by Umm Zakiyyah
“Even with a plea deal?” Jacob said.
“Currently, the plea deal is for aggravated assault,” Bryan said. “I can speak to the prosecutors about a temporary insanity plea if you want.”
Jacob looked toward Deanna, but she was still looking away from him.
“Why don’t I give you two a few minutes?” Bryan said, collecting his papers as he stood. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me. But I suggest taking the current plea deal. It’s our best option. This isn’t a case you want to argue in court.”
After the door closed, the room fell deafly silent except for a subtle ringing in the pipes buried in the walls. Jacob felt a surge of frustration as Deanna stared off into the distance. How did it come to this? Jacob thought. How did we come to this?
Jacob drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Deanna, I’m really sorry you’re going through this right now…” He shook his head. “I know you gave me power of attorney, but the truth is, I really don’t know what to advise because I don’t know what happened.”
Deanna rolled her eyes in annoyance until she met Jacob’s gaze briefly, her face contorted in offense. She grunted and looked away, folding her arms firmly over her chest.
O-kay, Jacob thought to himself sarcastically. I guess this means I should just know she’s innocent. Some things never change, he thought to himself in exhaustion.
“Do you want to plead not guilty and fight the charges?” He spoke in the calm, diplomatic tone he often used whenever he was trying to avoid an argument with Deanna.
Deanna’s nose flared in agitation, and she shook her head and folded her arms more stubbornly, as if too disturbed to speak.
“Then I guess we should accept the plea deal…” Jacob let his voice trail in hopes that Deanna would give him some indication as to what she wanted to do.
“No, I—” Deanna said in a grunt, her voice clipped. Her expression revealed frustration that she couldn’t put together an intelligible sentence.
Her voice was so raspy and abrupt that for a fleeting moment Jacob thought someone else was speaking. She sounded like she was choking on her words. It pained Jacob to see her eyes glistening as she shook her head in annoyance. He wasn’t sure if she was losing patience with herself or with him.
“Why don’t you write it down?” Jacob said, opening up his brief case as the idea came to him just then. He withdrew a legal pad and pen and set them on the table before pushing them toward her.
For a few seconds she just sat there staring ahead obstinately.
“I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want,” Jacob said softly. “And I want to help, Deanna. But I need to know what you want me to do.”
Deanna’s chin trembled, and for a moment Jacob thought she would cry. But tears shined in her eyes, refusing to fall. Deanna jerked her body forward so quickly that the table shook. She furiously slapped her hand over the legal pad and pulled it closer then picked up the pen.
Internally, Jacob sighed in relief. This wasn’t ideal, but it was progress. Other than telling Attorney Schmidt in writing that she was giving Jacob power of attorney, she hadn’t said much of anything.
The pen whistled across the pad in angry strokes, and after a few seconds, Deanna slapped the pen down. Jacob had to stand up to pull the pad toward him.
You better NOT marry Aliyah, the sloppy handwriting said.
***
“Reem, here are the rules,” Aliyah said Saturday morning as she walked alongside Reem toward the tennis courts after taking Ibrahim to the indoor basketball court. Aliyah had rehearsed in her head what she would say, but she was unsure how to put her thoughts into words.
You have no people skills, she heard Deanna’s voice in her head. Though Aliyah hated to admit it, Deanna was probably right. Aliyah had spent most of Friday night stewing about what Larry had said about not calling a man unless she’s prepared to give him what he wants, but when Aliyah woke up this morning for Fajr, she realized that she had absolutely no idea how people came up with their rules of interaction.
In Aliyah’s mind, she’d done everything she could to respect the limits of Allah, but apparently that wasn’t enough. There were extra Muslim social codes to keep in mind. But what are they? she’d racked her brain earlier that morning. “Your uncle should be present whenever you’re talking to a non-mahram man,” a sister had told her once. But my uncle is a non-mahram man, Aliyah had thought to herself in confusion. Benjamin was her uncle by marriage, not by blood. So was the Muslim social code that she should talk to two non-mahram men at the same time?
