We’re SAFE Now
I hate myself.
The words wriggled their way through the recesses of her mind, then her heart. They now sat heavy and idle in the pit of her stomach, a nasty internal bruising. It was as if someone had sucker punched her in a fit of rage, leaving a painful loathing that had been there long before the fight.
Aggravated, Deanna yanked the covers over her head and switched positions, now laying on her other side.
“I guess this is the table for husband stealers?”
Jasmine’s question hung in the darkness of the bedroom, haranguing, as if addressing Deanna herself. It incensed the loathsome bruising in her stomach and crawled like stealthy fingers around her neck until her throat closed. Tears stung her eyes, and she gasped for air.
Nobody wants you. Nobody loves you. Nobody cares.
Deanna clamped her teeth down and bolted upright, letting the comforter fall to her waist as she silenced the scream before it found her voice. Her lips wrestled to stay closed as a horrible moaning escaped with each breath.
Deanna hated the night, and slumber itself provided little refuge. If asleep, she was haunted by nightmares of an enigmatic world that she was certain reflected the reality of her depraved life. If awake, she was haunted by the inescapable nightmares of her reality itself. And the day was merely the brief and foggy, though welcomed, reprieve offered the hopeless insomniac.
I want to be a better person.
These words settled upon her just as the moaning of her thwarted screams subsided. Though once heartfelt, the declaration was now but a ridiculous mantra that did not belong to people like her.
You cannot be better because you have no good in you to begin with.
Deanna grunted in angry annoyance. “So what?” she called out, her voice loud in the stillness in the room. “So what if I’m not a good person! Who is? Aliyah? I don’t think so!”
But what about Jacob?
At the reminder of the divorce, a mournful whine escaped her throat as the clutches of loneliness clamped around her. Tears spilled from her eyes before she could stop them, and she covered her face with her hands as her shoulders shook. This time, she made no effort to quiet the wailing screams into the night.
And this time, she heard no stirrings of her mother or father coming to her aid.
***
“I love you.”
Jacob uttered these words as he held Aliyah close to him, his voice fading as he drifted to sleep. His snore was a soft wheezing in the darkness of the hotel suite, a rhythmic aphrodisiac that made Aliyah snuggle even closer to him.
“I love you too,” she whispered even though she had no idea if he was conscious enough to hear her. But a faint smile played at her lips as she lay with her head against his bare chest, the flat of her palm massaging the coiled hair there. She felt herself becoming exhausted, but she wanted to lie awake a moment more, imbibing the electrifying pleasure that still weakened her even an hour later.
“This was well worth the wait,” Jacob had teased her earlier, and she’d laughed out loud.
“Muslim women aren’t stiffs, you know,” she’d teased in return. “Just because we cover and lower our gazes doesn’t mean we don’t know how to enjoy ourselves and please a man.”
Jacob had coughed laughter. “Well, I’m certainly not complaining.”
The smile on her face spread into a grin before she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep herself.
***
Perspective. The epiphany came to Deanna as her eyes blinked open under the strain of grogginess, the light of day hesitantly filling her room through the closed curtains, an indication that she had drifted to sleep after all. I need perspective.
The mere thought of reaching out to someone during this difficult time made her stomach knot in anxiety and dread. She hadn’t even been online since her arrest and subsequent release except to email Asher and read his reply. There were literally hundreds of unread messages in her account, but she couldn’t bring herself to open a single one. She’d already deleted the Facebook app from her phone, and if it hadn’t been for her email alerts about bills and her occasional communication with her lawyer, she would have deleted the email app as well. Even without having read a single message or post online, she’d already become angry imagining what others would be saying about her.
Talk to Asher.
Deanna hated her brother with paralyzing resentment, but she really had no idea whom she could turn to right then, at least not without being billed by the hour. Her mother and father lived with her under the same roof, and one would think that the parent-child bond would inspire more than begrudging tolerance of her presence. But to them, the provision of a home and food each night was much more than they owed her, no matter what she was going through. They knew nothing of the divorce, at least not officially, and Deanna doubted they cared either way. Asher himself might not even care, but his indifference remained a theory because her brother was not someone she had ever taken time to get to know.
Asher was Barry and Kerri’s firstborn, the pregnancy that had inspired their marriage. But Deanna often felt that she was the unwanted child, the pregnancy that neither of them expected or wanted, the pregnancy that forced them to spend money they could have used for more important and valuable things. In Deanna’s darkest dreams, she was their firstborn, the child they resented because she forced them to commit to each other in marriage when they had plans for a better life. Their resentment of her was almost palpable while Asher enjoyed a distant respect of which she could only imagine.
But Asher was her brother, and perhaps there was within him a trace of the familial connection of blood ties that went beyond mere begrudging obligation and tapped into the veins of emotional bonds.
***
Asher’s house reeked of beer and cigarettes, and Deanna breathed through her mouth. She was unable to temper the annoyance she felt at him for not even taking time to clean up though she had called before making the five-hour drive early that afternoon. But now it was evening, and she was tired and hungry, and the sight of books and newspapers sloppily stacked all over the living room floor and unwashed clothes thrown about and piled carelessly on the couch made her want to turn around and head right back home.
“You want a drink?” Asher said from where he stood opposite his sister in the foyer. He wore a dingy wife beater shirt and faded blue jeans that sagged below the waistline, revealing a hint of blue and red striped boxers. The beginnings of a beard framed his face in unkempt graying coils and offered Deanna only a semblance of the countenance she associated with her older brother. He held her gaze as he walked over to the couch and shoved a pile of clothes to the side then gestured for Deanna to come in and sit down.
