by Umm Zakiyyah
“Who brought you here?” Aliyah asked.
“Uncle Larry,” Younus said.
“Did he say he was going somewhere?”
“He said wait for him right here.”
Aliyah frowned and glanced at her watch. She had hoped to be heading home by now so she could catch up on her preparation for One Plus One and the summer class she was teaching.
“Well, well, well,” a boisterous voice called from the other side of the gym. They all turned at the sound of the voice and saw that Larry had just entered. “Who would’ve guessed?” Larry called out, prompting the other men and women to look at him curiously as he approached.
Aliyah sighed and turned to the boys. “As-salaamu’alaikum, Younus and Thawab,” she said as she took Ibrahim’s hand. “Insha’Allah, we’ll see you later.”
“Wa’alaiku mus-salaam, Aunty,” Younus and Thawab replied in unison.
“You’re leaving so soon?” Larry said jokingly, a playful grin on his face.
Aliyah kept her gaze straight ahead as she walked toward the exit, firmly gripping Ibrahim’s hand. Maybe Larry thinks women shouldn’t even look at men they don’t plan to marry, Aliyah thought sarcastically. I don’t want to send the wrong message.
“Now that is just rude,” Larry called out, humor in his tone. “I can’t even get the greetings?”
Aliyah pulled open the exit door and let it close behind her and her son. She exhaled in relief as she passed through the reception area of the athletic complex and headed toward the door leading to the parking lot. As she and Ibrahim walked to her car, she thought of her uncle Benjamin. He and her aunt Valerie had left last night for a weeklong vacation. Right then she wished she could have gone too. She could really use the break, but there was no way she could take off from work. With Jacob gone and her supervisor acting ornery, now wasn’t a good time to take any sick days or leaves of absence.
Aliyah lifted her keychain, pressing the button to unlock the car. She released Ibrahim’s hand and opened the door for him. “Aunty!” she heard a small voice call out as Ibrahim settled into his place in the backseat.
Aliyah turned and found Thawab running toward her. She forced a smile as Thawab stopped breathless in front of her, handing her a rectangular package about the size of a book. “Uncle Larry said give this to you.”
“Thank you, Thawab,” Aliyah said as she took the package from him and deftly tossed it in the backseat next to Ibrahim.
“You’re welcome, Aunty,” Thawab said, still catching his breath. He turned and stood next to Aliyah as Larry and Younus came into view.
Aliyah rolled her eyes in annoyance as Larry approached with a triumphant smirk on his face. “You left so fast I didn’t get to give you your box,” Larry said.
“Well, I have it now,” Aliyah said, giving Larry a tightlipped smile. “So as-salaamu’alaikum, Larry.” She turned, standing at the open door and watching as Ibrahim buckled his seat belt. She then stepped back and closed the door before opening her own.
“Wa’alaiku mus-salaam wa rahmatullaahi wa barakaatuh,” Larry said, enunciating every syllable for exaggerated emphasis. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his car keys.
“Here, little man,” Larry said as he tossed the keys to Younus. “You can start the car for us.”
“Thanks, uncle!” Younus said as he caught the ring of keys with both hands, his gaze on the keys as if they were a rare prize. “Come on, Thawab,” Younus said, gesturing to his brother. Thawab followed his brother to Larry’s car, which was parked diagonally across from Aliyah’s.
“I tried to call you before I got back to the gym,” Larry said, his voice lowered. “But your phone was off.”
Aliyah started to respond but realized that she had rushed out the apartment that morning without charging her phone.
“It’s hot,” she said finally as she climbed into her seat and turned on the ignition, her door still open. She reached to her right to adjust the temperature for the air conditioner. “I don’t want to keep Ibrahim waiting,” she said apologetically, raising her voice slightly as she closed the door and the automatic window came down.
“As-salaamu’alaikum, Larry,” she said through the open window, keeping her voice cordial so that Ibrahim wouldn’t sense that anything was amiss.
“I’m sorry,” Larry said, his voice low as a hesitant smile played at one side of his mouth. “Just give me a call when you open the package.”