After nearly giving herself a headache trying to understand Muslim social code, the only conclusion Aliyah could come up with was the one she’d come up with for most everything else. If Aliyah gave credence to the pseudo-religiosity of people like Larry, she’d be homeless and panhandling right then—because working in a “mixed environment” would make her a “tease” to all her male colleagues. So all she could tell herself was, Worry about pleasing Allah, and leave people alone. They don’t even know what they believe half the time.
“You stay out of my life,” Aliyah said, “and I stay out of yours.” As soon as she said it, she realized it had come out all wrong.
Reem’s eyes widened through the slit of her black veil. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I’m not upset,” Aliyah said quickly, hoping to lighten the blow. “I’ve just given this a lot of thought, and I think it’s better for both of us in the long run.”
“I thought we were friends,” Reem said, her voice tight in offense.
“We are,” Aliyah said. “Just not close friends, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Look, Reem, I’ve thought a lot about what you said about intercultural marriage, and I realized I should respect your views, even if I don’t understand or agree.”
“Alhamdulillah,” Reem muttered.
“But since I view true friendship as only for the sake of Allah, I—”
“Are you saying I think it’s not for the sake of Allah?”
“—can’t open myself up to being hurt again.”
Reem shook her head as they stopped at an open tennis court. “Now you think I’m trying to hurt you?”
“This is about me, not you,” Aliyah said as she shrugged the tennis racket case from her shoulder then unzipped it. “I’m trying to learn from my bad experiences.”
“Now I’m a bad experience?” Reem said in disbelief.
“Are you even listening to me?” Aliyah said, frustration in her tone. “This isn’t about you. I know you mean well, but that’s not enough. People use the good intentions excuse to do horrible things. And I’m trying to get away from that.”
“What horrible things am I doing?” Reem asked challengingly, folding her arms over her chest. Her tennis racket was still in its case, the strap over her shoulder.
“I didn’t say you were doing horrible things,” Aliyah said as she pulled her tennis racket from its case. “If you were, I would just cut you off.”
“Then what are you trying to say?” Reem’s tone was defensive.
“I’m saying I respect that you and I don’t agree on what an Islamic marriage should look like, so I’ll just leave it alone and try to focus on what we do agree on.”
Reem averted her gaze as she removed the tennis case strap from her shoulder and unzipped it. “I wish I never told you that,” she muttered in frustration.
“You didn’t tell me that,” Aliyah said. “I drew it out of you. It was never really a secret to me. I just thought I could ignore it and focus on our Qur’an classes. But the closer we got, the more it bugged me. I felt like I was opening my heart to you while you were closing yours off. And I didn’t like that.”
“I did open my heart to you.”
“I know you think you did.” Aliyah hoped her words weren’t offensive, but she really wanted Reem to understand her point of view. “And that’s why I still
value you as a friend. But what you call opening your heart is really just opening your mind to a new experience so you can earn blessings.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No, it’s not,” Aliyah said. “It’s a good thing. But it just means that to you, I’ll always be lacking in some way.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Reem yanked the tennis racket from its case and walked toward the edge of the court to set it down.
“Look, Reem,” Aliyah said as she followed her friend, “just like there are things I’ll never understand about your cultural views, there are things you’ll never understand about my spiritual ones.” Reem stopped at the edge of the court and set down her racket case, and Aliyah glanced at the sky tentatively before setting down hers. The clouds had darkened, and it looked like it was about to rain.
“I get the whole preference thing,” Aliyah explained as they walked back to the court. “But what I don’t understand is why your culture doesn’t allow you to see Allah’s plan as bigger than yours.”
At the net, gripping her tennis racket, Reem turned to Aliyah and folded her arms over her chest, her gaze stubborn and off to the side as she waited for Aliyah to finish.