She hesitated only momentarily before entering the living room and walking around to the couch, not bothering to remove her shoes. A musty smell stung her nostrils as she let the sofa receive the weight of her body.
Deanna did want something drink, but she felt leery about consuming anything from his house, even water. “Sure,” she heard herself say. Her stomach lurched as he disappeared into the kitchen, and she swallowed hard to keep from throwing up right then.
There was clanking and banging coming from the kitchen, and Deanna glanced about her in repulsion, her lips pinched closed in distaste. She did a double take as she saw on the small circular table next to her a single framed picture. It was of two men standing outside in front of what looked like Asher’s house, laughing together about something. Deanna immediately recognized Asher as the man clipping the shoulder of the other, as if to keep from laughing more. The other man’s eyes were shut, his mouth wide open and teeth bared mid-laugh. There was something eerily familiar about him that made Deanna’s insides convulse. She quickly turned away, shifting her entire body away from the frame.
“Here we go,” Asher said, appearing suddenly and slamming a clear glass mug and a can of beer on the circular table next to her. He reached under his arm to retrieve his own can of beer as he settled on the single-cushion loveseat at an angle opposite the couch.
There was a soft hissing sound as Asher opened his beer before leaning his head back and taking a gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then leaned forward, can still in hand, and asked, “What did you want to talk about?”
“I’m divorced,” Deanna said, shifting stiffly on the couch, unable to get comfortable next to the pile of musty clothes. She’d thought she would have a more eloquent introduction to her problems, but she didn’t want to stay longer than she had to.
Asher chuckled, a half grin forming on his face. “Join the club.”
Deanna pulled her head back in surprise. “You were married?”
“Yep,” Asher said, folding in his lips as his eyes lost focus momentarily. “And I despise the institution.”
“Did you have any children?”
“Three,” he said with a grunt, a shadow of anger passing over his face. “And I despise that institution even more than marriage.”
Deanna felt disgusted with her brother right then, but she kept her judgment to herself.
“That wench lives like a damn princess while I can barely afford satellite TV,” he said bitterly. “On my dime. But apparently, that’s not enough. She had me put in jail.”
At the mention of jail, Deanna’s interest was piqued. “You were in jail?”
“Mom and Dad didn’t tell you?” Asher spoke in distracted anger, as if venting to himself. “Twice.”
A suffocating silence followed, and Deanna averted her gaze, remembering her own experience in jail. “What did you do?”
“What did I do?” Asher said, his voice rising in irritation, his eyes meeting hers in an icy glare. “Why do you assume I did anything?” Deanna opened her mouth to respond, but he continued before she could, “I didn’t pay enough child support, apparently.” He grunted and shook his head before leaning his head back and taking another gulp of beer. “But the whole damn system is extortion, if you ask me.”
“Do you see them often?” Deanna asked, missing Younus and Thawab just then. “Your children, I mean?”
“I used to,” Asher muttered. “But even that was a fight with her. So I just said f— it.” Deanna winced at his profanity. “She put all these crazy ideas in their head about me anyway, so what’s the point?” he said. “I’m a deadbeat whether I show up or not. But she sure cashes those checks every month.” He huffed then took another generous sip from the can. “And she doesn’t even bother to have a job.”
Deanna’s eyes traveled cautiously to the unopened beer can next to her. “Do you have bottled water?”
“What?” Asher contorted his face as he looked at her.
“I’m Muslim,” she said. “I don’t drink.”
Asher rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” But his voice was more compassionate than his expression.
He shook his head. “I drink tap water,” he said. “Feel free to fill your glass as much as you like.”
Deanna couldn’t tell whether or not he was being sarcastic, but she smiled nonetheless. She knew right then that she would be reserving a hotel that night if she was too tired to drive home.
“Don’t the Moslem women wear some type of headdress?” Asher said, making a circular motion around his head.
“Yes,” Deanna said, stiffening in offense. She hated when her entire identity as a Muslim woman was summed up in that piece of cloth. “But I don’t.”
“Hmph,” he said, a slight grin on his face as he regarded her with an expression that was difficult for Deanna to read. “Was your husband abusing you or something?”
Deanna twisted her face in disgust. “Of course not,” she said. “I would never let a man lay a hand on me.”
“So I guess you were abusing him then, huh?”
Deanna’s eyes widened in offense. “A’oodhubillaah,” she exclaimed before she realized that Asher would have no idea what the Arabic utterance meant.
“Aw hell nah,” he said, that grin still on his face. “I don’t want any of that Moslem voodoo in my house.”
“Why would you even ask me something like that?” Deanna fumed, ignoring his insult on her religion.
“Ask you what?” Asher said, his expression becoming angry and defensive all of sudden.
“If I abused my husband.”
“Oh, girl, get over yourself.” Asher flipped a hand at her, as if shooing her out of his sight, and in that moment, he reminded her of their father. “You’re a smart girl,” Asher said, a frown on his face. “You went to college and all that, so you know about the cycle of abuse.” He huffed. “But without child support bills, you probably have enough money to pay some stupid shrink to fix all your problems.”
Deanna looked at Asher as if he’d lost his mind. “The cycle of abuse?”
“Don’t tell me you’re almost pushing forty and you still haven’t figured out what the hell is wrong with you?”
Deanna just stared at him, unable to soften the indignant expression on her face.
“That’s why you’re here, right?” he said. “To find out how I cope and all that?”
“We-were-not-abused,” she said through gritted teeth, insulted that he would even suggest something like that. “We’re Michaels.”
