Atonement
It was a Friday afternoon in mid-December and Aliyah was clearing her desk in preparation for winter break when she heard a light knock on her office door. She looked up and saw one of her algebra students peering in the open doorway, a hesitant expression on her face, a loose fist poised mid-knock.
“Professor Thomas?”
“Hello, Robin,” Aliyah said, offering the student a weary smile. “I thought all the students had gone home already.”
Robin smiled self-consciously. “I commute.”
“Well, I’ve already packed away my grade book…” Aliyah said apologetically, glancing around the office as she placed her hands on her hips. “But your reports should arrive to your home by next week.”
Robin shook her head. “I’m not here to ask about my grade.”
“Oh?”
Robin glanced cautiously over her shoulder into the hallway before looking at Aliyah again. “Can I come in?”
Aliyah felt a wave of exhaustion. She was one of the last professors still on campus and was planning to head home soon. Jacob had signed out before leaving for the Friday prayers and had just texted to say he had picked up Ibrahim after Jumu’ah and they would meet her at the apartment. But her expression remained cordial as she gestured for Robin to take a seat opposite her desk.
“Thank you,” Robin muttered, walking in quickly and sitting down, her petite frame almost swallowed up by the chair. She was one of Aliyah’s quiet students, rarely raising her hand and only speaking when she absolutely had to. She had a nervous habit of biting her thumbnail throughout class while she took notes with the other hand. Robin said nothing as Aliyah continued placing her belongings in a cardboard box atop her desk then opened a desk drawer.
“Is everything okay?” Aliyah said, glancing up as she leaned forward to thumb through the file folders.
Robin offered a reassuring smile that did little to veil the nervousness hidden beneath. “I’m good,” she said, her voice awkwardly high-pitched as she used her thumb and forefinger to push back the hair that had fallen over her eyes.
“How can I help you?” Aliyah said, regarding Robin skeptically.
Robin chewed on a thumbnail nervously before speaking. “I’ve been thinking about that lesson you gave on narcissism and unknown values.”
A puzzled expression lingered on Aliyah’s face. Several seconds passed before she recalled the lesson. “The term unknown value is actually quite narcissistic,” Aliyah had said. “Because if all of the other values are known, then it’s impossible that this single one can be truly unknown. It’s only unknown to the extent that a person lacks the knowledge or willpower to work out the single answer that everything else is obviously pointing to.”
A smile of recognition passed over Aliyah’s face. “I was joking,” she said.
“I know,” Robin said, pushing her hair away from her face again. “But I can’t get it out of my head.” A crooked smile formed on her face. “In the realm of definite realities, the answer to the unknown is literally right in front of you,” she said, reciting Aliyah’s words from class, “if you have both the knowledge and willpower to see it.”
Aliyah shook her head, impressed. “You have a good memory.”
“I wrote it down.”
“I guess I should’ve told you that wouldn’t be on the exam,” she said in lighthearted humor.
Robin chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I guess so…”
An awkward silence followed, and the only sound that could be heard was Aliyah opening a drawer and shuffling through papers.
“I’m an atheist,” Robin said with nervous laughter.
Aliyah raised her eyebrows quizzically, feeling on guard all of a sudden, unsure where the conversation was heading. She immediately thought of Dr. Warren and wondered if this student intended to voice a complaint against Aliyah. But Aliyah had made it a point to never mention God or religion during her lessons, even in passing or jest the way other professors did. Though things had calmed down considerably after the incident with Deanna, the atmosphere between her and Dr. Warren remained tense, and Aliyah sensed that her supervisor was waiting for the moment to officially pin something on her.
“I’m a math professor,” Aliyah said, her tone firm as a cordial expression remained on her face.
“I know, I know,” Robin said quickly, apology in her tone as she pinched her eyes shut and shook her head, as if willing the wrong words from her mind. “I just wanted you to know that what you said made me rethink a lot of things. So I wanted to thank you.”
Unsure Robin’s meaning, Aliyah nodded hesitantly, but she decided against inquiring further. “You’re welcome…”
“That was the first time I realized it’s not mathematically possible for God to be unknown.” She smiled nervously. “Or non-existent.”
It was then that Aliyah registered what Robin was saying. In the realm of definite realities, the answer to the unknown is literally right in front of you if you have both the knowledge and willpower to see it.
“Because if all of the universe is known,” Robin recited, a hesitant smile thinly veiling the spiritual discomfort this realization had uncovered, “then it’s impossible that the existence of the Creator can be truly unknown. He’s only unknown to the extent that a person lacks the knowledge or willpower to work out the obvious truth that everything else is pointing to.”
Aliyah forced laughter as she heard her words rephrased in that manner. “Just so you know,” she said, humor in her tone, “I wasn’t talking about God or religion when I said that.”
“I know, I know,” Robin said with a grin, waving her hand dismissively. “And I wasn’t thinking about God or religion when you said it either,” she said. “At least not at first.”
“Well, I’m glad it helped clarify some things for you.” Aliyah lifted the box from her desk, pulled out her chair, and kneeled to put the box on the floor under the desk.
“My dad is Jewish, and my mom is Methodist,” Robin shared, her voice sounding more relaxed.
As Aliyah stood, she heard Robin chuckle self-consciously.
“So I think I’m just more confused now,” Robin said.
“I’m sure you’ll figure everything out,” Aliyah said, cautious not to say anything that could be construed as proselytizing. Though she was fairly certain that Robin had no intention of accusing her of actively trying to convert her to Islam, Aliyah was aware of how even the most innocent comment could be misunderstood or interpreted as intimidating.
There was an extended pause. “You converted to Moslem, right?”
Aliyah paused thoughtfully as she walked around her desk and reached up to remove her coat from a hook secured into the wood of a wall cabinet. “Yes…”
“What were you before?”
Aliyah’s lips formed a thin line as she slipped her arms into her coat, weighing the wisdom of responding. “Christian,” she said finally, glancing down as she pushed each button through its hole.
Robin stood and walked out the door and waited in the hall as Aliyah lifted her handbag from the desk and pulled the straps over her shoulder.
“I was wondering…” Robin said hesitantly as Aliyah walked toward the door and turned off the lights. “…do you know of anything I can read to learn about the Moslem religion?”
