Lovestruck

The melody is so beautiful and I can relate to it so well.  The lights are dim so we can see the movie and I catch myself before I start daydreaming again.  It's as if the words are written just to describe my own feelings.

Late at night when all the world is sleeping.
I stay up and think of you.
And I wish on a star, that somewhere you are, thinking of me too.
Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight...

Wonder if you even see me 
And I wonder if you know I'm there.
If you looked in my eyes
Would you see what's inside?
Would you even care?

My gaze wavers towards Tariq, slouched in his chair and watching the movie like it's the most boring thing in the world.  He is wearing a long sleeve navy colored fleece, the collars sitting comfortably on his shoulders.  He doesn't seem to notice me, except for the occasional moments when our eyes meet during class or in the hallway.  Even then, it's only a polite nod of the head.

I had expressed the slight pang of disappointment to Farah and Anum when Laila was not around.  I am annoyed, much more exhausted actually, by her teasing and taunting.

"Well, that's the whole point of hijab.  He's not gonna start chatting with you or go out with you suddenly.  He respects you," Farah had explained the obvious.  Even though I know this is the truth, I don't like to hear it.  Anum's words had appealed to me more.

"He's not a mind reader and until you don't make it seem like you want his attention, he's not going to."

The words float in my mind again while Salena continues to sing in the movie.  Spanish class is suddenly now my favorite, the one which I look forward to the most.  This is despite the fact that Senora Gonzales is a hard-core Columbian who tries to spew as much information as she can from her mouth in the fifty minutes of class.  For once, she allows us to take a break from conjugating verbs and watch a movie, though she makes sure it is entirely in Spanish.

Except for the song, of course.

The class ends and I linger in my seat, waiting to get up until Tariq does.  It's no use though; I'm too nervous to initiate a conversation on my own.  If he did, I wouldn't mind continuing it.

At home, I feel melancholy.  Humza is having fun at a basketball game while I mull over trig problems.  I suddenly freeze at the computer several hours later when I check my email.

Tariq Malik wants to be friends with you on Facebook.

My heart hammers though he's not even anywhere near me.  But the thought--the realization that he initiated this.  He wants to be friends with me, even in cyberspace, means that he had noticed me.

My fingers tap the mouse nervously as I wait for the page to load.  In a matter of seconds, I'm browsing through his profile pictures. In some, he doesn't look so nice but in a few, he looks attractive.  He's not exactly a hunk that I am swooning over.  But he has that genuine sweet look to his face, and I already know from my previous encounter that his personality matches that look.  I hesitate for only a moment before I accept his request.

There's nothing wrong with this, I think to myself.  Why amI defending this simple act anyway?  I don't write on his wall because I don't want to sound so desperate.  Maybe he'll drop a line soon.

When he doesn't, I get impatient.  But fortunately, Ammi calls me to the kitchen for dinner and my mind steers away from him.

The next day, I'm eager to see him.  But in my bedroom mirror, I can't stand the sight of that pimple on my left cheek.  I dig my fingernails into it to squeeze out the pus and carefully apply foundation to cover it.  It stings a little but it's well concealed, and that's all that matters.  The birds seem to be chirping loudly during my usual trek to school.

But,he doesn't wave, much less talk to me.  By lunchtime, I'm so irritated by myself that I want to disappear into a corner and hate myself for thinking he likes me too.

Laila makes a joke over something, but I don't laugh.  I just stare at my turkey sandwich like it's the most interesting thing in the lunchroom.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Laila pokes me in the ribs.  I jerk a little backwards at the sudden contact, tilting my head away.  In my peripheral view, I see him standing by the entrance of the cafeteria.  I let out a deep breath and mumble something in response to Laila, looking down at my sandwich again.

My friends are chattering about something but I'm not paying attention.  Why did he have to choose that very spot to stand with his friend?  No, it couldn't be because he actually--

"Are you listening?" I hear Laila again.  Maybe I really do need to disappear into a library corner so I can be left alone.

"Go talk to him.  T-A-L-K."  I look up at Anum and she gives me an encouraging nod.  My eyes look towards the seat that Farah usually occupies, but she's not here today to give me any input.  Darn that root canal for taking her away from me.

I stand up without a word, shoving my uneaten sandwich back into my backpack.  I try to make it as natural as possible--to exit the cafeteria and brush right past him enough for him to acknowledge me.

"Hey Iman."

I can't help but smile.  It's like magic.  I love the way my name sounds when he says it.

Crap. This is really bad.  Why am I thinking like this suddenly?

"Hey Tariq," I reply casually, not giving away the rapid thump of my heart beat.