The explosion of laughter was so sudden that Deanna started. Still holding his beer in one hand, Asher slapped his free hand repeatedly against the arm of the loveseat, his legs moving up and down as if running in place, his body rocking back and forth in amusement.
Deanna’s face was aflame in mortification at having incited this delirium, but her expression remained set in obstinate offense.
“Thanks, sis.” Asher drew in deep breaths as if trying to gather his composure. He placed his free hand on his chest and shook his head, a smile still on his face. “I’m glad you came. I haven’t had a good laugh since I destroyed my marriage.”
Deanna’s nose flared. “What’s so funny about what I said?”
Asher raised an eyebrow as he regarded his sister, a smirk creasing one side of his mouth. “You’re not joking, are you?” he asked rhetorically, a trace of sympathy in his voice. “You really think we had some stupendously great upbringing, don’t you? The up-and-coming Michaels, right? The sign to the world that underprivileged minorities can fulfill the American dream,” he sang out before erupting in laughter again.
Seconds later he sighed, shaking his head. “Damn, girl. And I thought you were the smart one.”
“No family is perfect,” Deanna said defensively, but she detected a falter in her voice.
“Is that the story you tell yourself?” There was a sneer on his face, but a moment later his expression became reflective. “I used to tell myself the same,” he said, a distant sadness in his eyes, a slight smile lingering at his lips. “But I can live with the truth now. We have one f—ed up family.”
He gestured a hand toward Deanna. “You get raped in the basement of our church. Bailey gets a pat on the back,” he said, as if enumerating the Michaels’s litany of faults. “Dad blames you. I beat my wife.” He shrugged. “I blame her.”
A shudder went through Deanna at the casual mention of what had happened to her. She was never sure that Asher even knew about it though she’d always suspected he had. He had been twenty-three and living on his own when she’d written the letter to her parents before running away from home. But he had stopped calling her Janice around that time, so perhaps their mother or father had told him. It was touching to learn that all this time Asher had believed Deanna, even without having spoken to her about it directly.
“You see that picture there?” Asher pointed to the frame that sat next to the glass mug and beer. “That’s me with the only friend I still have.”
Deanna’s eyes cautiously slide in the direction of the frame.
“You know who that is next to me?” There was humor in Asher’s voice. “Bailey.”
Deanna shuddered and turned away from the frame. She felt lightheaded all of a sudden and gripped the arm of the couch to steady herself.
“He’s a disgusting misogynist.” Asher leaned his head back and took another gulp from the can. A smirk was on his face as he swallowed and looked thoughtfully at the picture. “But I like him.”
Deanna’s stomach lurched, and she felt the bile rising to her throat. But she clamped her teeth shut and swallowed hard, refusing to let Asher’s words unnerve her.
“You know why?”
Asher’s question hung in the air like the stench of the room, but Deanna didn’t respond. She refused to even look at her brother right then.
Asher grunted, humor in that sound. “Because he knows he’s full of crap.” He spoke as if that were the most admirable trait in the world. “And that’s more than I can say for anyone else I know.” He huffed. “Including our self-righteous parents.”
***
The sound of the shower woke Aliyah, and she felt the emptiness of the space in the bed next to her as her palm lay on the tussled sheet instead of the warmth of Jacob’s chest. A smile formed on her lips as she recalled the night before, and she immediately uttered the supplication for waking, translating the Arabic words in her mind. All praise is for Allah who gave us life after having taken it from us, and unto Him is the resurrection.
She instinctively glanced at the clock and saw that it was time for Fajr, the dawn prayer. She sat up and pulled the heavy duvet around her as she glanced around the bed for her gown. When she saw it lying in a small heap on the carpeted floor, she reached down then said “Bismillaah” as she shook it before pulling it over her head. She heard the shower water stop just as she sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the breakfast menu from the nightstand to see what time breakfast was served.
“As-salaamu’alaikum,” Jacob said, a smile spreading on his face as he emerged from the bathroom, a hotel-issue towel secured firmly around his waist. He walked over to the side of the bed where Aliyah was thumbing through the breakfast menu and brushed her forehead with a kiss. She smiled up at him and returned the salaams, returning the menu to the nightstand as she stood in preparation to shower herself.
“How’d you sleep?” Jacob asked as he walked over to the other side of the bed and picked up his clothes then shook them as Aliyah had done minutes before.
“Good alhamdulillah,” she said and meaning it, a smile in her voice as she walked toward the bathroom. She looked over her shoulder, watching him as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“You?” she asked, halting her steps at the open bathroom door.
“Slept better than I have in years,” he said sincerely, winking at her.
She chuckled and shook her head as she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
***
You went to college and all that, so you know about the cycle of abuse. Deanna gripped the steering wheel so firmly that her hands hurt. Her tired eyes were narrowed and fixed on the silver darkness of dawn beyond the windshield. The words were Asher’s, but the voice in her head was her own, as if they’d sprung from her own thoughts. Don’t tell me you’re almost pushing forty and you still haven’t figured out what the hell is wrong with you.
Abuse.
The word carried with it so much weight, so many accusations. It was a word that Deanna associated with helpless women, women she was burdened with saving because they were too weak to save themselves. Abuse existed only in the context of someone else’s life, not Deanna’s.
She was a Michaels, so it was impossible that she had been abused. Other than her aunt, there was no one in her family who’d subjected themselves to such a lowly existence. Yes, Bailey had raped her, and that could count as abuse. But she had been only eight years old then, and she’d never let it happen again. She refused to let it happen again. Unlike Deanna, abused women suffered from learned helplessness and feigned weakness when they were really just addicted to their victim status.