Aliyah was silent as she pulled the door closed and locked it. The hall was quiet, and it seemed that everyone else had gone home. But she headed toward the stairs, not wanting to chance Robin continuing her line of questions in front of Aliyah’s colleagues in the elevator.
“What sort of thing do you have in mind?” Aliyah said as Robin fell in step next to her.
“Anything,” Robin said eagerly. “I mean, anything about the Moslem God and how you guys believe in Him.”
“Do you like to read?” Aliyah said. “Or are you looking for a small pamphlet or website with quick FAQs?”
“That’s fine,” Robin said quickly. Clearly, she hadn’t expected the conversation to progress this far.
“But do you prefer a book?” Aliyah said as she opened the heavy exit door leading to the staircase. “You know, something lengthy you can read over the holidays?”
“Um…it doesn’t matter,” Robin said, and Aliyah couldn’t tell if this was Robin’s way of politely declining. “But a few books would be nice. I plan to read what I can during the break.”
Aliyah was quiet as their footfalls fell heavy on the steps. “Do you have your phone with you?” she asked. “Or an iPad?”
“Yes,” Robin said, quickly opening up her purse and rummaging inside with one hand.
“Then I’ll use your Notes app to input the names of some books and websites you might find helpful.” College policy strictly forbade interactions between professors and students outside of school, and Aliyah sensed that Robin felt a bit disappointed that Aliyah wasn’t making an exception so that they could exchange numbers. But Robin tapped in the passcode and handed her phone to Aliyah.
Aliyah slowed her steps as she typed in the information then handed the phone back to Robin as they stepped through the exit door leading to the first floor.
Aliyah’s phone chimed and vibrated just as Robin thanked her and waved goodbye in the main lobby of the math and science building. Aliyah swiped her badge at the console near the security desk before reaching in her purse and looking at her phone.
Running late, Jacob’s text said. Just picked up Younus and Thawab. Stuck in traffic.
***
It was nasty outside, Aliyah noticed with a frown, the cold air stinging her face as she pushed open the exit door. A thin layer of freshly fallen snow covered the walkway and the mostly vacant faculty and staff parking lot. In the main street that ran along the front of the college, cars crawled cautiously forward in the foggy late afternoon, headlights glowing bleakly ahead of them and crimson break lights turning on and off intermittently.
Aliyah tucked her chin toward her chest to protect her face from the cold, and she pushed her hands into the deep pockets of her coat. Her gaze was on the round toe of her low-heel patent leather boots, where snowflakes fell then melted from the warmth of her body heat as she tried to remember when her last menstrual cycle had been. She couldn’t remember whether it was before or after the weekend trip she and Jacob had taken. She was on birth control, so either way, it wasn’t necessarily a cause for alarm.
Aliyah’s birth control regiment included placebo pills that allowed her body to menstruate according to a 28-day cycle, but it sometimes took a couple of days before she saw the initial spotting. But this week, she hadn’t seen any spotting, and she was five days beyond her normal start date. The prescription she was on currently was different from the one she had used when she was married to Matt, so Aliyah couldn’t be sure whether or not the extended delay was due to the hormonal difference in the pills. When giving her the prescription, her obstetrician-gynecologist had told her not to be alarmed by any variation or abnormalities in her cycle.
Yet Aliyah had been feeling different for the last couple of weeks, and she couldn’t shake the fear that sat in the pit of her stomach, telling her that she was pregnant. There was no nausea or significant mood changes, and she wasn’t having unusual food cravings. But there was this heavy, dreary feeling that permeated her every morning, making her want to stay in bed. It wasn’t melancholy or dread, but something else. It was like a gnawing sense that the comfortable world she had just settled into was shifting beneath her feet and she didn’t have the capacity to comprehend the change or the wherewithal to face it. So she would lie still reciting adhkaar in soft whispers until the feeling passed.
In front of her car, Aliyah halted her steps and pulled her handbag in front of her then removed her keys. She thought of Deanna as she pointed the remote toward her car and unlocked it before opening the door and climbing inside. Early that morning before Fajr, Aliyah had awakened from a dream in which she’d seen herself lying asleep next to Jacob only to wake and go to the bathroom and find Deanna in there brushing her teeth. In the dream, Aliyah had felt familiar irritation, as if she wasn’t surprised to find Deanna there. She had been tempted to complain to Jacob but decided against it, knowing he’d just tell her to leave Deanna alone, as she didn’t have a bathroom of her own.
The air in the car was stiff with cold as she inserted the key into the ignition and turned on the engine. She leaned forward to adjust the heat settings and to activate the window defroster, reflecting on the odd sensation that continued to linger even then, following the dream. It was as if she and Deanna had recently spoken and spent time together and that there was no lurking animosity between them. There was no joy or sadness, just the acceptance of the sober reality of life.
“She says she’s sorry,” Jacob had told Aliyah a few days after the tense meeting at Benjamin’s house, his tone devoid of emotion as he recited this news with a detached sense of obligation in passing on a message.
Aliyah’s first instinct had been to ask why Deanna couldn’t simply tell Aliyah herself, until she remembered she had never taken the block off of Deanna’s contact information in her phone and email. But that morning, after praying Fajr, Aliyah had cleared the block, accepting that she and Deanna would have to be in contact since Aliyah was now the stepmother to Deanna’s children.
The vents blew out cold air as the car lazily heated itself, and Aliyah glanced toward the main street, overwhelmed with a sense of dread for the journey home. Sighing, she reached for her handbag and withdrew her phone then connected it to the auxiliary port, knowing she would need something to distract her during the drive. As she scrolled through audio options, her phone chimed and vibrated, the chiming magnified through the car speakers.
Streets are really bad, Jacob texted. Be careful. Interstate is at a standstill, and the snow keeps coming. I’m near Jamil’s exit, so I’ll wait out rush hour there.
Is he home? Aliyah texted back.
Yes, alhamdulillah.
Aliyah wondered if she should head to Salima’s herself. Then maybe she and Salima could go to Carletta’s together later that night for Muslim Marriage Monologues if the weather had improved and the streets had been cleared. But Aliyah dismissed the idea, however tempting it was. Her apartment was closer to the college than Salima’s house, so if she went anywhere besides home, it should probably be the masjid, which was down the street. But the idea of sitting in the masjid alone filled Aliyah with even more dread than the extended drive home. So she decided to take the long way home, avoiding the interstate altogether.
