Forbidden by Faith

by Negeen Papehn

  Kotlet is another traditional Iranian dish. It’s made from a mixture of ground beef, onions, potatoes, and egg. The mixture is taken and shaped into thin oval-shaped patties, no bigger than the size of a palm, and fried to a crispy brown perfection. They can be eaten plain or can be made into pita sandwiches with the trimmings I was in the process of chopping up.

  Mom and I worked in the quiet, comfortable silence of the kitchen for a few minutes. I reached out and grabbed the jar of pickles, twisting the lid off.

  “How were your tests?” she asked.

  “They were okay. The last one was a bit hard, but I think I did well over all,” I replied, keeping my eyes trained on the pickle jar.

  “Did all your friends go home for the break?” By “friends,” I knew she was referring to Ben. Now that she had started on the topic, I figured it was a good time to cross the bridge to Minnesota.

  “Some of them did; some didn’t.” I paused gathering my thoughts and what was left of my dwindling courage.

  “What is it you want to talk to me about?” she asked.

  I snapped my head up and looked at her with what I assumed was an expression of shock. I began to wonder if Mom actually did have a phone line into our brains. I knew it was impossible, but my convictions had started to falter with her uncanny ability to be two steps ahead of us. Mind-reading seemed to be the only viable explanation.

  “Okay, Mom, don’t say no until you hear me out,” I said with less confidence than I’d wanted.

  “Hmm, that doesn’t sound good,” she said never taking her eyes off the frying pan.

  “Ben went home for the holiday break.” I stopped, waiting to see if a spatula was going to fly across the room at the mention of his name. When one didn’t come, I continued. “He wants me to go to Minnesota to meet his family. He’s been telling them about me for the past three months and they would like to meet me.”

  “And?” she said, turning to look at me. The venom hung on the edge of her response and I used it to propel me forward.

  “And…I want to go.” I stood my ground, my gaze as stubborn as hers.

  “You want me to tell you it’s okay to go stay with your boyfriend, in another state, so you can meet his family? Have you lost your mind?”

  Her voice had risen a few octaves, causing Dad to come wandering into the kitchen to see what the commotion was about.

  “No, Mom, I’m not asking you to let me go to Minnesota to stay with my boyfriend for the weekend,” I said, rolling my eyes in disdain. “Sandra is also going and we’re planning on staying in a hotel nearby, together. Anyway, it’s not like I need to fly across the country to spend time alone with him. I live down the street. You’re being ridiculous.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I immediately regretted them. I had just called Mom ridiculous. She turned on me, with the feral look of an animal about to claw her way through a pack of wolves. I physically cowered, taking a step back. Dad jumped in to keep the situation from getting further heated.

  “What about Thanksgiving? You wouldn’t be spending it with the family?” Dad asked, his hand on Mom’s shoulder, trying to calm her. It didn’t work.

  “No, I would. I was going to fly out on Friday.”

  “I don’t understand why you insist on continuing this nonsense with this boy!” she screamed at me.

  “Nonsense? I don’t know what I have to do for you to realize this isn’t some childish crush. I know you think I shouldn’t be with Ben, but you have no valid reasons for it,” I replied as calmly as the moment would allow me to.

  “He’s not Persian. What more of a reason do you need?” she said, as if it were obvious.

  As the weight of Mom’s words sank in, I felt like I had suddenly woken up. I began to realize that the world was riddled by prejudices, deep-rooted in culture and tradition. They’d become so woven into the intricacies of people’s upbringing that they had faded into the background, no longer seen but ever present. My family was no exception.

  “That’s not a good enough reason! He’s a great guy, but you wouldn’t know that because you’re too busy holding onto your foolish ideas to see it.” I yelled, unable to contain my anger any longer. Dad went to speak but I held my hand up to stop him. “Maziar’s family judged me the same way you’re judging Ben, and it wasn’t fair. You agreed that it was wrong. Don’t you see you’re being the exact same way?”