No, Deanna would not claim victimhood for herself. She was above being a victim. Victims were people like Aliyah and her cohorts, people who could barely hold themselves together, let alone their lives and marriages. That’s why they needed Deanna’s expertise, to help them stand up straight and learn the basics of keeping a man.
But you’re divorced too.
The words slammed down upon her like the heavy blade of a guillotine.
She was repulsed at the thought of being categorized as a divorcée. She was not a divorcée. She was a marriage guru who prevented the category from even existing in the first place.
“You know what I suggest?” Asher had said when she’d told him of her insomnia and nightmares, and the involuntary screaming and internal tug-of-war with herself. “Apologize to every person who’s ever crossed your path.” His words were slightly slurred, as he was on his third beer by then, having consumed Deanna’s a half-hour before. “Start with your ex-husband and friends, then your children and colleagues, and don’t stop until you feel completely humiliated and exposed.” He laughed then took another swig of beer before gesturing the can toward her. “I wish I’d thought to do that before I f—ed up my life and everyone else’s.”
***
After her shower, Aliyah put on an abaya and khimaar before lining up at an angle behind Jacob in preparation for prayer.
“You want to pray your Sunnah?” he asked, turning to look at her from where he stood facing the qiblah. “I prayed mine while you were in the bathroom.”
“Sure,” Aliyah said, probably too quickly. Though she often prayed the two voluntary units before Fajr, she hadn’t planned to pray them right then. But after her husband’s reminder, she immediately raised her hands and offered the extra prayer, her heart lifting at the blessing of having such a good man in her life.
***
There it is again, Deanna had thought bitterly when Asher made the suggestion. That apology. Why was it that so many people believed that self-improvement was connected to appeasing someone else? Why couldn’t she just become a better person without humiliating herself? Why should she have to apologize to anyone? They were no better than she.
“You did what?” The look on Asher’s face had been a mixture of horror and disgust, and Deanna immediately regretted telling him of how she’d convinced Jacob to marry her instead of Aliyah.
“She didn’t deserve him,” she’d muttered defensively. “She had no idea how to keep a man.”
Asher just looked at her then, his disgusted expression unchanged except now there was a trace of pity. “And I thought I was a bad husband.”
“I did not abuse anybody.” Deanna was indignant, insulted that he would imply that her crime was greater than his.
He laughed out loud but left the subject alone. “We should get together some time,” he’d said minutes later. “The three of us.”
“I’m not speaking to Jacob anymore,” she’d said stiffly.
“Girl, I’m not talking about your ex-husband,” he said, a sneer in his voice. “I’m talking about me, you, and Bailey.”
Deanna glared at Asher, but she couldn’t tell whether he was speaking in earnest or jest. “I-refuse-to-have-anything-to-do-with-that-monster,” she said, speaking through gritted teeth.
Asher cackled and shook his head, setting his empty beer can at his feet. “That’s a shame,” he said, a smirk on his face, “because you two have so much in common.”
“I have nothing in common with him,” Deanna said, her voice trembling in fury.
“But you do,” Asher insisted, his eyes traveling to the framed picture as he spoke. “You both steal things from other people then insist that the victim deserved the crime.”
Deanna opened her mouth to respond but found she’d momentarily lost her voice.
“Except Bailey is better than you,” Asher said, his eyes reddened and unfocused from insobriety. But his voice was surprisingly steady and clear. “He doesn’t pretend to be good.”
***
“Let me tell you how I snagged Jacob.”
These were the words that came to mind as Jacob sat on the carpeted floor of the hotel room, a thin travel prayer mat in front of him. Aliyah sat diagonally behind him with her own travel prayer mat in front of her. “SubhaanAllah, subhaanAllah, subhaanAllah…” he said, glorifying God while enumerating with his fingers, and he heard the muttered whispering of Aliyah doing the same.
Sitting there after Fajr prayer, Jacob was overcome with gratefulness for the blessings that Allah had given him through Aliyah. Even as he’d suffered daily in his marriage to Deanna, there were times that Jacob had allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have a righteous wife. The concept of having as a life partner a woman who loved and respected him as the leader of the household was something he’d begun to associate with generations past. Yet still, he hadn’t been able to quell his desire for a woman with at least a semblance of those qualities. But he’d imagined that it was his ungratefulness for what Allah had given him in Deanna that made this desire constant even as he was already married with children. “If you want a righteous wife,” the imam had said at Jumu’ah one day, “then ask yourself this: Am I a righteous husband?”
The imam’s question had given Jacob pause. Jacob had come to the Friday prayer that day mentally exhausted from yet another argument with Deanna, even as he had been at work all morning. On her best days, Deanna would make Jacob feel belittled and emasculated. Jacob knew she wasn’t always doing it on purpose, but that didn’t make the situation any better. There was constantly an air of entitlement and superiority with her, as if she viewed it as Jacob’s sole responsibility in marriage to fulfill her every desire, even if left unspoken.
On that particular Friday, Deanna had woken up in one of her nastier moods, when it felt as if her primary purpose was the argument itself. Even after an hour of back and forth, Jacob had no idea what on earth she was upset about. Every word that she uttered was so vicious that it was as if her only goal was to inflict as much pain as possible. Jacob had left the house angry and frustrated, wondering how much more of her cruelty he could take. Isn’t a wife supposed to respect her husband? he’d fumed.