***
“No, I’m home,” Salima said, smiling into the mobile phone from where she sat cross-legged on the bed in her room, a mus-haf in her lap. “Haroon’s school dismissed the students at noon, so I left work early to pick him up.”
“Our school let out early too,” Carletta said, “but hardly no students were there anyway.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “How do you like your new job?” Salima asked. “I know you don’t prefer teaching public school.”
The extended silence on the other line made Salima realize that something heavy was on Carletta’s mind. She heard Carletta draw in a deep breath and exhale before responding.
“It’s going fine…” Carletta said tentatively. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to participate in Muslim Marriage Monologues anymore,” she said apologetically.
“Teaching fulltime is a bit overwhelming, huh?” Salima said, humored admiration in her tone. “I don’t know how you teachers do it. I substituted a few times, and it was the worst job experience of my life.”
“I’ll have to cancel tonight.” Carletta spoke as if she hadn’t heard anything Salima said. Her tone was firm in resolve, making Salima wonder if she’d offended her friend somehow.
“Because of the weather?” Salima asked, confusion in her voice.
There was a thoughtful pause, and Salima sensed that Carletta was trying to find the best way to explain. “I had a meeting with the principal today.”
Salima drew her eyebrows together, unsure how the statement was related to the Friday night gatherings about marriage.
“Remember all that fuss the LGBTQ community made about my ‘Relationship Woes Among Judgmental Muslims’ topic at Muslim Marriage Monologues?”
“Yes…”
“I have no idea how,” Carletta said, irritation in her voice, “but somehow my new job heard about it and they asked me outright if I was homophobic.”
“What?”
“I know,” Carletta said, clearly perturbed.
“What did you say?”
She grunted. “I wanted to tell them, not homophobic, Hell-ophobic.”
Salima burst out laughing. “I have to use that one,” she said as she recovered from laughter.
“But of course I had to act all prim and proper and dutifully appalled,” Carletta said.
“But how did they even find out?” Salima said.
“Who knows?” Carletta said. “This is the internet age, so anything posted on Twitter, Facebook, or some random blog is accessible to anyone with some free time on their hands.”
“So you think they just randomly googled your name?”
“That, or someone told them something about me.” She huffed. “Probably both.”
Salima shook her head in disbelief. “This is crazy…”
“You’re telling me,” Carletta said in agreement.
“But is it even legal?” Salima said. “To hold someone accountable for what’s posted online about them? Isn’t that hearsay?”
“Does it matter?” Carletta said. “Today, most people view it as their patriotic duty to mistreat religious people. We don’t have any rights as far as they’re concerned.”
“I remember reading about a teacher who lost her job because of something she posted on Instagram,” Salima said.
“A teacher?” Carletta said. “There are dozens, if not hundreds, of others losing their jobs because of stupid stuff like this.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “Are you going to fight it?” Salima said.
“Fight what?” Carletta said. “They didn’t take any action against me. It was just a meeting. I’m still employed.” She grunted before adding, “For now.”
“Do they know you’re Muslim?” Salima said. Carletta didn’t wear hijab and would often mention that she didn’t feel someone’s religious affiliation should be officially revealed for a job.
“They do now.” There was a tinge of frustration in her tone.
“SubhaanAllah.”
“You can say that again.”
A thought came to Salima, and she hesitated briefly before putting it into words. “Did you tell them…” she said, intentionally leaving her thoughts unfinished. “…you know?”
Carletta sighed. “I thought about it,” she said. “But then I figured it’s not fair to me or my husband. Why should I have to tell them my private business just to prove I’m not a bigot?”
“You think your husband would mind if you told them?”
There was a brief pause. “I don’t know,” Carletta said reflectively. “But when we talked about it before marriage, it was something we decided to keep between ourselves. It was never an explicit agreement or anything though.”
“I understand,” Salima said sincerely.
“Plus I don’t want it to get out,” Carletta said. “Especially amongst the LGBTQ Muslims. They’d try to either recruit me or vilify me.”
“You think so?” Salima said doubtfully.
“They don’t like success stories,” Carletta said. “They want everyone to believe that sexuality is an underlying orientation that’s impossible to control. So they’ll try to convince me I’m just denying who I, quote, really am. Or they’ll say I’m lying.” She huffed. “Or that it’s oppressive to ask other people to do what I’m doing.”
Salima was silent momentarily. “I know it’s not my call,” she said. “But sometimes I wish you would share your story. I think it can help others.”
“I don’t know…” Carletta said, uncertainty in her tone. “I just hate the whole concept of, quote, coming out.”
“A’oodhubillah,” Salima said, seeking refuge in God. “I didn’t mean that.”
“But how else could I do it?” Carletta asked rhetorically. “If I don’t, then they’ll just think I’m one more person who says people can be fixed.” She grunted. “Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the closet.”
“I hear you…”
“Anyway, you can only help someone who wants help,” Carletta said. “Plus, I don’t want sisters giving me the side-eye. I’m just not into making people uncomfortable. Like you said in your poem, there are just some things that are better left untold.”
“But what if you shared your story anonymously?”
Carletta chuckled. “I’ve thought of that too. But still, I don’t see the point. Either you want to do what you’re supposed to, or you don’t. I don’t see how hearing my story will change the state of someone’s heart.”
“But it can’t be easy for the people struggling alone,” Salima said. “And maybe hearing someone else’s story can encourage them.”
“Is life supposed to be easy?” Carletta said. “I still have my private battles, but they’re nothing like they used to be.”
Salima closed the Qur’an that was on her lap and set in on the nightstand then shifted her position on the bed. “What helped you the most?”
Carletta was silent as she considered Salima’s question. “I know this will sound crazy,” she said, slight humor in her tone. “But my parents.”
“Really?” Salima said, surprised. “I thought you never told them.”
“I don’t mean directly,” Carletta said. “I mean with how they raised me in the church. They would always say that sex was something sacred that was more about pleasing God than pleasing yourself.”
“But it’s supposed to be pleasurable to you too.”
“I agree,” Carletta said. “But the point is, worldly pleasure alone is not really pleasure. There has to be an underlying spiritual and emotional component to it.”
