A Cold Piece of Work (6 page)

Usually, Solomon Singletary took women to amazing emotional heights, to where they were undaunted by the prospects of a significant fall. They just went with his flow.

Solomon realized through reminiscing that Michele Lynn Williams had taken him places he had not been before with a woman. And, he admitted, that he very much was afraid of falling from such a high place. Subconsciously, he knew there was something special about her. But his conscious mind also led him to think there was something scary about her, too.

So, intuitively, he ran. “Coward,” he said as he rested on his back in bed. “Coward.”

In his reality, his admission of fear was a monumental feat. A man's instinct is to project fearlessness. To be honest with himself about himself… well, it was rare. He could jump out of a plane from fifteen thousand feet above the earth, but he could not share his true feelings with a woman he cared for. That realization sickened him—and inspired him, too.

He sat up in bed and, in that moment, committed himself to making it up to Michele, making it up to himself. She was bitter and angry and wanted no part of him, but Solomon did not care.
He had his way with women many times over, and it actually became less a thrill and more of a formality that no longer excited him.

Now, he was excited and motivated to truly do right by Michele. At the same time, he needed to prove to himself that he was capable of being a good man to a good woman. In the process, he thought maybe he could actually repair an eight-year-old wound.

Instead of the morning ending a good night, this new day offered something special for Solomon. Hope.

Hope that he could find it in himself to endure the rejection he believed Michele was sure to offer. Hope that he could dissolve her bitterness and gain a modicum of respect from her. Hope that she would allow him to mentor her son, Gerald. And hope that she could, some day, open up to reconnecting with him.

The other women in his life, while most were good women, did not hold him. They provided some level of satisfaction—in one area or another—but they were not magnetic enough to force him to focus solely on them.

He never felt that with Michele. For the six months they were together, he did not see other women, which was a first. It wasn't a conscious decision; he enjoyed her so much that he didn't much feel the need for others. He never told her that. In fact, he told her the opposite, that he
would
see other women. “We're just enjoying our time together,” Solomon said, when Michele asked the predictable woman question, “So, what are we doing?”

“I'd like you to be less interested in who else I'm dating and more into us maximizing the time we spend together,” he said.

Michele handled Solomon differently from other women. She refused to press him on the issue. She was not settling; her pride would not allow that. But she accepted his position for what it
was and left herself open to dating other men if the opportunity arose.

This position confused Solomon and actually turned his behavior. “You're different,” he said a few weeks later. “Most women press you for what they want. You haven't done that.”

“Who said I wanted more than what you mentioned?” she replied. “Bottom line, as long as you treat me with respect, I'm okay with what we're doing right now. That might not always be the case, but that's how it is right now.”

This hardly was the response he was used to receiving, and it threw him. It made him feel like he had to occupy her time to prevent someone else from doing so, which was exactly what women had attempted to do to him. Michele had effectively flipped the script on Solomon.

So, almost every weekend, they were together, and many nights during the week, too. As close as he grew to her, she grew equally close to him. But she was not afraid of how she felt.

“I love you,” she said to Solomon one evening after dinner about five months into their courtship. She did it then so he would know it was not some proclamation in the throes of making love. During intense sex, she might say anything, and Solomon knew it.

Telling him as she stood in the kitchen washing dishes was hardly romantic. It was pure, genuine emotion, inspired only by her heart.

Clearly, Solomon was uncomfortable with Michele's expression. Their eyes locked for a few seconds before he looked away and finally said, “Really? Well, do you like me?”

“That's your response?” she said. She knew Solomon was crafty, that he was trying to avoid a direct response. “Okay, I'll play along: Yes, I like you, Solomon. Now what?”

“Well, I'm glad you do because that's where it all begins and
ends,” he said. “To me, you can't get to loving someone until you really like them. And I like you, too, Michele, very much. I have very strong feelings for you, too. I just don't throw around the ‘I love you' thing recklessly. I—”

“Wait. Are you saying I'm being reckless?” Michele jumped in. “I know you're not telling me that when I have all these sharp objects at my fingertips.”

“No, no, I'm not saying that at all,” he quickly interjected with a smile. “I'm talking about me. I try to be responsible about that; if you don't mean it, it can be hurtful down the line. Liking you is more important than loving you; if we have a friendship and genuinely like each other, that's going to be our foundation that holds everything together. People fall in and out of love all the time. If you really like someone, that doesn't change—unless something really ugly happens.

“But to what you said, I know it's from the heart and real; that's the person you are. So, thank you for feeling as you do about me.”

Once again, it was Solomon's wariness that prevented him from opening up to Michele. It wasn't that he could not love her; it was that he did not
want
to love her. To love her was to be susceptible to being hurt by her. So, he believed that as much as she opened up his life and as close as he felt to her, actually loving her would only complicate matters. And it would make things even worse if he told her that he loved her. He believed she would view it as a weakness in him that she could manipulate.

“Honey, that's so not right,” his mother said when he shared his theory with her. “How many women have you introduced to me? Too many to count. Michele is the only woman who felt comfortable enough to be herself. I could see all the others trying to impress me to get me to say something good about them to you.

“You know what Michele said to me the first day I met her? You were in the bathroom. She said, ‘Ms. Singletary, your son is a trip. I'm glad I got to meet you. I'm not sure you'll see me again.'

“I asked her why, and she said, ‘He's a perfect gentleman. But he's spoiled. I know you spoiled him as an only child; that's what mothers do. Other women have, too. He's so macho that he thinks the world revolves around him and his decisions.' I was like, ‘Oh, this is my kind of woman.' She wasn't trying to impress me. She was speaking her mind. That's the kind of woman I'd like my son to have. Not someone who placates him. How do you throw that away?”

