“It was a good thing Suave was hanging out up the street when it happened. Who knows, George would’ve probably killed him too.” Sister Winnie leaned back on the couch.
Gloria Wilkins and George Brown lived in Vineyard Town, Kingston, with their son, Suave. The two had been together since they were teenagers, but it was a volatile relationship that only intensified as they got older. George was possessive and jealous of the beautiful Gloria. If a man so as much as said “hi” to her, then she was having an affair with him. Gloria paid dearly for this jealousy with beatings, day after day, year after year. But for some strange reason, she refused to leave her man.
“I love him,” Gloria often told the people who asked why she stayed. “George is just a little jealous, but he won’t do it again.” She would smile, showing the few teeth George hadn’t knocked out yet. “Plus, Suave needs his father. He needs a man in his life.”
Gloria was only eighteen years old when she got pregnant with Suave. George, only a teenager himself, nineteen years old, turned to selling marijuana to take care of his family. A small-time dealer, he barely made enough to pay the rent for the two-bedroom house they lived in and to put a little food on the table.
But last night, at only thirty years old, Gloria got the last beating of her life. The argument started the same... George accusing her of sleeping with the neighbor across the street.
“I saw you coming from over there!” George had barked, spit flying from his mouth. “You think I’m a fool?”
“I just went to borrow some sugar,” Gloria explained fearfully. Her body was still aching from the beating the night before. “I was going to sweeten the little cornmeal porridge for dinner.”
George pulled a gun from his waist and said, “I’m tired of you disrespecting me. You have people whispering behind my back and laughing at me.” He pointed the gun at Gloria’s chest.
Gloria’s eyes bugged. She was used to George’s fists and feet but not a gun. Where did he get it?
“George, listen to me. Please put the gun away,” she begged, backing away into a corner of the tiny kitchen. “I love you.”
George laughed crazily. “Love me? I bet you love the joker across the street too, huh?”
“Please think of Suave.” Gloria continued to plead for her life. She glanced at the door, praying Suave would not come through it. “He’s just a child. He needs his mother and father.”
“I’ll take care of my son after I kill your behind,” George replied, waving the gun at her.
A loud noise reverberated throughout the house. Gloria stared at George in disbelief, a hand over her chest. “You... shot...” she said before falling to the ground. Blood poured out of the bullet hole in her chest.
The gun fell out of George’s hand, sounding like a bomb in the now quiet room when it landed on the hardwood floor. Standing as stiff as ply board, George stared wide-eyed down at the body of the woman he loved. What had happened? He didn’t pull the trigger.... Did he? He was only waving the gun around to scare her. Gloria wasn’t dead.... Was she? She was just faking.
As if in a trance, George knelt beside her. “Glo’, wake up, baby. You know I was only playing with you. I didn’t mean to shoot you.” He gently slapped Gloria’s cheek. “Come on, Glo’. I’m going to take you to the hospital, and they’ll fix you up. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
It was the first time George would get to keep that promise because Gloria never responded. She was dead.
“Oh Lord, I killed Glo’.” George dropped down on his bottom and sat on something hard. Sliding over a little, he looked down and saw it was the gun. Mindlessly, he picked it up and peered at it for a few seconds. Without thinking, he put the gun to his head, and this time, he intentionally pulled the trigger. Brain matter splashed against the wall as he fell beside Gloria. Suave’s parents were gone.
The shots alerted the neighbors next door. Upon arrival, the police saw the two bodies and called for a hearse. It was clearly a case of murder-suicide. No investigation was necessary.
“Mommy! Daddy!” Suave shouted, struggling against Sister Winnie, who held him tightly to her hefty body. “Leave them alone,” the little boy yelled to the men who were putting the bodies in the hearse. “Take them out of the black bag. They can’t breathe.”
“Hush, baby,” Sister Winnie whispered to him. “They’re gone.”
“Noooo!” Suave kicked and flung his hands wildly in the air, trying to get to his parents before the men took them away, but Sister Winnie held on tightly.
The onlookers watched the heartbreaking scene. Their eyes filled with pity for the little orphan.
“Reggie!” Sister Winnie called out to one of her sons standing a few feet away. “Come and take Suave up to the house.”
Suave kicked and screamed when Reggie threw him over his shoulder and began to walk to the house. “I want my mommy and daddy!”
It took most of the night before Suave wore himself out. His voice went hoarse, and his eyes were red and swollen when exhaustion finally took over his little body. Suave had locked himself in Sister Winnie’s bathroom and fell asleep on the floor. Reggie put his talent to use and picked the lock on the door. Sister Winnie took the sleeping boy off the floor and placed him on the couch, where he slept restlessly.
The next morning after breakfast, Sister Winnie boarded a bus with Suave to Tivoli Gardens, where his only known relative lived—Pastor Ralph.
“And so, here we are,” Sister Winnie concluded the story of the demise of Suave’s