“Can’t you just tell people that?” Salima said. “Maybe they’ll see it differently.”
“You’re assuming people want to see it differently,” Carletta said. “Most people want what they want, end of story. I’m not saying they don’t go through a lot of hardships. Because I know they do. I’ve been there,” she said. “I’m just saying they see their struggle against sin as some gift they’re begrudgingly bestowing on God. And when it gets hard, they resent the struggle, and sometimes God Himself. So it’s easier to just change the script than to change yourself.”
“SubhaanAllah,” Salima said. “That sounds like every sin we don’t want to give up.”
“It is,” Carletta said matter-of-factly. “People who identify as LGBTQ don’t have a monopoly on personal struggle. But most of them want you to believe they do.”
Salima was silent as she considered Carletta’s words.
“They hype up this whole victim status thing,” Carletta said, “because their whole campaign hinges on appealing to people’s emotions instead of appealing to our sense of right and wrong.” She paused then added, “They want everyone to believe our struggle is so different from everyone else’s that right and wrong shouldn’t even apply to us.” She huffed. “And if you treat them the way they say they want to be treated, they label you a homophobe.”
Salima creased her forehead in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“They say we’re like everyone else, right?” Carletta said.
“Yes.”
“Well, the rest of the human race accepts that being disagreed with is a part of life.”
“That’s true…”
“My parents think I’m going to Hell for eternity because I don’t believe Jesus is my Lord and Savior,” Carletta said. “And guess what? I don’t care. Because I don’t believe that about myself. And I certainly don’t believe that their Christian beliefs make them Islamophobes.”
Salima frowned thoughtfully. “But aren’t there any LGBTQ religious groups established to help people overcome their desires?” She shook her head. “It’s just hard to believe that religious people, especially Muslims, wouldn’t want a safe space to obey God instead of change the religion. At least if you really want to go to Paradise in the end.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “I suppose there must be,” Carletta said reflectively. “But I don’t know of any. Though some groups seem to be more focused on rooting out bullying and shaming than arguing about religious issues,” she offered.
“That’s true,” Salima muttered.
“But there are definitely a whole lot of people like me,” Carletta said. “People just quietly living their lives and trying to do what they’re supposed to without making a big fuss about our private struggles.”
“MashaAllah,” Salima said sincerely.
“We’re the majority, in my opinion,” Carletta said. “Most of us are wary of groups because they tend to have pretty blatant political or anti-religious agendas. And for those of us who came to religion for spiritual salvation, and not only for a sense of belonging,” she said, “that’s just not a bandwagon we’re willing to join.”
“I always wondered about that…” Salima said. “I mean, how common can it be for religious people to want to challenge God?”
Carletta sighed thoughtfully. “That’s the thing though. A lot of these groups are changing the terminology of religion altogether,” she said. “Whenever these topics come up, you’ll hear a lot about, quote, hetero-normativity, as if believing in the way Allah created us is really about being influenced by some underhanded bigoted agenda, instead of living how you’re supposed to.”
“That’s scary…”
“You can say that again,” Carletta said with a huff. “But the way I see it, any group that includes the letter T in their acronym can’t possibly be about fighting temptation and overcoming sinful desires. I don’t care how religious they claim to be.”
It took a moment for Salima to register Carletta’s meaning. “But what about people who became Muslim after they went through surgery and hormonal treatment?”
“But their gender is still whatever is was at birth. They just need to repent and accept that.”
Salima was silent for some time as she considered what Carletta was saying. “But bullying and shaming is a real problem for some of them, I hear. I’m sure that makes healing more difficult.”
“I realize that,” Carletta said sincerely. “But that’s another topic completely. When the principal met with me today, she wasn’t concerned that I was going to beat up anyone or make fun of my students. All she wanted to know was whether or not I had any, quote, prejudicial beliefs against the gay and lesbian lifestyle.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her no.”
Salima chuckled. “That was smart.”
Carletta coughed laughter. “And it happens to be true. Having a religious belief that something is sinful is not a prejudice.”
“Good point, mashaAllah,” Salima said with a smirk.
“But then she mentioned Muslim Marriage Monologues and asked if I was part of that, quote, homophobic group.”
“What?”
“No joke,” Carletta said. “Those were her exact words.”
“O Allah…”
“So I said I had no idea what she was talking about.”
Salima felt a tinge of offense, but she understood why Carletta felt compelled to respond like that. “Did she say anything else about it?”
“Muslim Marriage Monologues, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Not really,” Carletta said. “But I did explain to her that I had gone to and hosted many informal marriage events and discussions, so it’s possible that the misunderstanding could have come from that. I told her that anti-gay sentiments are quite common in religious communities, and it was impossible for me to control what other people thought or said.”
Salima chuckled. “You should’ve become a lawyer.”
“In another life, perhaps,” Carletta said jokingly. “But for now, I’m just trying to pay my bills.”
The doorbell rang, and a second later, Salima heard Jamil’s heavy footsteps in the hall then a knock at her door.
“Let me go,” Salima said with a sigh. “It looks like we have company.”
“Salima?” Jamil called through the closed door. “That’s Jacob with the boys. He’s going to hang out here until the streets are clear.”
Salima groaned and rolled her eyes. She wished Jamil would have told her earlier. Then she could’ve fixed herself something to eat while she was on the phone. “Okay!” she called out, holding the mobile phone away from her head then putting it back to her ear.
“So you’ll text everyone?” Carletta said.
“That’s no problem,” Salima said. “Most people probably wouldn’t have come anyway because of the snow.”
“I’m sorry about this,” Carletta said, sadness in her tone. “That was the highlight of my week.”
“Don’t worry about it, Carly, really,” Salima said. “We live in the age of social terrorism,” she said in wry humor. “So it’s better to be safe than sorry, especially when your job is at stake.”
“But I really hate all this policing people’s thoughts and beliefs.” Carletta groaned. “It’s unconstitutional, if you ask me.”
“But that’s the thing,” Salima said jokingly. “No one’s asking you. Because you don’t matter.”
“I know, right?” Carletta chuckled in agreement. “Apparently, constitutional rights only apply to the non-religious.”
“The anti-religious,” Salima corrected.
“You have a point there,” Carletta said, laughter in her voice.
