by Amal Awad
“Yes, I guess so,” I said, thinking I’d be more than happy to call a moratorium on the whole doorknock appeal process altogether.
“Seriously. The further you are away from all that negative stuff, like the conveyor belt of loser suitors, the better you’ll feel.”
“Yes.”
“Look, I have to get going. Do you have enough ice cream at home to last you?” she asked, gravely.
I thought for a moment. “I don’t know actually.”
Lara and I had a rule that we weren’t allowed to overindulge in self-pity. But we were allowed to eat tubs of ice cream because it’s what girls always did on those American TV shows whenever they were down. We weren’t sure why. But personally, I couldn’t see any downside to a plan that involved sugar.
“Look, what lies within us is nothing in comparison to what we’ve done and what we’ll do,” offered Lara profoundly, trying to quote a bookmark I’d once given her.
“Don’t you mean ‘What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us’?” I said. Emerson.
“Same diff. Look, will you just do as I say? Otherwise you’ll end up considering another loser like The Boy. Oh Lord, babes I have to go,” whispered Lara. “I promise we’ll chat soon, yeah?”
“Sure.”
“Salam, sweetie. Mwah!”
The Boy. He was a bad memory. Lara and I never used his real name in conversation: he was always referred to as The Boy, The Loser, or He Who Shall Not Be Named. Only Lara knew about him and she cyber pinky swore she wouldn’t breathe a syllable about it to anyone. Not that she needed to: she was a bit psychotic (in an endearing way, of course, which she put down to being half Libyan), but she would lie down in traffic for me.
Literally, too. She did it once when we were younger. I was nine and Lara was eleven. She only got up when we heard her mum’s shrill voice crying, “Allahu akbar! Lara!”
Admittedly she did it on our quiet street, and there were no cars, but still, it’s the thought that counts.
Anyway, I guess I should explain that, Muslim or not, sometimes we had choices outside of the traditional Price is Right format. And Lara and I had had our share of dud prospects who came our way by these other means – especially Lara.
We never did anything highly inappropriate, of course. We just never explicitly told our parents about it because that would involve explanation and possibly having to manipulate the truth, which, as you know, I avoided because I didn’t like lying and wasn’t very good at it.
I sometimes wondered about Lara though. The most she’d ever admitted to were some cheeky kisses, but that could mean a whole heap of things. I didn’t judge, but I was curious.
4
All right, I can do this. It’s easy. I’m not afraid of heights. Or plummeting spectacularly to my death.
Actually, I am. I obviously didn’t think this through properly before booking.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
We had to cancel the team building Bridge Climb on account of the fact that we lost our booking. It was only my fault in so far that it was my responsibility to confirm the booking.
Okay, so I’d dropped the ball. But Jeff was too busy with other things to care and just barked out an order to find something else, now, and get him a coffee.
I was understandably distracted. Item one on the agenda: Zahra’s engagement. Most of me didn’t care an ounce that she was getting engaged. But part of me was, well, something. I had no idea what. Or maybe it was as Lara diagnosed. I couldn’t understand why so many great things seemed to happen for her when she was such a horrible person.
Either way, the feeling was on a par with ripping open a wound and pouring a box of Saxa salt on it.
And all right, that was the only item on the agenda, but I hadn’t been able to completely shift the feelings of anxiety over the week.
On Monday afternoon, after I’d realised my faux pas, I frantically searched online for team building exercises that would cater for us at such short notice. Twenty phone calls later I hit the jackpot and in a cruel twist of irony or fate or whatever, I had Zahra to thank for it. She’d called me up just as I was on the verge of wanting to hurt myself.
“What’s wrong?” she enquired, a little taken aback.
“I am in so much trouble right now,” I whispered, although I don’t know why I bothered; everyone in the office knew by then.
“I screwed up. I was supposed to organise a team building thing, but I didn’t book the Bridge Climb early enough.”
“You’re doing the Bridge Climb?”
“No, not anymore.”
“Oh, you should, it’s so much fun,” she said, languidly. “If you can handle that sort of thing. You’re not afraid of heights, right?”
I was picturing the Kill Bill moment again but I snapped back into focus.
“What’s up, Zahra?”
“Someone mentioned a team building place the other day. It sounded pretty good. But it involved sporty activities,” she offered a little grudgingly.
“Where? What is it?” Hope surged through me as I prayed for a solution, any solution. I’d have agreed to line dancing at that point.
“Can’t remember the name, I just know it’s in Picton. Just Google it.”
Zahra had obviously called to tell me her news. This was the moment I’d been dreading. After my crying spree in the bathroom, I realised a couple of hours later that I had three missed calls from her on my phone. Although it was hard for me to do, because I always returned calls no matter what, I didn’t call her back. And then I got caught up with work stuff. And then, well, I just didn’t want to.
“So anyway, I have some news,” she said, perkily.
As if I hadn’t heard. The crew of The Starship Enterprise knew by now. That and she’d changed her Facebook relationship status to “In a relationship”, no doubt a precursor to the almighty “Engaged”.
“I heard. Congratulations, Zahra.” She may be evil, but she was entitled to that at least.