However, listening to the imam’s words, Jacob asked himself, But am I a righteous husband? Could he honestly say that he himself was righteous and thus deserving of a righteous woman? Upon careful reflection, Jacob knew with certainty that the answer to that question was a resounding no. He hadn’t even been sure that he knew what righteous meant. Yes, he lowered his gaze, avoided unnecessary interactions with women, never committed adultery, and prayed the five daily prayers on time every day. But did that make a person righteous, he’d wondered? Ascribe not purity to yourselves, the Qur’an commanded. Then no, there was no way he could say with any truthfulness that he deserved a righteous wife.
The buzzing and vibration of his phone interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced toward the hotel dresser where he’d placed his mobile. He started to stand to get the phone, but Aliyah stood and reached for it before he could. Without looking at the mobile display, she quietly handed him the phone then sat back down on the floor and resumed her adhkaar.
Surprised at this gesture, Jacob stared at Aliyah, a question on his face as he wondered if she was upset with him for something. But her eyes were looking at something beyond her prayer mat as she quietly recited Ayat al-Kursy, which was a prophetic custom after each obligatory prayer.
What are you thinking? he asked himself once the confusing moment had passed. The phone continued to buzz and vibrate in his hand, but he didn’t look at the screen, distracted by the fact that Aliyah’s simple gesture had surprised and worried him at all. It took several seconds for Jacob to realize that the reason for his surprise and concern was that Deanna would hand him his phone only if she was annoyed by the interruption or if she was insisting that he take a call that was about a workshop or interview she wanted him to do for her.
SubhaanAllah, Jacob thought to himself. Is that really how I lived? The realization made him shudder. How had he lasted more than a decade in that relationship, where the simplest display of kindness was either withheld or done for ulterior motives? And how had he lived with all of that pent-up anxiety? Every day that he was married to Deanna was like walking on eggshells. If a day was going well, he viewed it with suspicion, as if waiting to learn something he’d done wrong. He’d lived in apprehensive expectation of her next verbal or physical attack.
0-4-1-9. Jacob used his forefinger to type in the numeric passcode to his phone.
1 missed call. Larry Bivens
As Jacob pressed the phone icon next to Larry’s name and placed the phone to his ear, he remembered why he’d chosen the 0419 numeric passcode so many years ago. And live with them honorably, Allah commanded men in the Qur’an with regards to their wives. If you dislike them, it may be that you dislike a thing and Allah brings through it a great deal of good. This verse was from the chapter entitled Al-Nisaa, The Women; and it was soorah 4, ayah 19, hence Jacob’s chosen passcode. It was his daily reminder to look to the good in Deanna and be grateful for her as a wife.
“As-salaamu’alikum,” Jacob said as soon as he heard the phone stop ringing. “Are the children okay?” Aliyah’s recitation stopped suddenly, and Jacob sensed her heightened concern.
“The children are fine, man,” Larry said. “But we have another problem.”
“What’s going on?” Jacob said, his voice etched in concern. Aliyah moved closer to Jacob, intense worry lines between her eyebrows.
Phone still against his ear, Jacob turned to Aliyah and offered her a reassuring smile. “The children are fine,” he whispered. Her face immediately relaxed, and she stood and walked over to the bed and sat down and picked up the food menu again.
“It’s Deanna,” Larry said.
“What about her?” Jacob said, his concern heightening.
“She’s here at your house.”
“What?”
“I didn’t let her in, of course,” Larry said. “But she’s ringing the doorbell like a maniac, pounding on the front door, and blowing up the house phone. It sounds like she’s trying to use her key to get in.”
At that moment, Jacob remembered preparing for the weekend trip by programming all of Deanna’s calls to go directly to voicemail. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled.
“Thanks man,” Jacob said, exhaustion in his voice. “Tell her I’m not there.”
“I did.”
Jacob groaned.
“She doesn’t believe me.” Larry chuckled. “For all I know, she thinks I am you.”
“Okay,” Jacob said, sighing. “I’ll call her myself. But as a last resort, if she doesn’t leave, call the police.”
***
“I am better than the wicked and sinful. I am walking with the Lord.” Deanna recited this mantra to herself as tears streamed down her face and she alternated between pressing the doorbell, pounding on the front door, and wiggling the door handle because her keys were not working. She needed to talk to Jacob immediately. She had made a mistake in agreeing to the divorce. She needed to tell him she was willing to do marriage counseling like he’d suggested before the divorce.
The mere thought of having as her only family her emotionally distant parents and her misguided brother was terrifying. Deanna had left her brother’s house late the night before and came directly to her and Jacob’s home. How she had lasted so many hours on that filthy couch was beyond her. It was as if her brother’s home was inhabited by shayateen, demons lurking in the corner of every room. Listening to him speak in admiration of Bailey felt as if Asher himself had transformed into a Shaytaan, and it terrified Deanna that this was actually her own flesh and blood, her only family.
I need Jacob back. The epiphany came to her minutes before she came upon the exit leading to her parents’ home. But she’d been overcome with anxiety so intense that her chest hurt at the mere thought of spending another second in that house. I need Jacob back! her heart and mind screamed in a cacophony of frantic desperation.
“I’ll do anything you want,” she’d sworn aloud as she passed her parents’ exit and headed toward Jacob’s instead. “I don’t care what it is. I just need you back.”
“Jacob, just give me a minute,” she spoke into the front door while pounding the flat of her palm against it. “We need to talk. It’s really important.”
The familiar ring tone on her phone wafted into her consciousness as if coming from a distance. She recognized it immediately as the special ring she’d assigned to Jacob. At the sound, she scrambled for her purse and opened it then quickly withdrew her phone.