***
Aliyah halted her steps in the hallway of her apartment when she saw the homeless person hunched over against the wall near her door. She glanced around her, uncertain what to do. For a moment, she considered calling Jacob but decided against it because she didn’t want to alarm him. Besides, there was nothing he could do while he was stuck on the other side of town, and it wasn’t like the person was threatening her or anything. From where she stood, it looked like the person was sleeping.
Taking cautious steps forward, Aliyah held her keys in her fist to keep from making noise as she approached. At her door, she turned her hand up and pinched the edge of the house key in preparation to slide it into the lock.
“What took you so long?”
Aliyah yelped and jumped backwards, dropping her keys, her heart thumping fiercely. When the woman reached for the keys, Aliyah scrambled forward and snatched them up.
“What’s your problem?” the woman said. It was then that the contorted face with the winter hat pulled down to the forehead and the stern voice became familiar. “Why does everything have to be so dramatic with you?” Deanna rolled her eyes as she came to her feet, a small brown paper bag in her hand.
It took several seconds for Aliyah to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. “What are you doing here?” she finally managed to say.
“What are you not doing here?” Deanna said flippantly. “It’s rude to make people wait for you.”
For a fleeting moment, Aliyah wished she still had the restraining order against Deanna, but it had expired a long time ago.
Deanna grunted. “Open the door,” she said. “I’m cold.”
Aliyah gritted her teeth to stay calm as she inserted the key into the lock then mouthed the du’aa for entering the home. “I have to pray,” Aliyah said as she set her purse on the front table then shrugged off her coat.
“Then I’ll pray with you,” Deanna muttered, aggravation still in her voice as she closed the door after stepping inside.
Aliyah quietly hung her coat on the rack in the foyer before kneeling to pull off her boots. Leave her alone. She doesn’t have a home of her own. The words came to Aliyah as if from the dream she’d had the night before, and they tempered, at least for the moment, the annoyance she felt at being thrust into Deanna’s presence.
“Where are you manners, girl?”
Aliyah was walking toward the hall bathroom in preparation to make wudhoo’ when she heard Deanna grumble these words. She cringed, bracing herself for the insult that she knew was coming.
“Aren’t you going to ask if I need anything?” Deanna said. “I’m your guest, for goodness sake.”
Pursing her lips in irritation, Aliyah slowly turned around. “Forgive me for not being prepared to receive you,” she said, making no effort to conceal the sarcasm in her tone. “But I have to use the bathroom, if that’s okay with you.”
“I have to use the bathroom too,” Deanna said, offense in her tone. She walked past Aliyah into the hall then abruptly turned around.
“Here,” Deanna said, extending the crumpled brown paper bag toward Aliyah. “I bought this for us,” Deanna said as Aliyah reluctantly accepted the offering without looking at it. “But it’s probably cold now.” Deanna was already in the bathroom with the door shut before Aliyah had opportunity to respond.
Sighing, Aliyah dragged herself to the couch and collapsed into it. This was not the way she had planned to spend her Friday evening. As if on cue, her phone buzzed and chimed from her purse next to her, and she already knew before looking at it that Jacob was texting to tell her he was being delayed further.
No Muslim Marriage Monologues tonight, Salima’s text said. Stay safe everyone!
***
“So how’s that brother of mine treating you?” Jacob said as he and Jamil settled on the couch after praying Maghrib and the boys had gone upstairs to Haroon’s room. Salima was setting a tray of tea on the floor table in front of the couch when he saw her offer a reluctant smile.
“He’s treating me well, mashaAllah,” she said.
Jacob detected the obligatory cordiality in her tone, and he wondered if everything was okay between Salima and Larry.
“Our parents are doing their share of meddling,” Jamil said in lighthearted humor as he reached forward and filled a ceramic cup with hot water then dropped a teabag in it before setting it on a saucer in front of Jacob, “now that marriage is part of the discussion.”
“Marriage?” Jacob said, raising his eyebrows in pleasant surprise as he put sugar in his tea. “So things are getting pretty serious, huh?”
“Actually,” Salima said as she settled on the chair at an angle to them, “ it’s Jasmine who’s doing the meddling.”
Jacob sensed a marked change in Jamil’s mood, but Jacob kept his gaze on the tea he was stirring. The tension in the room was almost palpable, and Jacob felt reluctant to even lift his hand to sip his tea.
“She drove three hours to my parents house just to tell them that she’s in the process of filing a lawsuit against Larry,” Salima said, bitter satisfaction in her voice, as if her words were punishing Jamil somehow.
“What?” Now it was Jacob’s mood that had changed as he looked at Salima in disbelief.
“Apparently,” Salima said, sarcasm in her tone, “your brother is a women-hating abuser who’s caused Jasmine irreparable emotional damage during their relationship.”
“Excuse me?” Jacob said, unable to hide his offense. He sat back and folded his arms over his chest, momentarily forgetting about the tea.
“What do you think, Jacob?” Salima said sweetly, the sarcasm in her tone unmasked. “Is Larry a sexist monster that I need to be protected from?”
“Do my parents know about this?” Jacob said, his voice etched in concern. But as soon as he said it, he realized the irrationality of the question. How would Salima know if his parents knew? She probably hadn’t even met them herself.
“I’m not even sure Larry knows about it,” Salima said, the bitterness still in her voice. “I didn’t mention it to him yet. You know, since I might have to tell him that his friend Jamil is representing his ex-girlfriend in the case against him.”
***
The most dreaded apologies are usually the most essential ones.
In the bathroom as she completed her wudhoo, Deanna drew in a deep breath and exhaled as she recalled the words of the self-help book. She mentally scolded herself for starting off on the wrong foot with Aliyah. No matter how annoying Aliyah was, Deanna had to push through this. She doubted she could ever forgive Aliyah for marrying Jacob behind her back, but even that, Deanna couldn’t fully blame Aliyah for.
I don’t care what your religious beliefs are, the book had said. But somewhere in everyone’s life there is proof for karma in some form. Call it what you want. But when you do wrong to someone, it’s coming back to you. And in the most unexpected, painful way. But the good news is you can reverse that cycle. Make it right with the person you’ve wronged. Not because they’re such a great person. But because you want to be a better one.
