Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 20 - Freedom of the Soul

Just read the author's note at the end, that's all I ask. (:

"So this is what it feels like, I think. To let your soul free." -- Maysa Malik, Confessions

Chapter 20

Freedom of the Soul

☼ Maysa Malik ☼

            “Kids, Eid al-Adha* is coming up next week!” My dad exclaims as he sips his coffee and looks at the lunar calendar hanging on the fridge door.

            This is news to me and Nazia, and evidently our mom as well. “Yahya, what?!” She asks.

            Dad solemnly nods. “It’s in nine days. Today is…Thursday. Eid is next Saturday.”

            Mom is up and running around upon hearing this news. “Oh my God, oh my Allah!” She smacks my father on the arm like a teenager. “Yahya! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?!”

            My dad shoots her a bewildered expression. “Since when am I the harbinger of when Eid is? The calendar has been on the fridge for weeks.”

            Mom continues to bustle about. “Oh, Allah! I thought it was in two weeks! I wanted to have an Eid party at our house! Yahya!”

            She’s obviously in full-on freak-out mode. “Zakariya! Zakariya!” My mother calls. Zak comes down the stairs a couple seconds later.

            “What, ma?” He asks, slightly confused.

            “Eid is in nine days!” She blinks all of a sudden. “Wait a minute, is that a bruise on your face?” Nazia and I stop chewing and exchange startled glances. My blood runs cold as the food in my mouth suddenly tastes like paper. Squeezing my eyes shut and then opening them again, I turn to face Zakariya fully.

            It’s true. The early tinges of the coloring of a bruise are evident on his face. He doesn’t respond to Mom’s question, just stands there. Dad walks up and stands beside Mom. “Son? What happened?”

            My brother’s right hand wraps around the banister so hard that his knuckles turn white. “Uh…” He looks dazed all of a sudden. “It’s nothing.” He swallows loudly. “I just slammed into someone’s open locker today.” He’s lying. It’s so obvious he’s lying. He begins to blush, and that somehow oddly illuminates the bruise even more, calling more attention to it.

            The tension lies so thick in the air, like heavy cement on bricks. I feel like I can’t breathe because of it. Eventually, Dad speaks up, because Mom looks too sick to. “Nazia, Maysa, please go upstairs.” Obediently, like zombies, Nazzy and I head upstairs. I grab her hand as we head up the stairs and drag her into my room. We sit with our backs against the doors, our hands clenched so tight that my muscles begin to ache.

            “What…do you think…happened to him?” Nazia chokes out. Her eyes are glassy and wide. I squeeze her hand tighter.

            “Breathe. It’ll be fine, inshallah. Just breathe.”

            “Mays…why? What happened to him? Did he get into a fight at school? He…he never gets into fights.”

            “I don’t know, baby girl. Just breathe.” I rest my lips on top of Nazia’s head, wishing I didn’t know as much as she did. Ignorance is bliss.