  “Sara, calm down,” he said. “No one is being prejudiced. We can just see a future you can’t and the difficulties you will face with Ben. We want what’s best for you.”

  “I don’t think so, Dad. You guys want me to stay in your pretty little box so no one thinks badly of you. Well, I’m sorry you can’t see past yourselves. But this is my life, and I’m going to do what I want. You can stay the hypocrites you’re being, or you can get over your hang-ups and get to know him. Either way, it doesn’t change anything.”

  “So you’re telling us you’re going to Minnesota,” Mom said, horrified.

  “Yes, I believe I am,” I said, as confidently as I could.

  Mom was fuming, Dad was crumbling, and I just stared at them unwaveringly. The anger that fueled my determination came from further back than the moment we were standing in. It stood for all the times I was too weak to stand against Maziar’s family. I held my ground, refusing to allow anyone to turn me into the broken bird I had once been, losing more than I deserved. That included my parents.

  I knew they were paying for sins that weren’t all theirs, but I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, they were being just as bad as Maziar’s parents had been. He hadn’t been able to choose me, but I was going to be stronger than him. I was going to choose Ben.

  “I will stay for Thanksgiving so you can save face in front of the family. That drama wouldn’t help any of us. But then I’m going to Minnesota.”

  Both my parents stared at me, draped in disbelief as I turned around and walked out of the room. Once I was in the safety of my bedroom, I grabbed my laptop and bought my ticket, not allowing myself time to regret my position.

  By the time Dad came to my room, I was on my bed reading a book. He knocked softly before he opened the door. I looked up hesitantly, but he smiled in an attempt to make me less uneasy.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He sat down and squeezed my knee.

  “So I talked to your mother. She really doesn’t want you to go,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “You know, Sara, we really do love you and just want the best for you. I know it doesn’t look that way right now, but it’s the truth,” he urged.

  “Ben’s a really good guy, Dad,” I replied, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. The weight of their disapproval lay heavy on my shoulders.

  “He may be, but he’s just not the right guy,” he said.

  “How do you know that? You don’t even know him,” I protested. I could feel the frustration building again.

  “He just doesn’t fit into our life, that’s all.”

  “Ugh! You guys are such hypocrites. Why can’t you see that?”

  He didn’t respond at first, the silence surrounding us like a heavy cloak. I knew I’d embarked on a road that could lead to losing my parents. Although the prospect terrified me, I was too stubborn to back down. He reached out and squeezed my knee again as he stood up. He looked at me. The pain from the space I was creating between us was visible in his eyes.

  “We aren’t Maziar’s parents,” he said, as he walked out the door.

  Long after he left, I stared into space trying to calm the new sense of panic that had started taking over. Had I made the right choice? I was having a great time with Ben, and I loved him, but I didn’t feel any certainty in our future. I didn’t know if I could see happily ever after with him. Was it worth losing my parents over?

  I honestly wasn’t sure.

  Thanksgiving came and went. Mom avoided me as much as possible without making it obvious to the family. My grandmother spent the
better part of the night complaining that I had gotten too skinny, then chastised my mom for not cooking and freezing enough food for me to take back to my apartment when I visited. Mom proceeded to defend her maternal duties by placing the blame back on me, claiming it was because I didn’t make regular visits home. This debate continued throughout the night. It was triggered every time I passed by my grandmother, as if my silhouette was reminding her that I’d been starving the past few months. I tried to avoid her. Even though I was angry with Mom, I didn’t want her to have to deal with my grandmother’s persistent nagging. I knew what it felt like to be judged.

  When the night was over, I helped clean up in the silence she demanded. She wouldn’t look at me, acting as if I didn’t exist. I matched her attitude, walking around as if it didn’t bother me, even though it did. Dad and Nima tried to navigate between us as peacefully as possible, staying neutral.

  I had an early flight so I excused myself, retiring to the safety of my bedroom. I crawled into bed, beckoning sleep to save me from the anxiety of the day. When it finally came, I went willingly.