"Chase any buses lately?" he asks me and I stare at him in confusion.

"What?" I stammer.

"Oh, sorry.  Now I'm gonna sound like a stalker.  But I saw you running after the bus that one day after school."

I swallow, remembering the day Abu told me to meet him at his office instead of going home.  He needed some help and he didn't have the time to come pick me up.

"Uh, yeah," I say sheepishly.  "I don't usually do that."  But he had noticed?  Well, duh, you can pretty much tell a hijabi running after a bus in broad daylight.  But still.  Gaaah.  I need to stop having this crazy internal conversation in my head and instead pay attention to him.

We end up walking together towards the stairwell.  Suddenly, I'm caught in the fear that he has discovered I am the creator of that ridiculous valentine card.  My cheeks feel hot but he's talking so casually that I stop thinking about it.

He's talking about some football game.  I should know this.  I like sports.  But I can't come up with anything clever to say so I just nod and agree.

And before I realize it, we're separated and we head off separately towards our class.  Is this how it is?  Talking only when the time and situation allows for it?  School is an inconvenient place, interrupting conversations with discrete appointments to head to one class or another.  But school is, after all, the only place where I can see Tariq five days out of seven.  So I couldn't put much blame on it.

Walking home, I see a bus drive past me and I find myself smiling.  So he had humor also.  Only made things better.

Facebook alerts me that Tariq's birthday is in three days.  Oh great.  Now what?

The idea of getting him a gift is nonsensical.  It would definitely show my desperation, which I really need to work on by the way.  But it feels wrong to only wish him a birthday verbally and not accompany it with anything else.  Even if we aren't exactly friends, I feel like it's heading that way.

Two days later, I head to the kitchen, remembering the day Tariq came over.  My friends say that my crusty white chocolate chip cookies are the best.  And so, with the spare ingredients in the cupboard, I set to baking a batch.

I'm already imagining the scene where I hand it to him, but I stop myself from daydreaming again.  Ammi is already upset with me for not listening to her while she narrates some story she heard from work.  Besides, I don't want her to get suspicious.  I don't know how true it is, but some mothers can readily tell when their son or daughter "is in love."

Which I'm not, of course.  Right?  Love is an arbitrary word.

Anyway, the idea of giving him a card seems a little feminine.  So I make do with the cookies, which I've wrapped in plastic.  Of course I take some out for my friends before they start punching me for forgetting about them.

But I don't know how to do it.  I can't just go up to him and hand it over to him like that, especially when he's surrounded by six other guys.

There are ten  minutes left of my lunch period and the bag is still sitting in my backpack.  Anum is busily texting someone on her iPhone and I wish she would stop.  Farah looks miserable with the pain in her mouth.  Laila is busy studying for some test in the library.

Suddenly, I hear his casual laugh and it's very close by.  I don't turn around though, despite my natural urge to do so.  Anum looks up from her phone and waves at Tariq.  I envy her for it, but I don't have time to contemplate.

Suddenly, Tariq is swinging his long legs over the bench and sitting next to me.  Sitting right next to me.  I feel frozen in space and all I can do is shift my eyes nervously from Farah and Anum.  Farah looks super confused.  We don't usually have company from the guys.  But Anum is a natural at this and starts chatting away with Tariq.

I take my time to get a sideway glance at him.  He's wearing navy again.  God, that must be his favorite color.  At least he looks really good in it.

"What kind of cookie is that?" I hear him ask, but the question isn't targeted to me.  It's toward Farah, who's biting away at my last cookie.  She looks a little annoyed but Anum responds for her.

"It's Iman's specialty. Crusty cookies with white chocolate chips and raisins."

I glare at her for drawing the attention to me but I quickly remove the expression as Tariq turns his head towards me.  God, he's so close--less than an arm's length away.  If I shifted slightly, our shoulders would be grazing.

"So you bake too?" he asks.  What is this?  Is he making a mental note of all my capabilities?

"Yeah," I reply.  And then something triggers me to pull the plastic bag from my backpack and slide it on the table in front of him.  "Knock your socks off."  Okay, maybe that is a dumb way to say it, but he's laughing and already opening up the plastic.

"Damn.  These are good," he replies, already on his second cookie.  I don't think my smile can get any wider and I just want to hug Anum desperately for giving me this chance.  But she's already standing up to leave and nudging Farah to do so also.  And then I realize what she's up to.

She wants Tariq and me to have some time alone.  But the idea makes my heart churn.  We're not alone obviously, we're in the middle of a cafeteria.  But still, at the lunch table, we are our own pair.