Within twenty minutes the team building exercise had been arranged at True Blue for Friday. Thank God they had an opening. It was winter so business was quiet. The instructor immediately emailed me the details of Friday’s program. His liveliness over the phone was exhausting and I hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come because the Bridal Bazaar staff were not Oprah watchers.
In my rage to fix my big stuff-up, I hadn’t stopped to consider what we would be doing there. Dress code (may have been an issue if we’d resorted to line dancing) wouldn’t be a problem because I checked. But I felt my face heat up as I scanned the list of activities. Flying fox, abseiling, trust exercises.
Outward Bound flashbacks came flooding back to me. Year nine, facing nature’s challenges with people I didn’t like because we needed to “get to know each other”. I was in the same group as Sahar and our schoolmate Jennifer, but for some reason we argued all the time. We never fought, but on Outward Bound it was practically Lord of the Flies. Lara wasn’t around at the time, by then having moved to London with her parents. She didn’t come back to Sydney until my first year of university.
Anyway, we were so excited about the camp because we’d convinced Sahar’s uber strict Muslim parents to let her come along. We went to an all girls’ school and there would be no men about. They eventually agreed after much cajoling and well-timed conversations with my parents.
But it rained most of the time, Sahar cried every other day, and Jennifer kept trying to take my fruit, the only edible thing we were given each day.
Events were especially marred by the rock-climbing incident. I got stuck on “rock two” and only emerged bloody and scraped after 45 minutes of coaxing from my camp instructor.
Sahar’s crying didn’t help. She stood at the bottom of the little mountain reciting verses of the Quran and by the end of it I didn’t know what had me more panic-stricken: the thought of the instructor having to inform my parents their daughter would now be living in
a mountain crevice, or the state of Sahar’s health as she quietly but frantically prayed for my life.
I scanned the program again. No rock climbing at least. But still, a flying fox? I’d managed to get out of it in year nine. Was this life’s way of making up for unfinished business? Would I look like a complete and utter wuss if I said no to the flying fox?
I quickly drafted an email to the team, and a separate, strictly business-like one for Jeff.
Subject: Changes to Teambuilding Exercise
Dear fellow workers,
Due to unforeseen circumstances, there has been a slight change of plans to Friday’s team building exercise. We’re now going to the True Blue Team Building centre in Picton, not doing a Bridge Climb. You can all thank me later. I hear Bridge Climbs are highly overrated.
Please be here by 7 am sharp as True Blue is sending a bus for us and we cannot wait for stragglers.
Samira
Picton was much further than I’d anticipated. I only hoped it would be worthwhile – assuming I survived the wrath of co-workers who didn’t fancy the idea of getting up at 5.30 in the morning. Nevertheless, everything at least – thank God – seemed to be falling into place.
But on Friday, as I faced my own mortality on the flying fox, I questioned the value of my own existence. I could see Cate at the bottom, one hand shading her eyes from the sunshine despite a pair of monster sunglasses.
The weather was great, everyone was having a good time, but I was standing at the top, rigid with fear. I realised it wasn’t fear of heights stopping me. It was fear of something snapping and me falling like a heap onto the unforgiving ground below, my headscarf billowing dramatically under my helmet as I did so.
“Come on, Samira, you’ll be fine!” Cate yelled. She jumped up and down and did a little clap as though this might help.
I could hear my own unnaturally heavy breathing.
What if the end of my headscarf gets caught in something?
What if the equipment is faulty?
What if I’m too heavy?
Oh God. I wondered if this is what people meant when talking about their lives flashing before their eyes. My thoughts went to my family and friends. My nieces and their giggly greetings. Lara and her giggly greetings. Recently engaged Sahar and her non-visa snatching fiancé. She was probably baking something delicious right now. Then I thought of Zahra, who would have to suffer at my hands. Hakeem, being a childhood family friend, even made the cut. And then back to Zahra. Evil cousin Zahra who was getting engaged tomorrow.
Oh, the engagement! I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t want to die just yet either.
I closed my eyes and tried to shut out the voices. No, wait, the instructor was telling me something.
“Samira, you can come down or you can face your fears. You are in control. Do you want to be defeated?” she called.
I suspected the correct answer was ‘no’, but I nodded anyway, a slight whimper escaping me.
“Your team is waiting for you at the end of that rope, Samira. They’ve all been through this, too. They’re waiting to congratulate you. This is a trust exercise, Samira. Do you trust your team?” she persevered.
I wasn’t sure if I trusted my team. I trusted Cate at least. Trustworthy or not, what was my team going to do if I fell flat on my face? Help the True Blue crew scoop up my broken remains?
Adding insult to injury was that it wasn’t just my team waiting at the bottom. There was also a group from another company. Cate told me they were actually from the same building, or maybe they were just from a nearby office. I wasn’t really paying attention because all I could think about was the fact that I’d be humiliating myself in front of more people. Worse, they were people I’d be likely to run into again. It mattered little whether it was in the foyer of my building or on the street – humiliation levels would be equal.