The same day, Solomon drove to Sheridan Road in Northwest D.C. to see his father, whose advice was quite different.

“Son, you have the right idea,” he said. “Always manage the relationship so that you're in control. They start thinking you're all head over heels and they'll turn you upside down. Keep them working toward pleasing you. You show them that you're all into them and they get comfortable. And then she becomes someone you don't like.”

Eight years later, Solomon realized neither his mother nor his father got it quite right. Ultimately, it was about him and how he related to Michele. And reviewing his behavior with women in general, and Michele in particular, gave him a picture of himself that was hardly flattering.

It also gave him motivation to do something different.

A
man like Solomon got off as much on pursuing a woman as he did actually conquering her. The challenge was the thrill; making her expose herself and succumbing to his will. That was the turn-on.

Never before did he have a more intimidating challenge than that of reattaching himself to Michele Lynn Williams' heart. She was angry and bitter, and for good reason. But he was not scared.

So, after all the pondering and reminiscing and admission of regret, Solomon pulled himself out of bed. He lacked patience and was intent on making inroads with Michele. So, he was ready for the chase.

He knew where to find her; young Gerald talked often about his mom making him get up every Sunday for 10 a.m. service at Berean Christian Church, which was not far from Solomon's house.

He also had her phone number, e-mail address and home address from the team parent roster. So, he had means to reach her. Before he would, though, he had to give her a reason for his disappearance. And that was a problem, because nothing he said would make sense to her.

Finally, he decided on something he did not frequently do: he would tell Michele the truth. Even if it did not make her feel better, he would have done what was right, albeit many years too late.

Solomon was surprised that he was nervous as he approached
the church. Confidence had been the foundation of his existence, be it at work or socially. But as he got to the front doors of Berean at 9:50, he began to doubt himself.

He decided he would take a seat in the back aisle of the center section, which would give him a vantage point to see Michele enter the sanctuary from any entrance. Before doubt took over, he spotted her.

She entered from the left side of the building, alone. It was like she was walking in slow motion. Solomon hoped Michele would be in a forgiving and jovial mood after church, making it an ideal time for him to make his initial move.

When the service ended, Solomon positioned himself outside the sanctuary door Michele would exit. The palms of his hands were sweaty and he suddenly felt a need to go to the bathroom. But leaving meant he might miss her, so he waited.

Just a minute or so later, Michele emerged from the doors. She was chatting with another woman, who noticed Solomon and smiled at him. “Hello,” she said.

Michele turned to see Solomon, whose deep brown and sometimes enchanting eyes where fixated on her. “Hi,” he said.

“What are you doing in church?” Michele responded without hesitation. There was no detection of anger in her voice or how she looked at Solomon. She held it together beautifully. “Diana, you'd better step back. He could get struck by lightning at any moment.”

“You know him?” Diana said.

“I thought I did—a long time ago,” Michele answered. “Let's go.”

Michele and Diana began to walk away from Solomon. He followed them. “Michele…”

She turned around. “Oh, you remember my name?”

“Can I speak to you for a moment, please? Just for a minute.”

“I'm going to go ahead to my cousin's house for a cookout,” Diana said. “Call me later, okay?”

She left and Michele turned to Solomon. “Let's go outside. What I have to say probably shouldn't be said in church.”

They stepped out into the perfect spring afternoon and Solomon pulled out his sunglasses. Michele reached in her purse and pulled out hers.

“I really need to apologize to you,” Solomon started. He had rehearsed some of what he wanted to say to her, but he forgot it all.

“For what?”

Solomon took off his sunglasses. He wanted her to see his eyes, hoping she could detect the sincerity and truth in what he was about to say.

“For being a coward with you. I can't explain it in any other way than that, Michele.”

“But what does that mean? And why should it mean anything to me all this time later?”

“I can't say whether it should mean something to you or not,” he said. “What I can say is that it means I had feelings for you back then that I was afraid of. And I didn't know how to handle them. So I ran away from them to avoid having to deal with them.”

“You're right—that's what a coward would do,” Michele said. “You don't do people like that. And you're claiming you had feelings for me? That's hard to believe, based on your actions.”

“Listen, I couldn't sleep ever since seeing you last night, Michele. I had all kinds of emotions running through me. I was shocked to see you at first. Then I was embarrassed because of what I did. Then I was…I was glad to see you.”

“I can understand being shocked; I was, too,” Michele said. “And I can understand being embarrassed. But glad? Why?”

“For a few reasons. One, I really like your son—I've tried to be a mentor to him—and I was glad to know his mother is someone like you. Two, it meant I could finally man-up and apologize to you—and, to be honest—get rid of some of the guilt and regret I've been carrying with me. I tried to not think about it, but it would never go away. It just wouldn't.”

“But you never tried to reach me, Solomon, even with this so-called regret.”

“Yeah, I know. It was like, the longer I waited, the harder it was to do,” he said. “I got here, got engulfed in the job and getting adjusted and convinced myself that I was doing the right thing. Not the right thing by you, but the right thing for me. I didn't know how to handle really caring about you.”

“That sounds silly, Solomon,” Michele said. Her arms were folded, which Solomon took to mean that she was not open to what he had to say. She was, in fact, closed and withdrawn. However, she listened to him and still responded, which meant she wanted to hear what he had to say.

“It sounds silly. But it's the truth… Listen, I'm not good with feeling vulnerable. I felt like eventually you would—”

“Eventually what?” she asked.

“Hurt me,” he said, looking down. “Break my heart.”