There's an awkward silence before he starts talking again.  I'm paying attention to the sound of it.  His voice has a pleasant ring, a cheerful tone.

"How's your little brother doing?" he asks.

"Humza?" I ask idiotically.  Where did he fit in the picture?  "Oh, he's the same.  Being the spoiled brat that he is."

He's smiling and I remember that he can relate to.  "Is yours still nagging for chocolate all the time?" I ask.

He shakes his head.  "No, surprisingly not.  He's all about the newest video game now and those things aren't a dollar like chocolate is."

I agree, telling him what it's like to have a father who is frugal beyond belief, but it's what has helped us to finally pay our mortgage.  He tells me that my father is pretty funny, recalling the time they spend together during the blizzard.

We continue the conversation until the bell rings.  It always had to ring at the wrong time. He walks me to class and I feel like I'm floating in the air.

That night, I fall asleep with the conversation playing over and over again in my head.  I sigh at the beauty of it all and only wish for tomorrow again because it holds another opportunity--another chance to see him and talk to him. 

In the darkness, I find my voice softly humming the melody again, rocking me gently to sleep.

Crushed!

I swallow, staring at the tiny bottle of silver glitter and the pink sheet of paper.  I wish I was six years old again and it was perfectly fine to write out Valentines for all my classmates.  The princess ones for the girls and the superhero ones for the boys.

"Oh, just do it already," Anum says in a bored way.  She taps her foot impatiently while I swirl a marker in my hand.

"Don't," Farah disagrees.  "He'll find out."

My eyes widen in worry. There is no way I want him to find out.  It would be so embarrassing!

"Silly, he's not going to find out," Laila chimes in.  It was her idea in the first place, so of course she would say that.      

"You can just write a friendly message instead of a romantic one," the girl sitting at the table encourages me.  The sale is a fundraiser for some cancer group.  It seems like a good cause and I finally make my decision.  I write with my left hand to disguise my writing, but it appears to be so illegible that I switch back to my right hand.

Dear Tariq,

I won't start by saying that roses are red, or that violets are blue, because you already know that (besides, I think violets are actually violet, not blue).  What you don't know is that I really care a lot about you.  I like the way you smile and your ever so sweet personality.  I'm not sure when this started happening, but I secretly like you, and hope that one day you'll notice me too.


Your Secret Admirer 


After about five minutes of having the correct wording, I decorate the card, jot down Tariq's full name and hand it to the girl.  I slip in a five dollar bill along with it and hope that someone recovers from cancer.

My body feels all tingly and warm and I'm dying to see the expression on his face when he opens it.  But I will not be able to because he's not in my homeroom.

"Here's what we'll do.  Text me and we can ask both our homeroom teachers for a bathroom break.  I think Tariq's in Room 306 and we can sneak up there to see what he thinks.

"No way," I refuse immediately.  "Could we make it any more obvious?"

"Hey, you're the one who wants to see his reaction."


"Yeah, but I'm not gonna risk have him see me peeking at him like an idiot. No way."


I tune out Laila and reminisce the time last week when I had realized that Tariq was on the footsteps of my home, standing adjacent to my father.


"Let's go inside," Abu had said when Tariq and I were staring at each other in surprise.  His skin appeared to be all red from the cold.  I had quickly looked away out of embarrassment; I didn't want Abu to think I had no manners.


I walked into the house first, unsure of what else to do or say in front of Tariq and my father.  I went straight into the kitchen, just in time to catch Humza red-handed.


"Hey!" I yelled at him.  He wiped the crumbs on his mouth with the back of his hand and gave me a wide smile.


"It's delicious, Baji," he complimented me, but I wasn't satisfied.  I was actually very nervous.  I couldn't seem to make up mind about whether I should tell my family that Tariq and I knew each other from school, or continue pretending like we didn't.

Ammi forgot about the fight before Abu had left and took great care of Tariq.  I stayed out of the way.  Tariq refused to eat dinner with us and kept calling someone.  He seemed uncomfortable to be staying over at our house, and if things didn't work out, he would have to sleep over.

"Don't you worry, beta.  We have plenty of room.  The roads are completely blocked," Abu comforted Tariq.  Abu loved helping other people, even if it was his friend's relative's son.

"You're so nice, Uncle.  I'm so sorry about all of this," Tariq said.  I sneaked a look at him and I felt touched at how he was so mature in his behavior towards my parents.

"No apology," Ammi insisted, though I knew she was still a little annoyed. 

When Tariq accompanied Abu outside to help him shovel, my respect for him grew even more.  He was such a gentleman!

