Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 22 - The Benching of Malik Massacre and Magical Masjids

“And why should we not rely upon Allah while He has guided us to our [good] ways. And we will surely be patient against whatever harm you should cause us. And upon Allah let those who would rely [indeed] rely."

I suck in my breath as those words echo in my head. Seriously, why don’t I put more faith in Allah? I’m always thinking about the people that left me, the people that hurt me. Why have I never at any point, sat down and attempted to connect with Allah, the one who has blessed me with so many things, even though he has taken so many away?

I shake my head at myself. Great going, Maysa. I sigh. You’re really in a spiritual rut, aren’t you? Yeah, I kind of am. I manage to make namaz almost all the time but besides that, I feel like my iman could be stronger.

As I gently set the Quran down, I collect my thoughts and head downstairs, where Mom is up and packing me lunch. “Salaam, Maysa.” I smile and kiss her on the cheek.

“Mommy, do we have any hot chocolate?”

“In the pantry, habibti.” I nod and attack the pantry in a quest to make the God-sent heavenly drink.

The rhythm of footsteps interrupts the comfortable silence that settles in between Mom and I. “Salam.” Zak mumbles. He swings open the door, searching furiously for something in the fridge. Even as he stands doing one thing – looking for whatever in the fridge – his body is moving rapidly as his feet tap in a desperate rhythm.

“Zakariya, are you staying after school today?” Zakariya’s face clouds when Mom asks him that question.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an acceptable answer. Are you, or are you not? And for what?”

“I seriously don’t know, Mom. Trust m-” His voice has an edge to it.

“Zakariya Malik.” Her voice is calm. “Until you decide to be more open with us, don’t tell me to trust me after giving me vague answers, understood?”

“Nothing’s going on, Ma.” Zak’s voice is quiet, but he won’t focus his pained eyes on either of us.

The tension once again sets in like stubborn humidity on a hot summer day. When my phone blares, I almost have a heart attack as I fumble to shut it off.

Yo Mays! I heard the awesomest math pickup line yesterday…about derivates. Wanna hear it?

 

            I smile fondly as I look down at the one boy’s message that lights up my screen…and my heart.

☮    ☮    ☮

            “So what is one rhetorical strategy that Talbot used in his essay to evoke pathos?” Mr. Kennedy paces back and forth as the class sits in silence, no one fully awake. Liana and Brittany, the two giggly girls that sit next to me, fuss with their hair every time Mr. Kennedy approaches our side of the room.

            “Liana?” He calls on her, and coincidentally, at that time, Liana seems to have something in her eye because she keeps opening and closing them quickly. Oh wait, no. She’s fluttering her eyelashes. Good God. Have some decency, people. I know that Mr. Kennedy is young and ok, reasonably attractive for his age, but must girls give up their dignity to flirt with him?

            “Um…by providing that story about…the people?” The class sniggers.

            Kennedy just looks perplexed. “Which one, Liana?”