  Morning came sooner than I’d expected, and I dragged myself out of bed in the dark hours before the world was awake. I looked at myself in the mirror, feeling despair at the swollen, sleep-deprived eyes staring back at me.

  Nima had offered to take me to the airport, but when I came out of my room, dragging my small suitcase behind me, I saw Dad sitting on the couch drinking a freshly brewed cup of chayee. I could hear Mom’s movements in the kitchen.

  I was expecting Nima, so I was taken aback for a moment when Dad was there to greet me. He looked deep in thought until the shuffle of my feet broke him out of his revere. He smiled at me wearily.

  “You ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I responded, “but I thought Nima was taking me.”

  “He was, but it was a late night and he was really tired. You know me; I get up early no matter what time I sleep, so I told him I would take you.”

  “Okay,” I said, silently cursing my brother.

  Making the drive alone with my dad, as he dropped me off at the airport to fly off to a rendezvous with my Caucasian boyfriend, seemed like the worst kind of torture humanly possible. Where Mom was all about denial, Dad was all about facing reality head-on.

  Mom came out of the kitchen with tea in one hand and a feta cheese and pita sandwich in the other. Even though she was angry at me, she still made sure to feed me. No doubt she was partly worried that my weight would only be one more thing mamanbozorg would hold over her head once she’d found out about Ben. Mom had hoped things between us would fizzle and I’d have moved on by now. Since that didn’t seem likely, it was inevitable that my grandmother would find out, and when that happened, all hell would break loose.

  The scowl on her face scrunched her dark eyebrows together, giving her the appearance of a Frida Kahlo painting. She placed the food on the table, then turned and walked back into the kitchen, ignoring me. She wanted to leave little doubt of her disapproval of my decision. I had no energy to engage her, so I sat silently on the couch, finishing my breakfast as quickly as I could. I picked up the cups and put them in the kitchen when I was done. I didn’t say goodbye as I followed Dad to the car.

  My life had become a series of never-ending arguments with Mom, and I had become too weary to engage in them any further. She would continue to throw her tantrums, but I would try my best to brush them off. It was too exhausting to feel like a constant disappointment.

  Dad and I sat in a humble silence for the first ten minutes, enjoying a rare moment of peace before he spoke.

  “Sara, I know you’re a grown woman. It may seem like your mother and I don’t realize it, but that’s just because we’ll always look at you as our little girl regardless of how old you get.” He sighed, staring out the window, the recent struggles taking their toll. “But even so, I know you’re an adult and you make your own decisions. You’re a smart girl; you always have been, so I don’t worry about you too much. But because I’m your father, it’s my job to tell you to be careful. Make the right choices, because sometimes you end up having to live with the wrong ones forever.”

  Was he talking about getting pregnant or was he just referring to my choice of boyfriend? It was too early in the morning to solve his riddles.

  “Okay,” was all I could think to say.

  He reached out and patted my leg, content with my response.

  I turned my head, staring at the scenery flashing across my window for the remainder of the drive while Dad listened to his news radio. He didn’t say anything else regarding “choices” or my relationship. I was grateful for his silence.

  I walked toward the airport terminal. Now that I was actually on my way to Minnetonka, the reality of its significance washed over me like a current. I was actually doing this. I was walking further away from one relationship and deeper into another. It felt like I was embarking on a weekend that was pushing me into a reality that I could no longer easily walk away from. Meeting Ben’s parents somehow felt like it was solidifying our relationship, making it more real. I knew I acted sure about us when I fought with my parents, but truthfully, I wasn’t as confident as I pretended to be.

  When we were off the ground, the stewardess came down the aisles taking drink orders. To calm my nerves, I asked for a glass of wine and pulled out my e-reader. I had a direct flight, so I spent the next five-and-a-half hours drinking two glasses of wine, eating four packets of peanuts, and reading. I must have dozed off because the captain’s voice startled me awake as he announced the plane’s descent.