Ammi fixed dinner for us and I wondered if Tariq would sit down to eat with us.

"I'll have him eat in the room so he doesn't feel embarrassed in front of us," Ammi answered, reading my mind.  I wanted to disagree but I didn't want Ammi to feel suspicious. 

We had a spare guest room and that was where Ammi made Tariq's bed.  I couldn't describe how I was feeling.  Tariq sleeping over at my house?  How unimaginable!

We hadn't exchanged a single word since he arrived, nor had I removed my hijab.  I felt envious when Humza talked to him and I too wanted to join them in their Wii game.  But, I couldn't do that in front of my parents.

At eleven at night, when everyone seemed to be sleeping, I went to the kitchen and observed the scene outside our window.  It was pitch dark outside, but I could distinguish the hills of snow caved towards our fences and the narrow path that Abu had shoveled. 

I turned around when I heard a sound and found myself face to face with Tariq.  I opened my mouth to speak but couldn't.  He looked so fair in the dim light of the kitchen, his black hair contrasting his skin.  His eyes were warm and as I continued to observe him, I felt an uneasy feeling settle in my stomach.

"Sorry, Iman.  Could I get a glass of water?" he asked politely.  I stood awkwardly for a second before I registered his words and then I quickly grabbed a glass from the cabinet to give him water.  When he took it from me, our hands brushed ever so slightly.  I glanced nervously towards the hallway and hoped that both my parents were in deep sleep.

"What a small world huh?" I managed to say to Tariq.  He drank the water in a long sip and licked his lips.  He handed me the glass back and gave me a smile. 

"I was so stupid to go out.  I didn't believe everyone.  We've never had this much snow before." 

I nodded, looking at his dark blue jeans and wondered if he would be comfortable in sleeping in them.  "Do you...um, need pajamas or something?  I could give you Humza's even though they would be small for you."

He laughed softly and shook his head.  "No, no I'll be fine really.  Your family is awesome, man."

Did he think I was awesome too?  I wanted to keep talking to him but I knew it wasn't right.  My parents were doing him a favor to keep him here for the night, not so that their daughter could secretly converse with him.

I said goodnight to him and slipped under my warm blanket.  It took me very long to fall asleep that night.  I replayed the conversation over and over again in my head.  He was so near, just two rooms away, and yet we were so far.

He left immediately in the morning, before I even woke up.  We didn't have school in the morning either, so I couldn't look forward to seeing him there either.

At school, Tariq was more open and thanked me for my family's hospitality.  I liked the way he looked in the dark gray sweatshirt.

When Laila saw the both of us talking to each other, her eyes grew in excitement.  She couldn't believe Tariq had slept over.

"Iman, do you like him?" Anum had asked me later that day. 

I took my time to reply to the question.  I already knew the answer and it would be a lie if I said otherwise.  So, very shyly, I smiled and nodded, only  to hear a shriek of giggles from Laila.  I rolled my eyes at her and I too felt excited.  This was a new feeling and it felt terrific.

And here I was today, a Valentine already on its way.  Would Tariq find out it was me?  I certainly didn't hope so. I liked liking him secretly because that's all that I could do.  This was just another crush. 

And I knew that before the beginning of anything, I would have to somehow get rid of it, before it ended up crushing me.

Caught in a Blizzard

I'm laughing and I'm not sure why.  Well, some people laugh out of nervousness or embarrassment so I guess that makes sense.  But, I'm also lying on the sidewalk on a burning sheet of ice in a whirlwind of a blizzard and with hills of snow emanating around me.  My feet had flung upwards and had come back down so quickly that it all seems pretty funny...until I sense the pain creeping up in my left hand.

Maybe I twisted it when I fell, but it doesn't matter because I need to get this snow shoveled out of the way before we are completely trapped within our own home.

"Humza!" I yell at my brother, a dark gray figure several feet away. He huffs forward, the layered clothing making it difficult for him to move swiftly.

"Get me up," I command him, stretching out my arm.  He takes my mitten and pulls me up to my feet again.  I rub my hand, but the cold has made me numb again.

"I can't do this anymore," Humza sighs, kneeling on the shovel.  I remove speckles of snow that have gathered on my face with the sleeve of my coat.

"It hasn't even been ten minutes," I tell him.  "Abu has been shoveling for two hours straight."

"But he also told us not to step out," Humza pouts.  I roll my eyes at his immaturity.  Of course Abu wouldn't want us to go through that trouble, but he couldn't be the only one out in the blizzard.