“Normally, I’d consider your perspective racist,” Aliyah said honestly. “But I’m realizing that things aren’t as simple as one hundred percent good or one hundred percent evil. You have your reasons for thinking only Arabs are compatible with your children, so I accept that even in this, Allah knows best. But that doesn’t make me change my opinion of spirituality and friendship. It just makes me change my approach to my friendship with you.”
A soft rumble of thunder filled the brief silence.
“Why are Americans so obsessed with marrying other people?” Reem said, annoyed. “There are plenty of Americans you all can marry.”
Aliyah smirked. “Trust me, Reem, there are plenty of Americans who aren’t the least bit interested in marrying Arabs. And I’m sure there are plenty of Arabs who are open to marrying Americans. So for me, this is about Islam, not an obsession.” Aliyah huffed humorously. “And after talking to you, I think I’ll stick to considering only American men for marriage.”
“Oh, so it’s okay for you to be racist.”
Aliyah shrugged. “That’s one way to look at it. But to me, it’s about avoiding another Matt situation. I don’t want someone to think he’s doing me some kind of favor by marrying me. I’m not the most confident person in the world, but I definitely think I’m worth more than that. I shouldn’t have to prove I’m worth marrying.” She paused thoughtfully. “And I shouldn’t have to prove I’m worth having as a friend.”
Reem shook her head in apparent irritation, but she didn’t say anything.
“You might not understand where I’m coming from,” Aliyah said sincerely, “and I accept that. But what I do need you to understand is that if you can draw the line at who your children can marry, then I can draw the line at who can be a close friend.”
***
After playing tennis with Reem, Aliyah was grateful that the rain had been only intermittent and light, so their lesson was not disrupted. But Aliyah was pensive as she walked to the indoor basketball court. She wondered if she had done the right thing by telling Reem how she really felt. Reem had told her to be completely open about her feelings, but the conversation had left Aliyah feeling discomfited. Why couldn’t she shake the feeling that she had said the wrong thing?
“Because they’re racist,” Larry had said. “And you’re supposed to feel grateful if they even spend time with you. The minute you see yourself as more than a charity case, they feel insulted.”
Was it possible that Reem felt insulted that Aliyah was not content with being kept at arm’s length?
“As-salaamu’alaikum.”
Aliyah turned at the sound of a female voice and saw Mashael walking briskly to catch up. Aliyah held the door to the gym open until Mashael was at her side. “Wa’alaiku mus-salaam,” Aliyah said, forcing a smile. Mashael and Nora had come late to the tennis courts and played separately from Reem and Aliyah.
“I’m sorry about my sister,” Mashael said, breathless, as she and Aliyah stepped inside the gym, the door closing behind them. “She told me about your argument.”
“That was fast,” Aliyah said, lighthearted sarcasm in her tone.
Mashael chuckled. “It doesn’t take long to share something like that,” she said. “Anyway, she and I have been arguing about this for weeks. Reem’s a sweetheart, mashaAllah, but she’s really hardheaded sometimes.”
Aliyah raised her eyebrows. “You’ve been arguing about this?”
“It’s a point of contention between us, to be honest.”
“So you don’t agree with the whole you-can-only-marry-an-Arab rule?” Aliyah hoped her joking tone would be taken as friendly banter and not condescension.
“No, I despise it,” Mashael said, her face pinched in distaste. “My boyfriend’s American, and my family thinks I’ve lost my mind. Some of them are saying I’m not even Muslim anymore.”
The word boyfriend made Aliyah wince, but she told herself that Mashael might not mean the term in the way it was commonly used. Perhaps this was another Muslim social code Aliyah didn’t know anything about. Was it possible that the word boyfriend varied in meaning as much as the word friend? Could Mashael simply mean that she was talking to the American for marriage?
“Is he Muslim?” Aliyah asked, turning her eyes to the basketball court where she saw Ibrahim standing in line to shoot the basketball into the lowered rim.
“No,” Mashael said. “He calls himself a recovering Christian.”