***
Frowning thoughtfully, Aliyah peered into the brown paper bag and saw two semi-wrapped gyros. “She says she’s sorry.” Jacob’s words came to Aliyah just as the flame of fury rose in her chest and she heard the water in the bathroom being turned off. Was it possible that Deanna really was sorry? The question was one that Aliyah hadn’t seriously considered. Everything with Deanna had always felt so much like some underhanded plot to prove her superiority that it was difficult to trust any signs of positivity from her. The concepts of Deanna and sincere regret just didn’t seem to belong in the same context.
“You brought gyros?” Aliyah had said in childlike excitement so long ago, before the call from her uncle forever changed the course of both of their lives.
“Yes, against my better judgment,” Deanna had said. “You know that bread has too many carbs.”
“I love you, Deeja!” Aliyah had sang out.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever…”
“You can go in the bathroom now.” Aliyah started at the sound of Deanna’s voice, and she turned to see Deanna standing near the couch, gaze averted, her expression still reflecting a shadow of annoyance.
“Thank you,” Aliyah muttered then set the paper bag on the floor table before quietly walking to the bathroom herself.
***
Try empathy.
Deanna did a double take from where she sat on the couch waiting for Aliyah to finish making wudhoo’. The wall hanging near Aliyah’s front door had probably been there for a while, but Deanna had never noticed it before. At least she didn’t recall having noticed it before.
“Don’t tell me you’re almost pushing forty and you still haven’t figured out what the hell is wrong with you?”
Asher’s words incited annoyance in Deanna, and she looked away from the quote. Hearing water running in the bathroom and realizing that she was about to stand next to Aliyah in prayer filled Deanna with so much irritation that she had to resist the urge to leave right then. Though Deanna had begun praying again, she wasn’t consistent, and there were times that she resented the ritualistic obligation that continuously disrupted her day.
What’s the point? she often asked herself. It wasn’t like prayer had given her anything she wanted. In fact, she’d just lost the one thing that had meant the most to her. And for what? So some soft-spoken, brainless bimbo could run away with everything she’d put her heart and energy into all these years? Deanna had made Jacob into the man he was today. It was infuriating that he could repay her hard work by bestowing it on someone so undeserving and beneath her.
If you really want to be better, then shut up. The blunt advice from the author of YOU CAN BE A BETTER PERSON! returned to her like a slap in the face. I know it sounds harsh, and maybe it is. But one of the things that keeps you stuck where you are is saying the same things to yourself over and over again. If there’s something you find consistently annoying, you have to ask yourself, is it really that annoying? Or are you just repeating to yourself the same negative triggering words each time you encounter it? I’m not saying there’s nothing genuinely annoying in the world. Because let’s face it. Life sucks. But you don’t have to suck, too.
Deanna heard the bathroom door open, and the muscles in her cheeks ached as she offered Aliyah a wide smile. “You ready to pray?” Deanna said, her voice cheerful and eager even as a scream crawled in her throat, as if begging her not to put herself through the spiritual torment right then. The last thing she wanted was to feel like a horrible person.
You can’t feel better until you feel worse! the author had said.
Internally, Deanna groaned and resigned herself to her fate, swallowing hard and feeling a wave of relief as the scream quietly retreated and settled into a knot in her stomach.
***
“This is why I didn’t want to talk to you about it,” Jamil said with an edge of aggravation in his voice.
“Me talking about Jasmine going to our parents house doesn’t violate attorney-client privilege,” Salima said. The bitterness she heard in her voice made her realize she needed to calm down. Jacob was still there, sitting quietly, his uncomfortable expression suggesting that he hadn’t planned to avoid the storm outside by walking headlong into a worse one inside.
“I just need some time to think about this,” Salima had told Larry the night she’d returned from her parents’ house.
“What happened there?” he’d asked, his voice etched in hurt and concern.
“They just mentioned some things I hadn’t considered.”
“Like what?”
The sincerity she’d heard in his voice that night left Salima guilt-stricken even now. She had never given him a straight answer, and it tore her apart to know that he’d merely come to accept that she now realized what he’d known all along. “You deserve someone better than me,” he’d told her many times before. And she knew that was why he’d pulled back and left her alone. He hadn’t even attempted a phone call or text since that night, and though a part of her felt offended, a greater part, her more rational side, knew that it was his way of respecting the wishes she had been too shy to speak aloud.
***
“What happened to all that ‘women like to play hard to get’ nonsense you’re always talking?” Jacob had teased his brother a few days ago when Larry had stopped by to visit, saying he was thinking to leave Salima alone. At the time, Jacob had thought little of Larry’s words, having assumed that Larry was just being Larry. But Jacob did recall that Larry’s mood had been more somber than usual, even as he’d chuckled and reluctantly participated in light banter with Jacob.
“I guess I’m getting old,” Larry had joked in response.
“Or tired of the chase maybe?” Jacob had teased.
“Something like that,” Larry had muttered noncommittally, an awkward smirk on his face.
But right then, as Jacob witnessed the argument between Salima and Jamil, he realized the real reason that Larry was behaving uncharacteristically nonchalant about his pursuit of Salima. It wasn’t that Larry was changing his game. It was that, for the first time in his life, Larry had met someone whom he didn’t see as a game. It was easy to like a challenge when you’d never really been faced with one. Love didn’t embolden you. It humbled you. And it brought the strongest and most confident of men to their knees.
SubhaanAllah, Jacob thought to himself as he saw the distress and irritation on Salima’s face. They’re in love and have no idea what’s happening to them.
***
Deanna was blinking back tears when she turned her head to the right then the left as she sat on the floor next to Aliyah upon completing the evening prayer.
“We need to pray ’Ishaa too,” Aliyah said, her voice soft in the quiet of the apartment. “It came in before I got home. So we should combine.”
Deanna nodded without looking in Aliyah’s direction.
Without saying anything further, Aliyah stood and raised her hands as if in surrender, signaling the start of prayer. “Allaahu’akbar,” she said, her voice confident and firm as it resonated in the room.
On weakened legs, Deanna stood, wondering if she had the fortitude to hold herself together one more time. She hadn’t heard Qur’an much since she was in jail, and she’d forgotten how much emotion the recitation could evoke. Her own reluctant mumblings during the occasional prayers she offered, she doubted counted as recitation at all. She’d never formally studied the rules for reciting Qur’an, so she had no idea if she was even pronouncing anything correctly. Standing next to Aliyah and hearing the clear, measured tone of Al-Faatihah made Deanna painfully aware that she was far from where she needed to be spiritually.