“As-salaamu’alaikum, Larry,” she said again, her voice slightly louder this time. But she didn’t wait for a reply as she pressed the button for the automatic window and let it seal shut in his face. She put the car in drive and eased forward out of the parking space. For a moment she considered connecting her phone to the car charger. But she decided against it when she realized that Larry would most likely try to call during the drive.
As she exited the parking lot, she sighed, wishing she could visit Benjamin right then. She wanted to vent to her uncle about Larry’s aggravating behavior. But she decided to let it go, at least for now.
Aliyah’s mind drifted to her family as she slowed her car behind a line of vehicles at a stoplight. About a week ago, Aliyah had spoken to her aunt Valerie about the possibility of coming along when she visited her sister (Aliyah’s mother) next time. Valerie had said she thought it was a good idea and that Aliyah’s parents would be happy to see her. But Aliyah wasn’t so sure.
The light turned green, and Aliyah drove in silence as she wrestled with whether or not to accompany her aunt to her mother’s house. Yes, Valerie had a good relationship with the family, but Valerie was Christian; and that made all the difference. Benjamin himself rarely visited Aliyah’s family except for official family events like weddings and family reunions. Aliyah suspected that he was tolerated only because he was married to Valerie and was father to the favored niece and nephew of Aliyah’s parents. Though it was questionable whether or not Benjamin’s children were Christian, Aliyah’s two cousins (as far as the Thomases could tell anyway) were at least not Muslim. And in the Thomas family, that’s all that had come to matter.
Or perhaps Aliyah had it wrong. Maybe there was underlying tension with Benjamin’s children that Aliyah knew nothing about. One was recently married and the other one was still in college, so Aliyah imagined they couldn’t possibly come around much anyway. Was Aliyah just assuming they were still favored by her parents while her cousins were hardly children anymore?
“Mommy, don’t forgot your box,” Ibrahim said from the backseat after Aliyah parked in front of her apartment complex and turned off the car.
Internally, Aliyah groaned as she removed the keys from the ignition. “Thanks, cookie monster,” she said, forcing a smile into the rearview mirror before opening her door and getting out.
For a moment Aliyah considered leaving the box right where it was. She found it deeply offensive that Larry thought that it was inappropriate for her to call him for advice but that it was perfectly fine for him to buy her a gift—after she made it clear that she was not interested in marriage. His sense of male entitlement was grating her nerves.
It seemed that people like Larry made up Islamic rules to suit their own purposes. Would her desire for advice have been “appropriate” if the title imam was inserted before Larry’s name? Were “imams” the only men permitted to advise the opposite sex? And were they the only men whom Muslim women should expect to look out for their wellbeing?
Aliyah watched as Ibrahim unbuckled his seat-belt and climbed out the car. She wondered what type of man her son would become. How would he view women? How would he treat them? Would Ibrahim be one of the magic-wand Muslims, who slapped labels on things and—voila! —right and wrong disappeared, and even Islamic obligations morphed into something else entirely? Would he think like Larry, that a woman shouldn’t call the person she felt was best able to answer her question, but the one whose magic label would protect her from slander and arousing suspicion?
Did Aliyah’s actions—calling the
one person she thought could offer sound advice about her work dilemma—justify her being called a “tease”? Aliyah strived hard to stay away from sin and took very seriously the obligation to guard her chastity. After accepting Islam, she’d never committed zina, and outside the accidental handshake, she’d never even touched a non-mahram man. So it cut deep that anyone would accuse of her moral indiscretion.
After a moment’s hesitation, Aliyah reached into the backseat and retrieved the box, her face hot in offense and mortification that she had inadvertently made Larry think she was immodest.
In the apartment, Aliyah plugged in her mobile phone and walked to the kitchen to prepare lunch for Ibrahim, sadness and regret weighing on her. If it had been wrong to call Larry, she wondered, who should she have called? Was it really better to face a dilemma alone than to call someone of the opposite sex? Or was what she thought of as “magic-wand thinking” merely a reflection of proper Islamic guidelines? Was it true that only men with honorary religious labels could offer advice and assistance to non-mahram women?