“Hello?” she said, breathing heavily, making no effort to conceal her anxious excitement to speak to him.
***
The mere sound of Deanna’s voice incited annoyance in Jacob, but he tried to remain calm. She was probably having a nervous breakdown, but he found it extremely difficult to muster up even the slightest sympathy for her state. For years he’d pleaded with her to get professional help, but she would scoff at him and hurl insults, as if he was the one with the problem.
“As-salaamu’alaikum, Deanna,” Jacob said, speaking as calmly as his frustration would allow. He stood with his back to Aliyah, who now sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, a concerned expression on her face as she listened intently to his side of the conversation. Before calling Deanna, he’d briefed Aliyah on what Larry had told him.
“Can you let me in?” Deanna said, her breathing sounding as if she’d just run a marathon. “I have something important to tell you.”
Jacob drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m not home right now, Deanna. Larry is there watching the children for me. I won’t be back until tomorrow, insha’Allah.”
“But I heard you—”
“That was Larry, Deanna,” Jacob said, enunciating every word carefully, as if speaking to a child. “My brother.”
“But I thought—”
“What time is good for us to meet on Sunday?” Jacob interjected, wanting to end this call as quickly as possible. It aggravated him that she had chosen this weekend of all times to create a disturbance.
There was an extended pause, and all Jacob could hear was her breathing. “You’ll see me?” She sounded surprised and ecstatic.
It was odd witnessing this level of vulnerability from Deanna. She sounded as if she were doing a horrible impersonation of his ex-wife. Her desperation when there was no other option was so cliché that it was almost sad. It reminded Jacob of the predicament of people who would beg God to return them to the world so that they could live righteously, but even if Allah did return them to the world, they would go right back to living a life of arrogant disobedience.
“We have to choose a counselor for co-parenting, remember?” Jacob said.
Her silence suggested that she had completely forgotten about the single aspect of the divorce agreement that she herself had insisted on. “And we can talk about other things too,” she said quickly.
“What time?” Jacob said, doing his best not to sound annoyed.
“Any time.”
“Then I’ll call you tomorrow insha’Allah.”
“We made a mistake, Jacob,” she said. “We should do marriage counseling instead.”
Jacob’s nose flared as he felt himself losing patience. “We’ll talk tomorrow insha’Allah,” he said again, his voice rising slightly.
“Did you hear me? We made a mistake.”
“I heard you,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait for you here.”
“No.” Jacob himself flinched at the sternness of his tone. He silently recited isti’aadhah, seeking refuge in Allah, then tried again. “No,” he said more gently. “If you don’t leave right now, my brother will call the police.” Jacob hated threatening Deanna, but he was running out of options. Besides, she didn’t seem to be in her right mind, and he imagined that nothing else would register.
“But this is my house.” With those words, it was as if she were Deanna again. Jacob could hear the signature pompous arrogance in her voice.
“No,” Jacob said firmly, making no effort to sound diplomatic. “It’s my house. And if you don’t leave now, you’ll be back in jail, and then, we won’t be able to talk tomorrow.”
Jacob heard Deanna grunt in aggravation, but he sensed that the threat of not being able to meet with him was more troublesome than the threat of going back to jail.
“Fine,” she said. “But I never liked your brother. You should find someone else to watch our children.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, insha’Allah,” he said again, but he detected the stillness on the other line, indicating that she’d already hung up on him. Dropping his hand to his side, still holding his phone, he exhaled in relief. If he had been forced to hang up on her, he had no idea if she’d leave Larry and the children alone. So it was a good thing that the call had ended by her initiation. It gave Deanna the sense of control she needed in nearly every interaction.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about my mother and sister…” Aliyah said as Jacob walked over to the hotel dresser and set his phone next to the large television screen. “And it made me realize that—”
“We’re going to have to meet Deanna together tomorrow,” Jacob said. He turned to face Aliyah as he folded his arms and met her gaze with a serious expression on his face. He hated to cut off his wife mid-thought, but he didn’t want to delay sharing what had been on his mind. Deanna’s erratic behavior only confirmed what he’d already thought. It was time to tell her about him and Aliyah. “I can ask Larry to come too,” he said tentatively. “But we need to meet with her sooner rather than later.”
Aliyah’s lips formed a thin line, her expression contemplative and troubled.
“I know it’s not ideal,” Jacob said apologetically. “But I don’t know what other choice we have.”
Aliyah looked pained as she regarded him, a question on her face. “But is she mentally stable?”
Jacob grunted, a trace of humor in that sound. “Has she ever been mentally stable?” he asked rhetorically.
“What if she goes crazy?”
“I think she’s already past that point,” he said. “She passed that a long time ago.”
Aliyah shook her head, doubtful. “I don’t know, Jacob…”
“If you feel uncomfortable,” he suggested, “I can speak to her alone. With Larry,” he added, clarifying. “But my hunch is that she needs to see you in person to really process what I’m saying. Otherwise, she’ll probably be in denial.”
“Deanna can get violent…”
The fear that Jacob saw in Aliyah’s eyes gave him pause. He had become so accustomed to Deanna’s physical attacks that he’d forgotten that they could cause bodily injury. He was definitely physically stronger than Deanna, but the scar on his forehead from a girlfriend’s violent attack before he’d become Muslim was proof enough that his size alone wouldn’t protect him from physical harm. Moreover, he’d sustained his share of bruises and broken skin during fits of rage by Deanna herself. Deanna’s volatile nature had become so much a part of his marital life that he’d forgotten that there were actually men and women who lived out their lives free from fear in their own homes.