“Then at least go to the masjid more often,” Jacob had suggested while they were married. “Study Qur’an or tafseer or something.”
“I don’t need to study Qur’an,” Deanna had replied flippantly. “I’m living it.”
Deanna winced at the memory. It was difficult to believe that she had spoken such haughty words. What do you think of yourself now? a voice taunted in her head.
“Ameen,” Aliyah proclaimed, elongating the last part of the word, begging Allah to answer their prayer.
“Ameen,” Deanna hurriedly mumbled after her, having been distracted by her thoughts. Feeling bad for her carelessness, Deanna resolved to focus better for the rest of prayer.
As Aliyah moved on to recite another part of the Qur’an, Deanna had no idea what she was listening to. So how could she concentrate? She was dumbfounded. Where did Aliyah learn all of this? Frantically, Deanna listened for any Arabic word she knew the meaning to. But she heard none.
Envy enflamed Deanna until she shifted in her place, aggravated that Aliyah felt the need to rub her religiousness in Deanna’s face. It wasn’t enough that she stole her husband. Now she had to act “holier than thou” too.
Everything isn’t about you, the words of the self-help book came to her just then. If you have a hard time maintaining close relationships, chances are, this is a lesson you still haven’t learned. It’s highly unlikely that your husband, wife, or friend wakes up with a mission to make your life miserable. So if their words or actions constantly make you angry, the problem is most likely with you. So change yourself, or get out of the relationship.
“Allaahu’akbar,” Aliyah said, eliciting a sigh of relief from Deanna as they finally bowed in rukoo’. Even if Aliyah wasn’t trying to rub her Islamic knowledge in Deanna’s face, couldn’t she at least pick something short to recite?
It aggravated Deanna to no end when the imam would lead the prayer and choose the longest possible part of Qur’an to recite. That was partly why Deanna avoided the masjid so much. Everything there felt like one big “look at how religious I am” show. If you didn’t dress a certain way or use all the latest, fanciest Arabic catch phrases, you were looked down upon and viewed as a bad Muslim. And if that wasn’t enough, you were tortured during prayer itself. Legs aching and mind wandering, all you could do was count down to the final tasleem, which was delayed so long that the end of prayer often felt like being set free after a prison sentence. And now Deanna was stuck there listening to Aliyah’s supercilious extended recitation, and this agitated her for the rest of prayer.
“Did you have to recite half the Qur’an?” Deanna blurted after they turned their heads to the left, indicating the end of prayer.
A shadow of annoyance passed over Aliyah’s face, but Aliyah did not respond or even look in Deanna’s direction. Instead, she sat murmuring additional supplications, as if her mind was on more important things.
“You should do all that extra praying when you’re by yourself,” Deanna grumbled.
Seconds later, Aliyah’s soft voice rose, and Deanna recognized the recitation as Ayat al-Kursy. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, disgusted that Aliyah would use Qur’an, of all things, to ignore her.
When Aliyah finished reciting, she stood and walked over to a small shelf, and Deanna’s gaze followed her in annoyance. Glowering, Deanna watched as Aliyah removed a large book from the shelf then returned to her place next to Deanna on the floor.
“In the first rak’ah of Maghrib,” Aliyah said, flipping through the pages of the book before lifting it toward Deanna, “I recited Al-Humazah.” When Deanna glanced to the side, she saw that Aliyah was holding the Qur’an, which was opened to a section filled with short chapters. “In the second rak’ah, I recited Al-Maa’oon,” she said, turning a page then placing her index finger on a soorah there. She turned to another page and pointed to it. “In the first rak’ah of ’Ishaa, I recited Al-Zalzalah, and in the second rak’ah,” she said, flipping a page again and placing a finger there, “I recited Al-Bayyinah.” Aliyah set the Qur’an on Deanna’s lap so she could see for herself. “These are some of the shortest chapters in the Qur’an.”
…And the people of the Scripture [Jews and Christians] differed not until after there came to them clear evidence. And they were commanded no more than this: To worship Allah, offering Him sincere devotion, being true [in faith]; to establish regular prayer; and to practice regular charity. And that is the right religion—
Annoyed, Deanna closed the Qur’an and handed it back to Aliyah. “I wasn’t asking for an Islamic studies class,” Deanna said as Aliyah accepted the Qur’an and held it on her own lap. “I was just saying you should think about other people when you’re leading prayer.”
“I was,” Aliyah said simply. “That’s why I chose short soorah’s. I myself have trouble focusing when it feels like the person leading thinks they’re on some Ramadan Taraweeh marathon or something.”
Despite her sour mood, Deanna was unable to keep from chuckling at the analogy. “Well, that’s what it felt like standing next to you.”
Aliyah shrugged. “Maybe because I recite slow.”
“Maybe…”
An awkward silence settled between them before Aliyah finally stood and returned the Qur’an to its place. She walked back over to where Deanna was sitting but sat on the couch instead of the floor.
“Where’d you learn to recite like that anyway?” Deanna said from where she remained on the prayer mat, her tone still carrying a tinge of annoyance.
“Most recently, Reem and Salima,” Aliyah said. “But I’ve been studying Qur’an on and off since I became Muslim.”
Deanna frowned. “I don’t remember that.”
“You came with me to a couple of classes when we were in college,” Aliyah said.
Deanna’s eyebrows rose doubtfully. “I did?”
“Yes,” Aliyah said. “And you were pretty good, mashaAllah.” Deanna grew silent, taken aback by the sincerity in Aliyah’s voice. “The teacher used to say you were probably going to memorize Qur’an before the rest of us because you had such a good memory, mashaAllah.”
“My memory isn’t so great,” Deanna muttered, but a half smile creased one corner of her mouth.
“It’s almost photographic actually,” Aliyah disagreed, no hint of sarcasm or resentment in her tone. “You’d read something once then recall it weeks later, word for word.”
Oh. Deanna had forgotten that people considered that remarkable. “That’s only for English books,” she said. “I don’t remember much from the Qur’an. I barely recognize the Arabic letters.”