"We'll make a giant snowman," I cheer him, encouraging him to keep going.  The snow had not yet subsided and I had no idea when Abu would wake up again.  He had fell asleep in an exhausted state, warning us to stay inside.

Ten minutes later, my entire face has gone numb and I feel the hairs within my nose freeze.  "Still wanna make that snowman?" I ask Humza.

"No freaking way," he replies, trudging towards our front door.  It takes the both of us to get it open fully.

"I've got green tea for both of you," Ammi greets us inside.  I'm not a huge fan of green tea, but I grab the warm cup as soon as I see it.  The liquid soothes me as it passes down my throat.

I take off my black and gray mittens and examine my wrist.  It is all red and as my body adjusts to the warmth, I feel less numb and more pain.

"You got hurt?" Ammi asks, eying me. 

"I fell.  Is there ice?" I ask.

My skin seems to flare up in fire once the ice makes contact with it, but it feels better after a couple minutes.

"Ahmed is stuck at work," Ammi informs me.

"Why in the world would he go to work when he knew there was going to be a blizzard?"  I ask, shaking my head.  Mariyam's brother could be very idiotic sometimes.

"Apparently he had to," Ammi replies, stirring something in a pot.  She has a stack of candles and matches ready in one cabinet in case the light goes out.

"Lake Shore Drive is completely blocked," Humza announces from the living room.  Ammi and I join him to watch the television news.  It seems like a nightmare, but I think it would be pretty cool to get stranded in the middle of the day in a blizzard.  It seemed better than getting stuck at work.

Abu wakes up, red-eyed, heading towards the door.  I hope he doesn't bump into anything; it appears like he's sleepwalking and focused on the single task of shoveling.


"They've already shoveled for now," Ammi stops him and he seems to awaken.  He messes up mine and Humza's hair in an expression of gratitude.

"Abu! You ruined my hair!" I tease, trying to pat it down again.  It's frizzy again, but that probably has to do with the extensive amount of heat warming us inside the house.

I really should use this free day to catch up on homework but I'm too lazy.  Besides, I don't think I've ever had a snow day.  We were always obligated to attend school, even if it was below zero.  It wasn't like Georgia or Florida, where only five inches snow resulted in immediate closing of schools.

"Come on Skype," I text Anum, but she does not respond.  Laila is busy shoveling snow around her driveway.

Humza starts up his new Wii, which he got for his birthday last week.  I made sure to hint to my parents that they better get me an equally expensive gift for my birthday or else I would accuse them of favoritism.  Not that I haven't on previous occasions, but still.

"Let's play tennis," I suggest.

"No I want to play basketball," he retorts.

"Fine," I stick my tongue out at him and leave to join Ammi in the kitchen.  I feel bored to death, isolated at home.  I grab a brownie mix from the cupboard and decide to make some and not share any with Humza.

"Where is he?" I hear Abu in the hallway, his voice calm as he talks with someone over the phone.  Apparently, someone was very stressed on the other line.

"Give me his cell number.  I'll talk to him.  There's a Walgreens just two minutes from my house."

"What happened?" Ammi ask Abu after he hangs up, but he is focused on dialing a number.

"This boy is an idiot.  He goes out into the blizzard to buy medicine for his father and gets stuck at the store."

I shrug my shoulders, placing the brownies in the oven and text Anum again.  As long as no one is dying, no one should be complaining, right?

At the hospital.  Talk 2 u later.  Anum scares me with this text.

Omg what happened? U ok?  

Sarah fell. Not a big deal  I examine my wrist and wonder if I should be in the Emergency Room also.  Probably not.  I can't stand hospitals.

Ammi calls to check up on my grandma across the street and our neighbors.  The brownies look done but I want them a little more crisp.

"You're going to walk out there?" I hear Ammi yell at Abu a while later.

"He's stuck in there and the father's dying of worry," Abu explains.

"He's not five.  And are other peoples' kids more important than your own family?  My mother's sidewalks are still full of snow!"  Ammi is exasperated and I'm not sure who to side with. 

"Iman and Humza can do that," Abu suggests and I suddenly sense the cramping in my arms. 

"No.  Next time, just don't even ask me anything.  Do whatever you do.  Just go.  Leave," Ammi sighs in defeat.

"How can you stop me from helping someone?" it's Abu's turn to yell.  I step into their room while Abu walks out and he shakes his head at me.  Ammi mutters something under her breath, folding the dried laundry.

Humza's too busy playing so I wrap myself up in a hijab, two hoodies, and a coat.  The worst of the storm seems to be over but it has left a monstrous amount of snow behind.  Cars on our street are buried in white, only small spots of color peeking out.  A lot of people are outside and some have even placed chairs to designate their cleared parking spots.