After Ibrahim had finished eating and had lain down for a nap, Aliyah picked up the box from the front table and opened it. Inside was a small card and the framed Mark Twain quote that she and Larry had seen in a store months ago.
Never argue with a stupid person. They will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.
She set the framed quote on the front table and lifted the card. The handwritten note said: Forgive me, Aliyah. I have lots of experience being the stupid person, but I don’t want to drag you down with me. I want you to lift me up. And maybe we can lift each other up. Give me a chance. I don’t think you’ll regret it.
His words touched a soft spot in her heart, and for a moment, she considered calling Larry to thank him. She could then tell him, as politely and as straightforward as possible, that she wasn’t ready for a relationship right then. But she stopped herself. If you don’t want to marry him, then don’t call him, she told herself. Not even to tell him you don’t want to marry him. In Aliyah’s mind, it sounded like the stupidest logic. But she accepted that this was how things had to be. She didn’t want to risk having her “thank you” and polite refusal construed as a request for wedding plans—or an invitation for an inappropriate relationship. And she definitely didn’t want Larry thinking she was “playing hard to get.”
“Does every interaction between men and women boil down to sex?” she’d vented to Matt years ago after they attended a lecture where the speaker said that it was inappropriate for a man to “let his wife” record the standard greeting on the home voicemail or answering machine. “Brothers, have some shame!” the lecturer had said. “Do you want men imagining your wife?”
“SubhaanAllah!” Aliyah had exclaimed to Matt in the car. “Who imagines having sex with someone just from hearing her say leave a message after the tone?”
But apparently, Aliyah was in the minority in her belief that it was possible for men and women to interact respectfully without the assumption of sin or the expectation of marriage.
Unless it’s a male colleague during work hours or my uncle Ben, Aliyah told herself with resolve, I’ll never speak to another non-mahram man again, insha’Allah. If an emergency happened and she couldn’t reach her uncle, for the sake of her dignity and saving herself the headache, she was probably better off reaching out to a trusted non-Muslim coworker than a Muslim man. Which meant she’d probably opt for death over asking for help, she thought bitterly. Because no matter how aggravating and confusing Muslim men could be, she didn’t trust non-Muslim men at all.
Aliyah gripped the small card with both hands and hesitated only briefly before ripping it in half. The two torn pieces in hand, Aliyah lifted the Mark Twain frame and walked into the kitchen. At the trashcan, she stepped on the lever to open the lid, and after she released Larry’s gift, there was a soft thud as the frame hit the bottom, the torn pieces falling closely, though more slowly, behind.
Aliyah returned to the front room and unplugged her mobile from the wall charger. She looked at the screen as she walked down the hall toward her room. The voicemail icon was displayed in the corner, indicating that someone had left a message.
“You have three new messages,” the automated voice said as she put the phone on speaker. “First message,” the robotic voice said before giving the time of the call. “As-salaamu’alaikum, Aliyah, this is Mashael,” the message said as Aliyah entered her bedroom and closed the door, still holding the phone. “Can you call me whenever you’re free? I want to get together as soon as possible. Thanks!”
Aliyah pressed a button to delete the message as she made a mental note to call Mashael later that evening or Sunday some time. “Message deleted,” the robotic voice said as Aliyah reached behind her head with her free hand and removed the scarf pin holding her khimaar in place. “Next message,” the robotic voice said as she pulled the now loosened cloth from her head. “So it’s like that?” Larry’s voice said, prompting Aliyah to roll her eyes. “I was just trying to—”
“Message deleted,” the robotic voice said after Aliyah jabbed a finger on the keypad. “Next message,” the voice said. “As-salaamu’alaikum, Aliyah.” Larry sounded more reserved and respectful this time, but Aliyah doubted she had the patience for all this back and forth. Her forefinger pressed the keypad just as she heard, “This is Jacob. I tried to c—”
“Message deleted,” the robotic voice said, sending Aliyah’s heart racing. Jacob? Aliyah thought in confusion. Disoriented, Aliyah jabbed the keypad again. “Message restored,” the robotic voice said.