“I’m sorry,” Jacob said quietly. “I forgot about that.”
“I can still come with you,” Aliyah said tentatively. “It just needs to be in a public place.” She added hesitantly, “You know, with security around.”
Jacob nodded thoughtfully. “The masjid?”
Aliyah creased her forehead doubtfully. “Maybe the mall?” she said. “I’m not sure the masjid is the best place for this. There will be too many people she knows there, and it’ll probably make her more defensive.”
“That’s true…”
“Plus some of the main gossipers and Facebook fitnah-starters hang out at the masjid on the weekend.”
Jacob nodded thoughtfully.
“The mall has some quiet areas,” Aliyah said. “We could even make a reservation at a restaurant.”
Jacob’s eyebrows rose as a smirk formed at his lips. “The irony…” he said, reflective humor in his tone. “You know the Day of Judgment is near when the mall is a better option than the masjid.”
Aliyah chuckled, as if just then realizing the irony herself. “I know…”
“The shayateen love the marketplaces.”
She shook her head, a reflective smile lingering on her face. “We live in strange times…”
They were silent for some time.
“What if we asked your uncle if we could meet at his house?” Jacob said. “I know it’s not public and doesn’t have security, but I think her seeing Brother Benjamin will have the same effect. He’s pretty well-respected in the community,” Jacob said. “And if anything happens, we can always call the police.”
Aliyah sighed, and she became lost in thought momentarily. “Sometimes I feel sorry for her, you know?” She shook her head. “I know she never really talked about it much, but I never got the feeling she had a really supportive family.” She shook her head again. “And now this? She’s probably losing her mind.”
Jacob huffed, thinking of how Deanna’s father was working against her after the accident with her mother. “Her not having a supportive family is an understatement,” he said. “She’s practically an orphan.”
“I know you know a lot more about her situation,” Aliyah said. “But I always felt like she had this wall up around me, as if she needed me to think she was stronger than she really was.”
“Sounds about right,” Jacob said. “She kept the same wall up around me.”
“Really?” Aliyah sounded genuinely surprised.
“Of course,” Jacob said. “A person like Deanna doesn’t let anyone in. The only reason I know a bit more than anyone else is because I lived with her. There’s only so much you can hide from someone you sleep beside every night.”
Aliyah coughed in agreement. “That’s so true…”
“It really is a sad situation she has with her family,” Jacob said reflectively. “But it’s hard to feel sorry for someone who brings so much misery to your life.”
“I know what you mean,” Aliyah said quietly.
“You know, they have all these categories of mental illness,” Jacob said, “and I would spend hours online researching how to help someone like Deanna, and how to…” He paused, unsure how to put his thoughts into words. “I guess I just thought if I loved her enough, she would get better.”
“I didn’t even realize she had a mental illness.”
Jacob shrugged. “She doesn’t even realize she has a mental illness.” He sighed and shook his head. “Like they say,” he said. “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “Do you think some mental illness is self-inflicted?” Aliyah asked.
Jacob raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Self-inflicted?”
“Like they brought it on themselves?”
He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “I suppose it’s possible…”
“I’m asking because it seems like arrogant people are all a bit touched in the head, if you know what I mean.”
Jacob laughed out loud.
“I’m serious,” Aliyah said, laughter in her own voice. “Think about it. How mentally healthy can you be to openly disobey God?”
“But Deanna is Muslim…” Jacob said, feeling obligated to say something positive.
“I don’t mean Deanna per se,” Aliyah clarified. “I mean anyone who is living in a way they know is wrong, but they insist on doing it anyway.”
Jacob frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know…” he said. “Wouldn’t that apply to all of us?”
Aliyah shook her head. “I don’t mean people who keep sinning because they fall into human weakness. I mean people who insist that the entire definition of sin or right and wrong should be changed just because they disagree with it.”
Jacob was quiet as he considered Aliyah’s point. He had never thought about mental illness from a spiritual perspective.
“I know some people are mentally ill because of things out of their control,” Aliyah said. “But I think there are people who make themselves mentally ill.”
Jacob nodded thoughtfully. “You might have a point there,” he said. “Especially considering that jinn are usually involved in enticing us to sin in the first place.”
“The disbelieving jinn,” Aliyah clarified.
“And how sane can you be to listen to someone who you know wants you in Hellfire?” Jacob asked rhetorically.
Aliyah bit her lower lip and seemed lost in thought for some time. “I think my mother is mentally ill,” she said finally.
Jacob furrowed his brows. “Your mother?”
“You saw her,” Aliyah said, gesturing a hand toward him. “Does she seem like she’s in her right mind?”
Jacob recalled the disturbing scene that Naomi had made at Benjamin’s house. “Maybe you’re thinking of mental sickness and spiritual sickness as the same thing?”
“No,” Aliyah said. “Because not all mentally ill people are spiritually sick. But I think all spiritually sick people are mentally ill.”
“But aren’t we all spiritually sick on some level?”
“Yes,” Aliyah said, “which means we all have a touch of mental illness to the extent that we voluntarily give ourselves to those sicknesses.”
Jacob was silent momentarily. “But what about people who are possessed by jinn?” he said. “They didn’t voluntarily give themselves to that sickness.”
“Like I said,” Aliyah replied, “this wouldn’t apply to every person with mental illness, but I think it applies to people like my mother.”
