Various One-Shots from 'Confessions of a Muslim Girl'

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            “Why? Are you taken or…”

            “Religious reasons. Personal preference. Both.”

            “Huh. So I’m curious, do you have a girl back home?” The question is random. I don’t really know why she asks it, but this isn’t the first time she’s broached the topic. She’s always trying to get me to talk about stuff like this but frankly, it’s hella awkward.

            The problem is that I took a second too long to say anything, so she snaps on that. “Holy shit, man, Adam Ali’s got a girl back home. How cute!”

            Grant shoots me a sympathetic look. “She’s not a girl back home. She goes to PennState, she’s only a year younger than me, and there’s no official commitment.”

            Holland’s intrigued, I can tell. I brace myself for the rapid fire of questions. “What’s her name?”

            It’s starting to feel weird, like I’m baring everything out there. I’ve known Holland for a year now, but only Grant knows about Maysa, and only a little bit. “Maysa.”

            “What’s she like?”

            I stop and think for a minute. I mean, who the hell just knows what to say off the top of their heads when they have to describe a person? There are so many details and quirks, it’s kind of hard to think of some on the spot. “Um, she’s gorgeous…she has these wide brown eyes that—”

            Holland flicks her blonde hair and the tips graze my shoulder gently. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She’s impatient. “Get on with it. What’s she like?”

            I don’t know why she’s acting so weird, but I continue without commenting. “Calm. She doesn’t get into fights. She’s always relaxed, comfortable in her own skin. Quiet, doesn’t say much to people she doesn’t know well, but she’s a beast on the soccer field. Her team nickname in high school was the Malik Massacre—Malik’s her last name. Uhh, she’s really easy to get along with, she’s down for conversations about anything and everything…” I trail off trying to think of more. Grant’s face is interested as well—this is the first time he’s hearing all of these details about Mays. “I’ve known her since I was ten. Her brother is my best friend. We grew up together for the most part. Her family moved around a bit but they moved back eventually. Mays and I went to the same high school until I graduated and moved to Boston. She was deciding between UConn and a few other schools but she didn’t want to move out her first year. It was a lot of reasons, I think, but she decided to stay at our home university, UConn, and then she decided to try for a transfer and PennState accepted her and she wanted to go because they have a good program for her major so she’s there now. She’s studious…probably a better student than I was in high school or even now.”

            Holland’s smirking when I finish my monologue. “Wow, Romeo. So what’s the plan? Marry her the day you graduate?”

            “I don’t know. I haven’t formally asked for her hand.”

            “Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re succumbing into the sexist mentality that you have to ask for her hand from her father instead of just asking her,” Holland’s expression is filled with disbelief.

            “What’s sexist about it if I do it out of respect? She respects and loves her parents enough to want them involved in the process, and I know she wouldn’t say yes unless we had both our parents’ blessings. So I’m going to ask her father and her mother for their permission to pursue her and if she’ll have me, then yes, I’ll marry her.” I don’t really like where this conversation is going. Like I said about Holland—she’s slippery. Hard to pin down. And while she’s a good friend and everything, she’s not the type of person I’d trust with this kind of stuff.