Aliyah exhaled in relief. She stared at the phone nervously before pressing the keypad to listen to the message. “As-salaamu’alaikum, Aliyah. This is Jacob. I tried calling your uncle Benjamin, but I couldn’t reach him. And a brother told me he’s out of town until next week. But this can’t wait. So if you can, call me back when you get this message. Or I’ll just try back later insha’Allah. Again, I’m sorry for calling you like this. But I need to talk to you about something. As-salaamu’alaikum.”
“Message saved,” the robotic voice said.
Aliyah felt apprehensive anticipation as she pressed the “end call” symbol, her mind swarming with theories of why Jacob had called. Maybe it was about work, she considered. Perhaps Dr. Warren had called Jacob about the concerns she had expressed to Aliyah.
“I tried calling your uncle Benjamin…” Jacob had said.
No, Aliyah concluded. It couldn’t be related to her position at the college. Otherwise, why mention calling her only after he couldn’t reach her uncle?
Unless it’s a male colleague during work hours or my uncle Ben, Aliyah had decided only minutes before, I’ll never speak to another non-mahram man again.
Should she make an exception for Jacob since he was technically a colleague? Or was she merely allowing herself to fall into the same mistake she had with Larry? And the last thing Aliyah wanted was to disrespect Deanna during her most difficult time.
But what if Jacob was calling because he really needed her help for something?
Don’t be silly, Aliyah told herself, drawing on the painful lesson she’d just learned. No man calls a non-mahram woman for anything unless it’s a pretext for having a relationship with her.
Perhaps Aliyah didn’t think of giving advice and helping someone as acceptable only in the context of marriage (or only when the title imam came before a man’s name), but since other Muslims thought of male-female interactions in this way, it was probably better to err on the side of caution lest she send Jacob the wrong message.
But then how would she ever know why he called?
Chapter 18
Soul Talk
“You’re talking about Jacob Bivens,” Salima said, “the math professor?”
“Yes,” Aliyah said hesitantly, holding the cordless phone to her ear as she sat cross-legged on her bed Saturday evening. After listening to Jacob’s voicemail message earlier that day, Aliya
h remained indecisive about calling him back. If he was calling to ask about marriage, she didn’t want to endure an awkward conversation. But what if he was calling about work? He had appointed her to head the internship in his absence, so shouldn’t she call him back if he wanted to discuss that?
“Ukhti.” Salima’s voice was soft as she referred to Aliyah by the endearing term my sister. “If you’re trying to decide on whether or not to marry him, then there are only three things to consider,” Salima said. “Allah, the man, and you.”
“But I don’t know if he’s calling about marriage…” Aliyah said tentatively. “It could be about something else. Like work.”
“And does your uncle work at the college too?” Salima said doubtfully.
“No,” Aliyah said. “But he and Jacob are friends, so Jacob might have wanted my uncle to tell me something about the internship program we’re working on together.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell you directly?”
“Well…” Aliyah was uncomfortable revealing anything about what was happening with Deanna. Thus far, it appeared as though the media hadn’t gotten ahold of the story, and Aliyah didn’t want to be the one to reveal Jacob’s family crisis. She sensed that she could trust Salima, but Aliyah’s general rule was, If it’s someone else’s business, it’s not mine to tell. “…he’s on vacation,” she said finally, “and I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
“Then what’s the dilemma?” Salima said. “Just call him back.”
“The thing is…” Aliyah said, wondering the best way to explain her apprehension. “Remember all those rumors about me and Jacob?”
“Yes…”
“They weren’t completely false.”
“Okay…” Salima said, as if unsure where the conversation was heading.
“He wanted to marry me when we were in college, and Deanna tried to make him marry her instead.” Aliyah hoped she wasn’t confusing Salima. “And then about six months ago, he talked to my uncle about marrying me as a second wife, and Deanna blamed me for it.”