Jacob pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know…” he said. “I think you make a good point, but I think mental illness is much more complicated than that.” He shook his head. “And I don’t think your mother is mentally ill.” He shrugged. “But then again, I’m not sure if there’s anyone who can claim to be one hundred percent mentally healthy.”
“I read a book one time,” Aliyah said reflectively, “and it said we’re all on the verge of mental illness to a certain extent.”
“I hope that’s not true.”
Aliyah shrugged. “Maybe it’s not. But it was written by a famous psychiatrist, and though that doesn’t mean he’s right, I do think he’s on to something.”
There was an extended pause, as it seemed that there was nothing left for either of them to say.
“You think we can meet at your uncle’s house tomorrow?” Jacob said, returning to the subject of speaking to Deanna.
Aliyah was silent as she considered the suggestion. “I guess that could work…” she said. “As long as Uncle Benjamin is fine with it.”
Jacob creased his forehead as he looked at Aliyah, a thought having come to him suddenly. “What were you saying about your mother and sister earlier?” he said. “When I cut you off?”
“Oh yeah,” Aliyah said. “I was saying that dealing with them made me realize that the non-profit you’re trying to do is really important, mashaAllah.”
Jacob felt so uncomfortable with the vote of confidence that he had to fight the urge to change the subject. He wasn’t used to having his ideas praised or supported.
“So many people are dealing with emotional trauma,” Aliyah said, “and they have no idea what to do about it.” She huffed. “We have so many resources to help people who insist on being victims. But what’s out there to help people who are suffering but are just trying to live? Not everyone wants to blame others for their problems and then pay a therapist to tell them they have a right to.”
Jacob nodded. “I just can’t figure out how to start it though,” he said. “I can’t even come up with a name.”
“That’s what I was starting to say earlier,” Aliyah said. “I thought of name that might work.”
A smile spread on Jacob’s face. “You did?” It was heartwarming to learn that she’d taken time to work on his idea when he didn’t even ask her to. This was definitely a new experience for him in marriage.
“But I’m not sure if it’s what you’re looking for…” Aliyah averted her gaze, and Jacob sensed that she was becoming suddenly self-conscious about her suggestion.
“What is it?” he said, optimism in his voice. “So far, I’ve come up with nothing.” He added, “At least nothing worth using.”
“Safe.”
It took a moment for Jacob to register what Aliyah was saying. “Safe?”
She frowned self-consciously. “You don’t like it, do you?”
“Oh, was that the name you came up with?” Jacob said.
Aliyah laughed, embarrassment in that sound. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?” But Jacob could tell she was hoping he disagreed.
“No…” Jacob said tentatively, hoping he sounded grateful and diplomatic. “It’s just… I mean, will people understand what we do? I want the name of the organization to speak for itself, if you know what I mean.”
Aliyah nodded. “Sorry,” she said.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Jacob said, reassuring her. “I’m still racking my brain about this myself.”
“I just thought it was a good acronym…” she said, her voice trailing. She coughed laughter. “But it does sounds silly, huh?”
“Safe is an acronym?” he said, his curiosity piqued just then.
“It’s okay,” Aliyah said, waving her hand dismissively. “We don’t have to use it.”
“But what does it stand for?”
“Surviving Abuse and Family Estrangement.”
Jacob’s spirits lifted immediately. “You came up with that?”
An embarrassed grin creased one side of her mouth. “Yes, but I know it could be better. So we can think up something else.”
“No, no, no,” Jacob said, a smile in his voice. “I like it.”
Aliyah’s expression showed childlike excitement. “You do?”
“SAFE.” He nodded, as if getting used to the name. “I like it,” he said sincerely.
“It doesn’t sound stupid?” Aliyah wrinkled her nose, humored doubt in her expression.
“Absolutely not,” Jacob said. “I just didn’t know it was acronym at first.”
Aliyah laughed out loud. “Oh yeah, that could be a problem.”
“But it could definitely work for what I’m trying to do.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “And you don’t mind the family estrangement part?” Aliyah said doubtfully. “I know you were mainly focusing on abuse, but I think emotional trauma goes beyond that. That’s why I mentioned my mother and sister,” she explained. “I could use an organization like this myself. It’s not easy being estranged from your family.”
“I definitely don’t mind,” he replied. “Like I said, I’m still vetting out everything myself, and I think the addition of family estrangement allows us to reach more people in our work.”
Aliyah nodded. “I like how your proposal was speaking of helping people overcome their abusive tendencies instead of only helping people who’ve been abused.”
“The funny thing is,” Jacob said reflectively, “they’re actually the same people. It’s just that it’s more in style, so to speak, to say you were abused instead of admitting you have abusive tendencies yourself.” He shook his head. “My father used to always say, ‘Hurt people hurt people, son. And show me one person in this world who hasn’t been hurt at least once in their life.’”
“Wow, mashaAllah,” Aliyah said. “He sounds like a wise man.”
Jacob shrugged. “Or just a man with a bit of wisdom,” he said. “Anyone who’s lived and learned has wisdom to impart.”
“But some people are wiser than others,” Aliyah said.
Jacob nodded thoughtfully. “True. But it’s hard for me to think of anyone as wise who’s heard of Islam then turned away from it while knowing it’s true.” He shrugged. “So like I said, to me, he’s just a man with a bit of wisdom. I could respect him more if he at least accepted his purpose of life.”
“I know what you mean…” Aliyah said, and Jacob sensed that she was thinking of her own family.
“But we’re SAFE now,” Jacob said in lighthearted humor. “So insha’Allah, we can help people with a bit of wisdom get a bit more help in life.”