The Amusement Park

Going with them to the amusement park was a mistake.

Maybe I shouldn’t have screamed. But the way the ride took off, high in the sky, piercing through the air and hurling me up, the blood rushing in my head hot and fast—it seemed the ride was designed solely to provide an excuse to scream in the world’s face. And I screamed, out of fear, and out of pleasure too.

I used to scream, before my parents died, and my mother would shout with me while my father held a camera in his right hand and waved at us. Now the rules have changed. What was halal is now haram, what was allowed is now discouraged, and what was beautiful has become ugly. Excitement is no longer a good thing; indulging in anticipation that causes the breath to catch is no longer acceptable. Now I understand—I understand that I should have done everything silently, under layer after layer of unfeeling. Numbness, then, is the real feminine virtue.

The scream that escaped me, when the ride was taking me up, up, and up, higher and higher, farther than I could believe, this scream, I had no right to it, it wasn’t mine. It belonged to men alone.

Many things were revealed to me on that visit to the amusement park. First, I am not allowed to buy anything red to drink so my lips and tongue don’t turn pink, making it seem—God forbid—like I am wearing makeup. Second, riding on horses isn’t allowed; riding in carriages is. Third, no running or rushing where men can see you. Fourth, buying ice cream is allowed but it must be eaten in such a manner that my tongue doesn’t show. Fifth, excitement must be contained and screaming is not allowed, because screaming is a sign of shamelessness and immodesty.

I was dying of laughter when I got off that ride. The peals of laughter shot back inside me like knives under the force of the profanity he spat in my face: You animal! You idiot! He said it in front of people, in front of everyone. When Saqr gets mad, he forgets his miswak and his beard and starts swearing. Why are you screaming, you animal? Are you trying to get men to pay attention to you? Do I have to hit you over the head with a shoe for you to learn some manners?

Yikes. It was truly a surprise, for my screams to have so many dimensions. I didn’t know I was so laden with explosives, explosives that might be set off by one unthinking action on my part. Badriya touched his forearm, telling him to forgive me because I was a child. Wadha was looking at me out of the corners of her eyes, the evil glimmering in them, and the younger kids ran off toward another ride, drinking up existence without reservation.

I had missed out on being a child.