by Sabina Khan
“Let’s see what happens in the next few weeks,” Abbu says. “We don’t have to make any decisions now.”
“It would be nice to be close to everyone again,” Ammi says, her eyes distant. My panic has reached a critical level, but I don’t have the right words to express how I feel at this moment, so I say nothing. I don’t want to do anything to upset my parents when they’re already so worried.
Shireen Khala coughs discreetly. “Why don’t I leave you to think about it and we can talk again in a couple of days,” she says. “In the meantime, please call me if you need anything.”
She leaves and I go up to my room. I have to figure out what I’m going to do. It’s as if everything is changing too fast and I can’t keep my balance. I can’t afford to fall, not now, not when my future is at stake. I know it might not happen at all, but I have to decide if I’m willing to leave my whole life behind and go back to Pakistan with my parents. And if I’m not, what will I lose instead?
Since Abbu is still recovering at home and Ammi’s there to look after him, I decide to get back into school and SJC with full force. With the help of my friends and teachers, I manage to complete all my work and take missed tests before too long. And it’s great to get back into SJC stuff and to talk to Ms. Talbot again. It’s good to think about something other than my family’s precarious immigration status, so instead I focus all my pent-up anger on SJC. There’s an event organized by a mosque in Victoria this upcoming weekend. It’s an open community event intended to foster better awareness and communication for everyone.
Unfortunately, the event’s social media page is already full of vile comments from trolls threatening a variety of things they will do to stop it from being carried out peacefully. Ms. Talbot spends a great deal of time at the meeting making sure we’re aware of the risks involved in going. She’s mostly concerned about the presence of a particular “patriot” group who has demonstrated extreme anti-Muslim sentiments in the past. But regardless, we’re all determined to go. Most of the people here know what my family’s been through, so they’re eager to take a stand.
We assemble early in the morning at our designated meeting place and get on the bus that Ms. Talbot has arranged for the ninety-minute trip to Victoria. She’s even brought breakfast burritos, croissants, and coffee for us. By the time we get there, we’re energized and ready, although I’m sad that Chloe had to back out at the last minute. Her parents were worried about her safety and refused to let her come.
People are congregated outside the mosque. I look around trying to spot anyone who looks shady, but it’s still pretty early. Ms. Talbot talks to a couple of the security guards who are stationed around the area. They escort us into the fenced parking lot. We are here only to show support if any anti-Islamic groups show up. We’ve come prepared with signs as always, but unlike the last event we went to, nothing is happening here yet.
I notice some people come toward the fenced area where we’re standing. It looks like a group of students like us. It saddens me to think that some people think of activism as a way to stop others from living their lives in peace.
The group that sauntered up to us stops on the other side of the fence.
“So, do you guys support all this?” one of them asks.
“Standing against terrorism and hatred?” I ask. “Sure, don’t you?”
She looks confused. “But they’re the ones who are the terrorists and they’re the ones spreading the hatred.”
I stare at her in Muslim.
“You can’t possibly think that all Muslims are terrorists.” I’m trying hard not to sound condescending, but I don’t think it’s working.
“Well, they’re trying to bring Sharia law into our country, and we’re not going to stand for it,” one of the guys in the group says.
Nick pulls out a bunch of informative pamphlets we’ve prepared for just such an occasion and slides them through the gaps in the chain-link fence.
“Here, why don’t you guys pass these out and read them?” he says with a friendly smile. It’s a good thing they don’t know that beneath his smile is a tired disdain for people like this.
They leave the papers on the ground and walk away. I guess you can’t make people see reason if they’re hell-bent on staying ignorant.
In the end, the patriot group never shows up, and the event takes place without any real protest, other than a handful of people on the other side of the fence shouting weakly about the evils of Sharia law and Muslims invading their homeland. We return to Corpus, heartened by the fact that, after all the trolling, this event was held without too much resistance after all.
“Do you feel like doing something after?” Nick asks me when we’re on the bus home. “Priya and I were going to watch a movie and then grab dinner. Or do you have plans with Chloe?”
I had planned to talk to all three of them tonight about how my parents were considering moving back to Pakistan. But right now, I’m more curious about the fact that Nick and Priya have made plans to hang out. By themselves. This is very interesting.
“Since when do you two make plans together?” I ask, trying my best to sound nonchalant.
“What do you mean?” Nick asks. “We’re just hanging out like we always do.”
Okay, so that’s how we’re going to play it. That’s cool. I’m down with that.
“Sure, what movie are you guys thinking of?”
Nick and Priya exchange a quick look.
“Umm, we were thinking of watching To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” Priya says. “But we can pick something else if you want,” she adds quickly.
“No, no that’s fine,” I say. “You know I love Noah Centineo.”
We’re starving, so we go for tacos first. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a third wheel. How long have I been gone?
I tell them about my encounter with Tyler. They’re stunned.
“I can’t believe he thinks he can just apologize and put the blame on his father,” I say.
Priya gives me a look.
“What?” I ask. I know that look. I don’t like that look.