“And you think that’s okay?” Aliyah said, her tone thinly masking her disapproval.
“I’m not convinced it’s wrong,” Mashael said tentatively. “So much of the Qur’an is misinterpreted to favor men, I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Thoughts stormed Aliyah’s mind, but she decided to keep quiet. She didn’t know Mashael well enough to try to correct her beliefs. Aliyah didn’t fully understand what Mashael was trying to say anyway, so how could she correct her? The last thing Aliyah wanted to do was what had been done to her. Everyone deserved to speak for themselves and have their words and behavior interpreted in the best possible light, and no matter how uncomfortable Aliyah felt with Mashael’s words, she wasn’t about to take that right away.
But Aliyah couldn’t help feeling wary of Mashael’s mention of a male-favored interpretation of the Qur’an. It always made Aliyah uncomfortable to hear any reference to a male or female view of Allah’s Words. In Aliyah’s mind, there were only two categories of Qur’anic interpretations, valid and invalid. Gender had nothing to do with it.
“I need your advice on something,” Mashael said suddenly, leaning toward Aliyah with her voice lowered.
“My advice?” Aliyah turned and met Mashael’s gaze, forefinger pointing toward her own chest. Aliyah didn’t mean to sound so shocked, but her response was instinctive. She couldn’t fathom what topic would warrant Mashael imagining Aliyah could be her advisor.
“Yes, yours,” Mashael said, humor in her tone. “You studied Islam right?”
“Yes…” Aliyah said hesitantly. She was uncomfortable with anyone thinking she had “studied Islam” though technically she had. But hadn’t every Muslim? “But I’m not knowledgeable about anything,” Aliyah added for transparency.
Mashael chuckled. “MashaAllah,” she said. “Reem told me you were humble.”
“Um…I’m not sure what Reem told you,” Aliyah said, uncomfortable with the implication that she knew more than she did. “But I’m not being modest. I really don’t know anything.”
“How long have you been taking Islamic classes?” Mashael asked.
“For about ten years…” Aliyah said, realizing how ridiculous she must sound.
“And in all that time,” Mashael said, laughter in her voice, “you learned nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say
I learned nothing,” Aliyah said. “But I’m not a scholar or student of knowledge or anything.”
“Don’t worry,” Mashael joked. “I don’t need a fatwa, just another perspective.”
“Well, that’s all I can offer,” Aliyah said in apologetic warning.
“Can I drop by some time?”
“To my apartment?” Aliyah was surprised at Mashael’s preference to speak to her in person. Perhaps all the Arab versus American discussions had made her assume that anyone from Reem’s family would stay far from her unless they wanted to teach her something.
“If you don’t mind…”
“Sure, it’s fine,” Aliyah said noncommittally. “It’s just…” She creased her forehead. “Is everything okay?”
Before Mashael could respond, Ibrahim ran up to Aliyah and greeted her with salaams and a hug.
“I’ll call you, insha’Allah,” Mashael whispered. “As-salaamu’alaikum,” she said as she lifted her hand in a wave and walked away.
“Aunty!” Thawab said, appearing at Aliyah’s side. Aliyah smiled at him and rubbed his head. Her eyes drifted to Younus, who hung a few feet back from his brother. The odd expression she’d seen on Younus’s face a week ago was still there. But this time, she decided to ignore it.
“As-salaamu’alaikum, Younus,” Aliyah said.
“Wa’alaiku mus-salaam, Aunty,” he said, a look of uncertainty in his eyes.
Aliyah glanced around at the men and women meeting their children and walking toward the exit. “Younus, where’s your father?”
Younus wrinkled his brow and glanced around. “Uncle Larry is supposed to be here.”
Aliyah was overcome with dread at the mention of Jacob’s brother. “Men don’t like teases,” Larry had said to her. “If you’re not interested in marrying a brother, don’t call him for advice. If you can’t help him with what he needs, don’t expect him to help you with what you need.”