Of course, I’d probably passed them by a million times and they’d never blinked. After today they’d know me though. It’s not every day you see a hijabi at the top of a flying fox, holding everyone up while her lacklustre life flashed before her eyes. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stay up here all day, I realised that. So I nodded, still unable to speak, my eyes shut so tight you’d need a crow bar to prise them open.
“I’m going to count to three, Samira, and after three I want you to shed your fears and fly,” commanded the instructor.
Was this woman serious? Shed my fears and fly? I blamed Oprah.
Oh, bismillah, bismillah, bismillah. I was suddenly penitent, faithful, making promises to God I had every intention to keep but knew I was unlikely to follow through on should I live.
Another life-playback moment of random meaningless thoughts began before I heard the instructor yell, “Three!”
Without thinking I went for it and suddenly I was flying. It was kind of … exhilarating! It sort of hurt but at the same time felt wonderful.
“Woo hoo!” came the cheers – well, cheer – from Cate when I tumbled onto the grass a few moments later.
Despite my momentary excitement, I felt a little disappointed. It was over so quickly. All of that agony and fear for just a few moments of adrenaline hardly seemed fair somehow. Cate strode towards me and enveloped me in a bear hug. “Fun, wasn’t it?”
I laughed. “Yes!”
When she released me, I looked around proudly, ready for my applause, but my team were scattered about, not even paying attention. So much for waiting for me and offering gushing congratulations. Although, to be fair, I was up there for a while and the other instructors needed to keep to schedule.
Cate put her arm around me and we began walking to the next obstacle. As we trotted off, I noticed a few people from the other team standing to the side waiting for their turns on the flying fox. They weren’t paying attention either, for which I was grateful. I was about to turn away when I noticed a man among them who was paying attention. He was looking directly at me, his expression serious but there was an element of amusement there too.
Cate followed my gaze and raised her eyebrows. “Someone’s looking at you,” she said.
I stopped walking and thought for a moment, steadying my breathing, my cheeks burning.
I turned to Cate. “How rude. Did I look that ridiculous up there?”
“Not at all. You looked kind of cute actually. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to close their eyes that tight.”
“You couldn’t see that! Could you?” I said, humiliated.
Cate smiled. “Honey, he’s not making fun of you. Trust me on this. I know looks.”
I did trust Cate on this. Looks were one of her many specialties. Years of bar-hopping had beefed up her expertise in assessing whether a guy was a sleaze, megalomaniac, loser or all of the above – or on the flip side of the coin, whether he was a decent sort and genuinely interested. There were generally more of the former, but nonetheless Cate knew her stuff. So I conceded to her expertise and we kept walking.
I glanced back one last time to see if the man was still looking. He was chatting to one of his colleagues, but he caught my glance and he smiled a little bashfully. He didn’t look so amused this time.
Maybe Cate was right. Still, I was feeling a little flummoxed. Why was he staring at me like that at all? Was he surprised and/or amused to see a hijabi doing high action sports? (Alright, fine, medium action sports.) My initial instinct was that he must be Arab and/or Muslim, but he didn’t appear to be either. He was dark blonde, almost European looking.
I shook the discomfort off and reverted to the infinitely more pleasant pumped-up feeling I’d experienced at the end of the flying fox. I almost could have cried. I felt so full of energy, as though I truly could be flying.
Admittedly it wasn’t terribly poetic in my mind at the time as I was scared crapless. But I knew that I wasn’t afraid of heights. I simply had a fear of falling. Or maybe it was flying
5
We crunched our way through the trees to the abseiling cliff, chattering ab
out how this topped a day in the office. I was still feeling a bit pumped. I would have agreed to try just about any sporting activity.
Skydiving? Easy. White water rafting? Please.
Were I in the office right now I’d be doing something terribly dull and boring, not soaring metres above the earth. Shedding my fears! Staring into the face of- oh my God, was that the abseiling cliff?!
It was a rather steep cliff face. Quite high. Are they always that big? This wasn’t a beginner’s cliff, was it? Wait. I can totally do this because I did abseiling at Outward Bound, and a great deal more successfully than the rock climbing. You just lean back and move slowly down the cliff face.
Even so, it was rather steep. And so high. Maybe I should check, as co-ordinator, whether or not this was the right cliff face? I could have sworn we passed another one along the way. I was about to advise Cate as such when she gave me a look. We were already behind the rest of the team. Poor thing. She should have paired up with someone more athletic.
The cliff face looked a little foreboding, that’s all, with its dark spotty surface and several ominous-looking plants spilling out of the crevices. Wasn’t that dangerous? Shouldn’t it have been buff and non-ominous-looking?
“Come on,” said Cate, pulling me towards the cliff. “It’ll be great.”
When it was finally my turn because there was no one else to let through ahead of me, the instructor clicked me into my gear. It all looked rather complicated and I was trying to pay attention to what she was saying but Cate was standing next to me also getting clicked into her gear and chatting away.
“I mean, do we have to question every little thing we do?” said Cate. She looked at me but I hadn’t heard half of what she’d said. I was too preoccupied with making sure the equipment for the abseiling was going to hold me.
“Well, do we?” repeated Cate.
“Ehm, no?” I eventually responded.