"You making your parents proud?" Mr. Willamson calls out to me.  He lives two houses down from us.

I smile at him though I doubt he can see that close up.  "It's a nice workout," I reply and ask him about his family.

About twenty minutes later, I feel satisfied internally, but my entire body is sore.  I cross the street to head towards my own house, careful to avoid large piles of snow.


I see two figures walking towards me.  One is clearly Abu, with the navy blue winter hat.  But the other figure, I can't seem to decipher, although it is obvious it is the boy Abu "rescued."


Closer up, Abu is panting and I grab the spare shovel he has in his hand to relieve him.  But I stop mid-step as I see who he is with.


His eyes widen in recognition at the same time mine does.

"Tariq?" I ask doubtfully.

Contemplating Theories

I am feeling irritated to wake up so early this week after two weeks of vacation, but I console myself by picking a nice outfit to wear.

I decide on a lavender top with a large black flower stitched on the side for Monday.  It would look fantastic with a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, but Ammi will not let me leave the house with those on.  She says it's like I've painted them on me, but I beg to differ.

Anyhow, I choose a pair of black casual pants.  I hope it doesn't look like I am dressed for an interview or that I am super excited for school.  At least I'm not like some girls who come dressed to school all dolled up, with their hair and make-up done. 

The wind whips against me, freshly grazing my cheeks as I trek toward school, literally my second home. Though it feels disappointing to even call a school a home, it is where I spent seven hours, at the least, daily.  Sometimes it feels like a reformatory, but today I'm eager to step inside the old brick building.  My body craves for warmth as a sudden gush of cold wind slices my face. 

“Ah,” I groan to myself, quickening my pace but being careful not to slip on the slippery surface. 

If only I was in Florida right now rather than having to suffer the rough Chicago winter.  Then again, Florida would be a little too hot for me considering my attire.  The blazing Chicago summers do get irritating when it hits the nineties.  Maybe I just need a place where it is fifty degrees all year round.

The students in my class appear to be as groggy and sleepy as I am, but the teachers don't and are ready as ever to pull us back in the swing of work.  

"Mr. Ali, you know very well that I do not allow students to wear hats in my class. Please take it off," is the first thing I hear Senorita Gonzales say as I enter my Spanish class.

My eyes move toward Tariq, just like everyone else in the class.  We are seated in assigned groups of four, and he sits diagonally across from me at another table.  He bites his lip and very slowly, removes the blue Chicago Cubs cap from his head.

My mouth slowly opens but then closes on its own accord.  I hear a few snickers in the class, and I sympathize Tariq.  His head is completely bare and I wonder if someone has forced him to shave the hair off. 

Ten minutes later, I come to a terrible conclusion.  What if Tariq has cancer and his hair loss is a result of none other than chemotherapy?  I shudder at the thought and pray silently that it is something else.  A while later, after attempting to conjugate some verbs, I reach another theory.  Maybe Tariq had gone for Umrah during winter break and had shaved his head as it is customary to do so during the pilgrimage.  I hope that the latter of the two theories are true.

I cannot find out, however, because it feels awkward to approach Tariq and interrogate him about it.  I feel bad that I will embarrass him by asking and we aren't best buddies either.

During lunch, I tell Laila all about it.  Her eyes widen in shock and she takes a look at Tariq waiting in the cafeteria line ahead of us, but the blue cap is on again.

"Maybe he's just going through a phase," she suggests, but I tell her my own theories.

"No way Iman! He can't have cancer! We would have all known by now.  Don't you remember that Grayson girl, what was her name?  Anyway, the whole school found out she had cancer and was going through chemo."

She has a good point.  News spread quite quickly and before long, we would know the story behind Tariq's bald head.

Anum and Farah talk about their trips to Pakistan and Texas and I lament at the fact that I couldn't travel beyond Aurora.  But they have both been thoughtful to bring along gifts for all of us.

Anum gives me a pair of Shalwar Kameez, tailored to my size.  It's a beige and blue pattern that is simple but pretty.  Farah gives me a Texas keychain and magnet.

In art class, the cap doesn't come off because Mr. Hesser is a highly artistic individual in addition to being liberal.  He promotes freedom of expression and likes change.  Laila is stumped because she still hasn't seen Tariq without the cap.

Our new unit in class is sketching, which I am undeniably terrible at.  Mr. Hesser asks each of us to sketch a picture of a cube that is displayed by the overhead projector.  It's tedious and boring, but Laila is there to entertain me as I attempt to replicate the image onto my sketchpad.

