A Cold Piece of Work by Bunn Curtis

Author:Bunn, Curtis [Bunn, Curtis]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Published: 2011-07-04T16:00:00+00:00

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.

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