“Nothing,” she says. “I just think that maybe he does feel bad.”
“What does that even mean?” I say wearily. “What does he feel bad about? Being an asshole? Or that his father is an even bigger asshole and they’re both just plain evil?”
“Zara, I think what Priya’s trying to say is that maybe Tyler’s father really is a piece of work. I’ve heard the guys talking about it on the team. Apparently, his mom left because she couldn’t take it anymore.”
“So now I’m supposed to feel sorry for him and forgive him because the poor baby didn’t know it’s wrong to treat people like crap?”
I can’t believe the two of them don’t get it.
“Zara, it’s just … you’ve been so angry lately,” Priya says. “And of course you have every reason to be. We’re angry too.”
“But we feel like it’s taking over,” Nick says. “We just want to help you move on.”
“I mean, look,” Priya says, “Uncle is at home and things are starting to get back to normal now, right?”
I feel hysterical laughter bubble up inside. Normal? Nothing about any of this is normal.
“You know what? I think I need to be alone right now. You guys go ahead and enjoy the movie.”
“Come on, Zara, don’t be like that,” Nick says. “You know we’re just trying to help. You don’t have to get all sulky.” Nick knows he can get away with talking to me like this. He knows me a little too well. But this is different.
“I’m not sulking, really,” I say. “Listen, both of you. I know you’ve got my back. But I really need to just focus on school and my parents right now.”
They drop me off at home, and I go straight up to my room. I’m exhausted and my mind is swirling with all kinds of stuff. Eventually I fall into a restless sleep, plagued by thoughts of fighting this battle all by myself.
“Zara, beta, can you come here
for a minute?” Abbu calls to me just as I’m getting ready for another sparring session with Mr. Clair.
Tae kwon do is helping me stay sane through all of this, keeping my anxiety at bay. Otherwise, I worry that I’ll have some sort of a meltdown right in the middle of a test or something. None of us have talked again about going back to Pakistan. At least not in a conversation I’ve been part of. I can’t be sure if Ammi and Abbu have been discussing it.
We have settled into a new sort of routine. Abbu’s almost fully recovered but not to the point that he can go back to work—it’s going to be a while before he can be exposed to his patients’ sicknesses. Because of this, he’s getting restless. This is the longest he has ever been home in fourteen years.
“Coming, Abbu,” I call out. I quickly grab my tae kwon do bag and drop it at the top of the stairs before entering my parents’ bedroom.
Abbu waves me over. “Where’s your mother?” he whispers.
“I think she’s in the study,” I say. “Why are you whispering?”
“Have you noticed her acting strangely at all?” he asks.
“I mean, no more than usual,” I say with a grin.
“I’m serious, Zara,” he says. “I’m worried about her. She hasn’t been sleeping well at all, but whenever I ask her about it, she changes the subject.”
“I’ll talk to her,” I say. “Don’t worry so much, Abbu. After everything that happened, it’s going to take some time. And you know how Ammi gets.”
My mother has always been overprotective of Abbu and me. It’s how she shows her love, by worrying herself sick every time we step out of the house. But I have to admit that I haven’t been paying too much attention lately, what with all the catching up at school and trying to keep myself from falling into the dark abyss of depression and anxiety.
I find Ammi in the kitchen.
“Ammi, I’ll be back late,” I say, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
She wipes her hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“It’s so late, beta,” she says. “Where are you going?”
“It’s seven thirty, Ammi,” I say. “I’m going to the rec center to spar with Mr. Clair. And then I’m going to the library to study.”
“Okay, but can you text me when you’re leaving the rec center and then again when you’re at the library?”
“Sure, Ammi, but why are you so worried? It’s not even dark out.”
“I know, but I just worry these days,” she says. “Just text me, okay? Please.”
“I will, I promise.”
A couple hours later, I’m in one of the study carrels, working on my college admission essays. I stay until the library closes and then head on home.
I walk in to find Ammi pacing back and forth, phone in her hand, looking frantic.
“Ammi, what happened?” I ask, rushing to her. “Is Abbu okay?”
“Where have you been?” she yells. “You were supposed to text me! And why weren’t you answering your phone?”
“Oh my God, Ammi, I’m so sorry.” I put my arms around her and squeeze gently. “I threw my phone in my gym bag after sparring, and I forgot to take it out.”
“Zara, how can you be so careless?” She leans away from me. “I’ve been worried sick. And I couldn’t say anything to Abbu because I don’t want him to get worked up too.”
“I’m really sorry, Ammi. I promise I won’t forget again.” I feel awful. Especially right after Abbu told me that he was concerned about her.
“You don’t understand how scared I am every time you’re out late,” Ammi says, sinking to the couch.
“But what are you scared about? I wasn’t alone or anything. The library is full of people.”
“And what will they do if someone points a gun at you?” she asks.
I get what she’s afraid of. But still. “Ammi, we can’t live in fear like that,” I say. “Because then we’re letting them win.”