"Next class, I'll be taking a picture of each of you once I set up a small photo booth.  Then, your unit final will be to create a sketch of yourself, specifically your face," Mr. Hesser announces.

I look at Laila and raise my eyebrows in worry. If I can't sketch a simple cube, how could I ever sketch myself?  She shakes her head and my shoulders slump.  Then, I realize that I don't have to.  I never draw human faces, and why should this be an exception?

I would have to talk to Mr. Hesser about it, and I'm pretty sure he would understand.  But, I don't get a chance because Laila is bold enough to drag me towards Tariq at the end of class.

"Hi Tariq," I greet him, while internally, I feel like punching Laila in the face.  He looks a little surprised, and I think a little embarrassed, as he recognizes us standing there by him.  He gives me a small nod.

"Tariq, what happened to your hair?" Laila asks and my mouth opens in shock.  Why is she asking him that?

To my horror, Tariq looks at me and I hate myself for telling Laila anything about him in the first place.  I quickly look away and grab Laila's elbow.

"Well, you know my brother," he began, and he looks at me while he talks.  I do?  Oh right, I saw his brother at Jewel.

"He...uh...it's embarrassing, but he was experimenting and he mixed my sister's hair-removing cream into my shampoo bottle."

I clap my hand over my mouth in utter surprise but Laila is laughing.  Tariq gives a small smile and I like the way he looks when he does so. 

"I'm so sorry, Tariq," I muster.  "Stop laughing!" I scold Laila.  Humza is nothing compared to Tariq's brother.  Wow, kids can be a nightmare.

"Well, did-he-get-punished?" Laila asks, in between giggles.

Tariq shrugs.  "I punched him here and there and he's grounded, but I guess it ends there.  He has ADD so we have to be a little lenient." 

I really can't tell whether Tariq is being serious or sarcastic.  But, it's time to leave because we now have the information we were looking for.

"Bye, Tariq," Laila says as I edge her away from him. 

"Laila, you shouldn't have laughed. It's so rude."

"We didn't tell him the best part though."

"What?" I asked, confused now.

"That you thought he had cancer."

"Laila, you better not even think about telling him," I hissed. 

At home, I seal my lips and do not tell anyone about the crazy story, even when Abu asks me how school was.  I certainly do not want to give Humza any ideas, in case we start fighting again.

TGIF.  Thank God It's Friday (well, tomorrow, that is).  I can finally catch up on some sleep again.

Beware of little monsters!

American Muslim Girl

Craze

"All I want for Christmas is youuuuu," the lady sings from the speakers above while I steer the grocery cart.  I want to stop and put back my purple ear muffs on to block out the sound.  But, Humza keeps making fun of the fact that I'm wearing it over my hijab and I've become self-conscious about how I look.

It's not that I don't like Christmas music.  It's just that I am so tired of hearing it everywhere.  For God's sake, this very song was playing even at the Indian restaurant we dined out at last week.  Sparking green and white Christmas trees are just about everywhere, from the doctor's office to my aunt's house.  (She considers herself too American to not have at least a Christmas tree).  There are two neighbors on my street that seem to be in a competition for the award of "Most Random and Overdone X-Mas Decorations."  Who sells a reindeer flashing five different colors anyway?

That's what you get for living in a Western country where just about everyone, Christian or not, celebrate Christmas.  But, it makes me wonder what it's like during Eid or Ramadan in a Muslim country.

"It's amazing," Ammi tells me.  "There's so much joy and excitement.  All the women gather together to make a lot of food.  We buy new dresses and bangles.  You walk out and you can't help but greet someone and tell them to have a great Eid or Ramadan."

Hmm...if I wear to walk out of my house during Eid and tell someone Eid Mubarak, they would probably think something is wrong with me.  Not that I would do that, obviously, unless if I was sure it was a Muslim.

Anyhow, it still seems like we're celebrating, because we have a party to go to on the 25th.  Except the occasion is a baby shower.

I feel that day by day, our family is expanding infinitely.  There about three female relatives currently pregnant and many more relatives immigrating here to live the American dream (only to realize within a month that money, in fact, does not grow on trees, the economy is downright terrible, and the winters are freakishly harsh).

Abu jokes that the total number of family guests we will be obligated to invite by the time I get married will be close to a thousand.  I tell him it will probably be much more than that, because I'm not planning on marriage anytime soon.

"Iman, get some romaine lettuce and put it in a bag will you?" Ammi asks me. 