  I stood in the cattle line to exit the airplane with my heart pounding wildly against my chest. I was feeling a mixture of dread and excitement, a combination that frequently left me utterly confused in its wake. I wanted badly to see Ben, but I was terrified of the significance this weekend held. I tried desperately to clear my thoughts of the fear, to push Maziar and my parents as far back in my mind as possible.

  Moving forward in my relationship with Ben meant I was moving further away from Maziar. I was truly tired of the constant emotional battle wreaking havoc on my heart. I didn’t know why I couldn’t just let him go. It made me feel stupid and weak, and I hated it.

  Then I had my parents. For the first time in my life, I’d blatantly refused to listen to them, choosing to make a decision they were clearly against. I didn’t know how we’d find our way back from here. I was on untouched ground, and I found it terrifying.

  As I was stuck in thought, I didn’t realize I’d walked out into the terminal. I heard my name and was snapped back into reality. I looked up to find Ben ten feet in front of me, smiling brightly.

  It was cold in Minnesota, somewhere in the high twenties, much colder than my California skin was used to. Ben was dressed in a pair of loose, dark blue jeans and a green puffer jacket. It gave his normally crystal-blue eyes an aqua tint, reminding me of my favorite crayon in the Crayola box. His dark brown beanie sat snug on his head, the ends of his hair curling out from underneath.

  In moments like these, I was hit with the magnitude of my attraction to him, and he just took my breath away. The anxieties of the morning melted into nonexistence in those few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact. We were locked in an unspoken conversation, becoming unaware of the crowd around us as he gave me his crooked smile. My heart was still frantically beating against my chest, but this time with the anticipation of spending the next few days with him.

  I stood there locked in our trance for a few more seconds as my own smile broke across my face. Then, I ran to him, launching myself into his arms. He caught me with ease, holding me close to his body. I breathed in his scent of soap and deodorant, letting them fill me up as I became drunk on him.

  Lost in his embrace, I didn’t realize that Sandra and Josh had come up behind us. I heard Sandra squeal my name, and Ben pulled back to allow her in. I reluctantly let go, wanting just a few more minutes to get my fix. I could feel the beginning ti
ckles of an addiction take form, and I welcomed it, needing a new drug to get hooked on.

  Sandra threw her arms around me, all smiles and giggles, and I could feel the happiness exuding off of her from just from being near Josh. They orbited around each other like planets to the sun, caught in the pull of gravity toward one another. There was no doubt that they were made for each other. Just looking at them, I could hear the distant sound of wedding bells and see their white picket fence, two kids, and a dog.

  What I had told my parents regarding the weekend was mostly true. Sandra was coming to Minnesota to visit Josh and meet his family. However, Josh had his own place and Sandra would be staying with him. There was a hotel room at the inn registered under my name, but I would be staying there alone. I figured seventy-five percent of the truth was good enough to share with them. Ben and I spent most nights in one of our two beds anyway, so I didn’t really see it being any different if we spent a few nights together in another state.

  Ben led us outside, and as the automatic double doors opened, I was hit with the fierce cold wind of the world around us, sending goosebumps all over my skin. I stumbled, not expecting it to be so frigid. The iciness of the wind made the tip of my nose feel like it was solidifying into icicles. I had to stop for a moment to gather my bearings.

  Ben looked at me and laughed. “You’ll get used to it,” he said.

  The cold was already freezing my hands and causing an ache to roll through my fingers like only the chill of a real fall could do. It was actually painful, more so than I would have imagined it could be. My thin sweater and equally useless scarf weren’t doing the trick and I began to rethink my weekend wardrobe.

  It was close to lunchtime when we left the airport, and I was starving. We pulled into a quaint little diner about twenty minutes later. It had a worn-in vibe that could only be found in a small town where the locals frequented the same places. Its brown and beige booths lined the walls, their leather dulled and less vibrant than I’d imagine they were in its heyday. The kitchen was nestled behind an old-fashioned bar with round leather stools. I imagined teenagers drinking malts while leaning up against it, socializing after school. The whole place looked like it belonged in a movie.