.
Solomon’s heart dropped. Who was this and why was Gerald with him?
A sheath of awkwardness covered the room. No one said anything for a few seconds. Finally, Michele spoke up.
“Gerald, honey, go to your room,” she said.
“Hold on, I need to talk to him,” Solomon said.
“Okay, but he needs to go to his room first,” Michele said, looking at Solomon. Then she turned to her son. “Go ahead. Stay there until your...he comes back there.”
Gerald did as he was told, leaving the adults in the living room by the front door.
Before awkwardness could set in again, Michele introduced the men. “Solomon, this is Gary. Gary, this is Solomon.”
The men exchanged a reluctant handshake, both of them wondering who the other was.
“Good to meet you, Salamander,” Gary said.
“Salamander? My name is Solomon. You got that, Barry?”
“Oh, my fault. Sorry,” Gary said. “Sometimes you don’t hear correctly, just like you didn’t hear that my name is Gary with a ‘g,’ like in God.”
“I got it now,” Solomon said. “A ‘g,’ like in girl?”
Gary’s arrogant smile disappeared and the men stared at each other as if they were about to draw weapons in a gunfight.
“Okay,” Michele said. “Solomon, you wanted to talk to Gerald; he’s back there.”
It was clear to him that she wanted Solomon to leave the room, which was the reason he stayed. “So, Larry...I mean, Gary, why are you here?”
“Solomon...” Michele said.
“It’s all right, it’s okay, Michele,” Gary said. “I was thinking the same thing about you, Sebastian... Anyway, this is my wife. What’s your excuse?”
Solomon took a step back and turned to Michele.
She looked into his eyes and saw confusion and disappointment.
“Ex-wife, Gary. Ex-wife,” she said, never turning away from Solomon. Her eyes were sorrowful; she’d had every opportunity to share with Solomon her past married life with Gary, but had not.
“Yes, ex-wife,” he said. “But we have that connection. What’s your story, Sinbad? I mean, Solomon?”
He stared at Michele a few seconds longer, searching for something to prevent him from being devastated. And as much of a concern was it that she did share that bit of personal information, it was really a problem that he was standing in her living room after being out with his son.
“That’s interesting, Girlie...I mean, Gary,” Solomon said, turning to the man who was sort of a lighter-skinned version of him: tall and fit with closely cropped hair. Gary’s face was shaven clean with thick eyebrows.
“I’m going to leave you here to be with your wife,” Solomon added. “I need to go speak to my son. That’s my excuse.”
“Solomon!” Michele called out as he turned away. He stopped and looked at her in a way that she gathered meant that she had better let him go. She said nothing. He turned and headed to Gerald’s bedroom.
He could hear Gary say to Michele: “That’s Gerald’s father? Really?”
Solomon turned his focus to Gerald so quickly that he had pushed Michele and Gary to the back of his mind by the time he arrived at his son’s bedroom door. It was halfway open.
Solomon opened it slowly and found Gerald sitting at his computer, playing a videogame. He heard the door open but did not turn to see who was entering his room.
The confidence Solomon wore like a tattoo was not evident. He was somewhat timid and definitely unsure how to approach his son. So, he started slowly.
“How you doing, son?”
“I’m fine, Coach Money,” Gerald responded without looking up. Calling him “Coach Money” was a serious blow to Solomon. It disappointed him and made him angry, too. It had not been long since he was so proud his son called him “Daddy.” This let him know Gerald was not like he was as a kid.
When his dad beat him, it was over the next day. Solomon would go on and his dad would go on as if it did not happen, although they both remembered it clearly. But that type of discipline was a part of the culture created in the home.
Solomon, while shaken, did not panic. “Gerald, come over here for a minute. I need to talk to you.”
The child did as asked and moved from the desk to the bed, all the while refusing to look at his father.
“Son, look at me.”
Gerald looked up. Seeing his eyes and the anger that radiated from them scared Solomon. Did his son hate him? Could he recover from this?
“You’re mad at me, Gerald. I know you are,” he said. “And I wish you weren’t, but I understand how you feel. You know why? I was in your position before. My dad gave me whippings when I was a kid, too. I hated when he did, but he did it to teach me something, to make me a better person.
“See, when you’re your age, you might think you know everything. But even for someone as smart as you, you don’t know much at all. Not yet. A parent’s job—my job—is to help you grow up and be smart and respectful and a good, successful person.
“To get there is a long and sometimes hard road. But everything that happens to you in life—everything, the good and the bad—is supposed to make you better and stronger.
“As your father, the way it should work is simple: If I tell you to do something, you do it. Period. That’s how it works with children and their parents. You don’t question it and you certainly don’t tell me you’re not going to do it.
“You understand? That’s very wrong, Gerald; very wrong, and disrespectful. You always, always must show your father and mother respect because they’re your parents, the people who take care of you and who love you the most.
“Now, I wasn’t around when you were really young, and I’m really sorry about that. If I were, then you would’ve been taught this a long time ago. You know what? You’re going to get in trouble again for something. That’s what happens when you’re a kid. But you should never get in trouble again for telling me ‘no’ or being disrespectful. Okay?”
Gerald nodded his head.
“Gerald, you understand?” Solomon reiterated.
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes what?”
“Yes sir,” his son responded.
“Thank you,” Solomon said. “I know you’re going to be mad at me for a while, and that’s all right. But that’s not going to make me not love you and be here for you. And I’ll tell you a secret, between me and you.”
Gerald raised his head to look at his dad.
“It really made me sad to give you that whipping. I really wanted to cry.”
“You did? Why?” Gerald asked.
“I love you so much, son. You mean everything to me. There’s a saying, a cliché, that my father told me the first time be beat me. He said, ‘This is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you.’ And I said to myself, ‘Well, let me beat you instead of you beating me, if that’s the case.’”
Gerald flashed his illuminating smile.
“But I never really understood what he meant until now,” Solomon continued. “He was right. It did hurt me a lot. You might’ve felt the pain of the belt, but I felt pain in my heart. I don’t want to hurt you, Gerald. Ever. You still might not understand this, but being a parent sometimes is a tough job. You have to do some tough things.
“Like I said, you’re going to get into trouble again; that’s what happens as you grow up. Will you get another beating? I won’t say that it won’t happen again. But I can tell you that it won’t happen because you didn’t make up your bed or lost your watch.
“It has to be something I believe is really serious. I won’t like it. It’ll hurt me a lot. But I have to do my job, and that’s to raise you right so that you become a young man that your mom and I—and God—will be proud of.”
He reached over and put his hand on Gerald’s shoulder. Tears filled his eyes. “You’re my son and I love you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” Gerald said, and the tears streamed down Solomon’s face like confetti at Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Father and son hugged a long hug. Solomon wiped the tears from his face as they did.
Finally, they let go.
“I love you, son,” Solomon said.