"Sure," I reply. By the way, have you noticed how outrageously expensive healthy food is?  Ammi would love to buy all things organic, but Abu would freak out if she did. 

"You can be cheap about everything, but not food," is Ammi's argument.  Add the shopping for clothes part, and I completely agree with her.

While I'm placing the bagged lettuce in the cart,  I notice a familiar guy in my peripheral view.  I turn around, curious.

"I've already gotten the Snickers for you. Let's go now," I hear a familiar voice.  His head is covered with a black hood, but as soon as he turns his head, I recognize him.  Our eyes meet, and I smile a little.

"Hey, Iman," he calls out.  Before replying, I look around me to see where Ammi and Humza are.  They don't seem to be in sight.

"Hi, Tariq," I reply.  Or should I be saying salaam to him?  If it was a Muslim girl, I wouldn't have even thought about it.  I would have just said salaam.  Next to him, his younger brother resembles him closely, with a dark pile of hair and high cheekbones.

We are in the same Spanish and Art classes but he had never really said hi to me before.  He knows I don't purposely communicate with Muslim guys, and I guess he respects that.

But why now? Being the girl that I am, it is only natural for me to analyze and decipher the most minor of things, especially when it concerns the opposite gender.  I am hoping he leaves before Ammi comes though, because then it could just lead to another misunderstanding.

"Enjoying break?" he asks, while his brother tugs at his sleeve.  It makes me wonder, how can some guys be warm in just a hoodie or a sweatshirt when it's fifteen degrees?

"Uh...yea," I decide.  "Is that your brother?" I ask, knowing the answer already.

"Yea, he's a chocolate addict, I swear," he replies.  I laugh and he smiles, but his brother whines angrily.  I guess I am not the only one with an annoying and spoiled young brother.

"I gotta go before he throws a tantrum. I'll see you at school then," Tariq says to me, and I nod a goodbye to him. 

Lather that evening, Laila is over at my house to see Eclipse.  She has seen it two times in the theater already and owns it on DVD, but is appalled by the fact that I have not seen it yet.  Hence, she's forcing me to watch it with her.  It's only us tonight because Anum and Farah are both out of town.  Lucky them.

An hour into the movie, I can't help but notice that there are way too many kissing scenes. 

"Laila, you watched this movie how many times?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

"Ah, I lost count," she replies.  "But, it's soooo good!"

"Yea, but it would be much better if someone wasn't kissing every other minute," I said.

"That's the best part!" she exclaimed excitedly.  "Wait till the part where Jacob and Bella finally kiss!"

I roll my eyes.  She's pulling me into her love craze now.  "I saw Tariq today," I tell her.

She hits pause on the remote and sits up straight, her large eyes widening.  "No way!  Tell me all about it." 

One thing I have learned about Laila is that she gets excited about everything, even the most minor of things.  So I should have expected this, and yet I was surprised by her reaction.

"Tell you what?" I ask her, confused.  "I just saw him at Jewel Osco."

"Oh," she said, her shoulders sagging a little, deciding it wasn't as exciting as she thought it was.  "But he must have talked to you!" she predicted, waiting for me to explain.

"Yea," I reply slowly, "but it was just a hi."

"Aw that's so cute!  Man, you two would look so good together.  I can just imagine--"

"Laila!" I interrupt.  Now, I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable.  "I didn't mean it that way.  I was just saying casually that I saw him.  I don't...you know...like him or anything."

"Yea right you don't," she refutes, her eyes twinkling.  I roll my eyes, shaking my head.  "Iman, have you seen him?  He's so adorable!"

I reserve that word for little kids, not necessarily for someone like Tariq.  "I thought you were crazy about Asad.  Now it's Tariq's turn?" I ask.

"No, no.  I mean for you, he's so cute.  And this is so perfect.  He's even in our art class!"

"Laila," I grab her by the shoulders.  "Really, stop it now.  These movies are getting to you.  Don't think of any crazy plans."

"You're no fun Iman," she pouts her mouth. 

"How about a pillow fight then?" I ask, grabbing one from behind me.  She shrieks as I throw it towards her.  And that's how I stop her from talking about boys.   

Later at night, I think about Laila's words. Now that I think about it, Tariq isn't so bad looking.  But then again, I can hardly remember how he looks like, and it won't be another two weeks before I see him at school.  Maybe Laila was exaggerating again.

For now, I have to focus on enjoying vacation.  Even if I have to listen to Christmas songs, at least I will be able to sleep late and not worry about tons of homework. Hurray!

Happy vacation (and for those of you who don't have that privilege, I sincerely apologize),
American Muslim Girl