“Salima is starting weekend classes at the masjid after the winter break, insha’Allah,” Aliyah said. “Maybe you can join.”
“I don’t think so.” Deanna felt the knot in her stomach loosening itself and crawling back up her throat. She clamped her mouth shut and gritted her teeth until she was sure the threat of a scream had passed.
“Why not?” Aliyah’s voice was hesitant, as if unsure she had the right to ask.
“I don’t want all those sisters staring at me and talking about me behind my back.” Aliyah was quiet, and Deanna sensed that Aliyah knew she was right. Aliyah herself had suffered the same. Deanna fought the flicker of guilt in realizing she was partly to blame for that.
“Then maybe Salima can teach you privately,” Aliyah said, her tone thoughtful. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Maybe we could even study together.”
Deanna’s eyes widened as she looked at Aliyah in shocked disapproval. “You’d be willing to study with me?”
Aliyah shrugged. “Yes, why not?”
Deanna wrinkled her nose, feeling irritated with Aliyah all of a sudden. “Come on, Ally,” she said, resorting to Aliyah’s given name as she used to do sometimes. “Nobody’s that forgiving. You must hate me at least as much as I hate you.”
Aliyah’s lips formed a thin line, and she pulled at a thread of her clothes. “I don’t hate you, Deeja.” Aliyah’s voice was low, and Deanna thought she detected in it a tinge of hurt and offense. “And I don’t think you hate me.”
Deanna huffed. “Let’s not pretend we don’t know our history,” she said. “And our present.”
“I’m not,” Aliyah said. “I just think hate is a strong word.”
“Not if it’s accurate.”
Aliyah said nothing to that, and the implications of the silence sat like a bulky piece of unwanted furniture in the room. Neither of them denied it was there, yet neither of them attempted to move it.
The impasse seemed to stretch for several minutes and was interrupted only by the grumbling of Deanna’s stomach and the simultaneous chiming and vibration of Aliyah’s phone.
Immediately, Deanna thought of Jacob texting to check on Aliyah, and the infuriation she felt was so strong that she had to resist physically snatching Aliyah’s phone. Instead, she pushed herself to a standing position, burrowing her fists into the carpet next to her. She bent over and yanked up her prayer mat and folded it in quick snaps of the heavy cloth. Firmly tucking the prayer mat under one arm, Deanna side-eyed Aliyah as she now folded the other prayer mat.
“That was Jacob, wasn’t it?” Deanna said, glowering at Aliyah, furious accusation in her tone. It was all she could do to keep from boldly walking over to the couch and standing at Aliyah’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Aliyah said calmly. “He says the weather is getting worse, and they’re forecasting a snowstorm that’s supposed to last until three o’clock in the morning.”
Deanna grunted, turning her back as she walked over to the small shelf and set the prayer mats there. “Then I guess I should get going,” she said bitterly.
“He also said we should stay put,” Aliyah added. “Because there are a lot of accidents out there, and the interstate is gridlocked.”
Aliyah’s use of the word we touched a soft space in Deanna’s heart, but Deanna contorted her face, concealing her true feelings. “We?”
“Well, you, specifically,” Aliyah clarified. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway. He asked if I was willing to let you stay the night.”
“How does he even know I’m here?” Deanna tone suggested that she was offended, but she was more pleasantly surprised than anything.
“I texted him before we prayed.”
Deanna felt a lump in her throat. “What does he care if I get in an accident?”
Aliyah was silent for so long that Deanna thought she’d managed to annoy her. “Look, Deeja,” Aliyah said finally. “No one’s telling you what to do. If you want to go, I’m not going to try and stop you,” she said. “It would just make him feel better if no one he cared about was out there in that storm right now.”
“He doesn’t care about me,” Deanna muttered. But she was overcome with emotion at being referred to as someone Jacob cared about.
“And it would make me feel better too,” Aliyah said sincerely. “The roads are all ice and snow, so it’s better if you stay here tonight.”
“You don’t want me here.”
“I don’t want either of us here,” Aliyah said. “I’d rather be at Salima’s with my son.”
Deanna huffed. Aliyah didn’t say “and husband” but Deanna heard the implication.
The silence settled between them, and Deanna sensed another impasse. She wondered if Aliyah would ask her to leave outright since it was obvious she was just being hospitable to please Jacob.
“Deeja?” Aliyah said.
Deanna rolled her eyes knowingly. “I’m going now,” she said as she walked toward the door.
“I’m not asking you to leave,” Aliyah said. “We didn’t even eat our gyros yet.”
Folding her arms defiantly, Deanna halted her steps and turned around. “Gyros?” She pursed her lips in annoyance, but laughter tickled the back of her throat. She found the mention of gyros utterly ridiculous right then. “Girl, you’re a trip,” she said, a smirk on her face. “You can eat those gyros alone.”
“I know. But I don’t want to,” Aliyah said, her tone serious. “And I won’t be able to enjoy them if all I can think about is you being buried alive in a snowdrift somewhere.”
Deanna burst out laughing. She had no idea why, but the vision of Aliyah munching on gyros while Deanna slowly died from hypothermia outside was hilarious.
Aliyah chuckled herself, apparently visualizing the same thing.
Recovering from laughter, Deanna shook her head, thoughts growing distant momentarily.
“Why did you come?” Aliyah asked after a thoughtful silence.
It took a moment for Deanna to register Aliyah’s words. “What?” she said, regarding Aliyah with a question on her face.
“Today,” Aliyah clarified. “Why’d you come?”
A twinge of embarrassment stabbed Deanna as she recalled waiting outside Aliyah’s door for hours. Sighing, she walked over to the couch and sat on the far end opposite Aliyah. Deanna resumed folding her arms. “I don’t know,” she said, an edge of annoyance in her tone. “Does it matter?”
“To me it does,” Aliyah said.
Deanna paused thoughtfully, and she felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she recalled her journal entry. Apologize to Aliyah.
“I came to apologize,” Deanna grumbled finally, unable to look Aliyah in the eye. Deanna’s stomach churned as she realized that she had spoken the dreaded words aloud. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she added, the words nearly choking her, they were so difficult to form.
There was an extended silence, and Deanna sensed Aliyah’s surprise. But she still couldn’t bring herself to look at her.
“I’m trying to be a better person,” Deanna mumbled.