Ammi sits back, and I realize she’s somehow aged a hundred years in the last month. I smooth her hair and kiss her cheek. Then I just sit with her, our breaths harmonizing, and it feels good. It’s going to be a long time before we can be at peace again and it’s going to take a real effort to make our lives normal again. But for now, I want to just be a source of strength for both my parents, just like they’ve always been for me.
My phone pings a couple of days later. It’s Chloe. We’ve both been pretty busy with school, so we haven’t really had a chance to hang out much.
I find my mom in the kitchen listening to old Hindi songs as she chops onions. I’m not sure if it’s the onions or the songs that are making her cry.
“Ammi,” I say, popping my head in, “is it okay if Chloe stays over tonight?”
Ammi looks up, tears streaming down her face.
“Yes, of course. When is she coming? Before dinner?” Ammi puts down the knife, walks over to the fridge, and begins to rummage for potential dinner ingredients.
“In a little bit. But I want to tell you something before she gets here.”
“Haan, beta, bolo, what is it?”
“Chloe had a fight with her parents, and she doesn’t want to be there anymore.”
Ammi tilts her head sympathetically. “Bechari bachchi, do you know what happened?”
I hesitate. But it’s better for Ammi to know what’s going on.
“She came out to her parents last year, and they’re not taking it well. She says they make her feel like she’s sick and has to be cured.”
“Poor child. I’m glad you told me, beta.”
And that’s it. As far as Ammi is concerned, if she needs us, then we will be there for her. I often count my blessings that my parents are the way they are. It doesn’t escape me that I’m one of the lucky few. I come from a culture that can be ultra-conservative about certain things and a country where being bisexual could land me in jail or worse. But my parents have never made me feel that I’ve disappointed or embarrassed them in any way. What they have done is accept me unconditionally. And I truly believe they do this because they themselves were shunned for choosing each other and know exactly how it feels to be judged and discriminated against because of whom you love.
I put my arms around her and kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you, Ammi. She’s really upset.”
“Don’t worry too much, chanda. I’m sure her parents will come around sooner or later. And Chloe can stay here as long as she likes. I will talk to her mother myself and let her know she’ll be well taken care of.”
“I’ve never met them, Ammi. I don’t know what they’ll think of her staying here with us.”
“Yes, I understand, Zara, but we can’t just let her parents worry, hai na?”
Just then the doorbell rings, and I run to open the door. Chloe has a large backpack slung around her shoulder. Her face is tear-streaked and puffy, and she bursts into tears as soon as she comes in and drops the bag on the floor. I put my arms around her and try to console her. I lead her to the couch in the living room. Ammi follows us and sits next to Chloe.
“Chloe, do you want to talk about it?” Ammi asks gently.
Chloe shakes her head. “Not really. It’s just too hard right now.”
Ammi nods. “Okay, then, I’ll let you girls talk, and I’ll make some pizza rolls in case you get hungry. Dinner’s going to be a while.”
“Do you want to go up to my room?” I ask.
Chloe nods through her tears, and I gently take her by the hand to lead her upstairs.
“I can’t believe my parents are being so ridiculous. They keep saying that they love me but what I’m doing is wrong and they have to make sure I stay on the right path.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“They just want me to be ‘normal,’ ” Chloe says. “Basically, just don’t be a lesbian. As if I woke up one morning and decided that this would be a fun thing to try out.”
“They really have no clue, do they?”
Chloe sh
akes her head.
“Honestly, I don’t even know how that’s possible these days. I mean, they’re not hermits, but they act like we’re living in the Middle Ages.”
I don’t know what to say that won’t sound trite, so I put my arm around her and pull her close. She leans into me and sighs deeply.
“I just wanted to get away, you know. I’m so tired of the way they make me feel.” She starts sobbing again. “Like there’s something wrong with me that needs to be fixed.”
“I’m so sorry, Chloe. I wish there was something I could do to make this better.” I stroke her hair, which smells of ocean and sunshine.
“I just want my parents to stop using God as an excuse and admit that they’re the ones who have a problem with me being gay.” Chloe balls her hands into fists. “It makes me so angry that I just want to scream at them.”
I get how she feels. It’s just like when our school refused to let us have a GSA club. After we got hundreds of signatures and the board members were called out for discrimination, they came up with a clever solution. They banned all clubs from being active at school. They were so determined to stop us that they shut everyone down. That’s when I realized that things here weren’t all that different than they were in Pakistan or any other Muslim country.
But right now, I need to focus on Chloe and make sure she’s okay.
“Okay, Chloe,” I say in my best take-charge voice. “We can talk more about this tomorrow, and we’ll figure out what to do. But for tonight, I say lots of ice cream and movies.”
She gives me a tremulous smile and hugs me.
“I’m so glad I have you, Zara,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes again, and I hug her back tightly. I hate her parents for hurting her, but I’m determined to help her get through to them.
Ammi is getting off the phone just as Chloe and I walk in the front door after school a few days later.
“That was your mom, Chloe,” she says. “She really wants you to come home.”