STOP! READ FIRST: **I made a mistake in the last chapter! Zak and Maysa's mom's name is Liyana, NOT Leila!
Aaliya and Suleiman -- Adam and Noha's parents
Liyana and Yahya -- Zak and Maysa's parents
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"Love has rendered my mother speechless, its effects apparent in her anticipating eyes and shaking hands." -- Maysa Malik, COAMG
Chapter 34
The Hardest Thing
☼ Maysa Malik ☼
New experiences make you appreciate those who have been through what you’re going through right now even more. I quickly discovered last night and this morning that visiting a loved one in the hospital is the worst feeling in the whole damn world. Especially if that person is like your built-in best friend and brother all rolled into one.
The morning is painfully tense. Nazia and I head downstairs for breakfast. I was hoping that my parents wouldn’t be up but they were. They were sitting at the breakfast table staring at the wall, facing each other but not talking.
“S-salam.” Nazia says, stumbling over the word. Breaking the silence just seems wrong.
“Salam.” I echo. I make my way over to the fridge and get out the gallon of milk, pouring it in two bowls.
“How long did you two know about this?” Dad doesn’t even look at us, just stares off with wide, glassy eyes. Nazia and I cringe at the direct question. She glances at me and I glance at her. My mouth tastes like metal and my heart thuds. Nazia opens her mouth but I refuse to let her take the responsibility.
“We don’t know much. Just that Zakariya was going through something hard.” It’s a meager, pathetic semblance of an apology.
“And you two didn’t bother to tell us?” Mom turns around so that she’s facing us. She doesn’t look mad or angry. She looks hurt. The pain on her face causes her features to crumble as she anticipates our answer.
I stare down at the counter. “No, Mom. He told us not to tell anyone and we…we foolishly listened to him.”
“Did you know exactly what your brother was going through?” Dad asks.
“No.” Nazia responds quietly, looking down in shame. I am too.
“Zakariya got caught in a drug dealer’s world. He spoke to the principal about it on Thursday, but no administrative action could have been taken until Monday, his principal said. The boy—the drug dealer—was suspended for the whole week.”
“Aiden Becks?” Nazia squeaks. Shoot. She’s done it now.
“Is that his name?” Mom asks.
Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah. Aiden Becks.”
“Maysa, Nazia, how could you know about this and not tell us?” My mom’s face is unbearable to watch. I glance away.
“Mommy? There’s something else….” Nazia trails off.
Mom and Dad brace themselves. “Yes?” They ask. My dad looks the most scared he’s ever looked.
Nazia walks over and sits down at the table and takes my mom’s hand, then my dad’s. “A few months ago, like at the dance, this boy named Oliver started talking to me. We became friends and stuff—don’t worry, nothing haram, because I know that we’re not allowed to date—but the thing is…Oliver is Aiden’s little brother.”
Mom and Dad pale considerably. All the color completely drains from their complexion. My dad drops his face in his hands. When he looks up, he’s very serious. “Nazia did this boy do anything to do? Tell us, sweetheart. It’s ok. Just please be honest with us.” It’s like they’re pleading. I go over and sit at the table next to my dad, but I feel like I’m the responsible one for all of us. I should have just told them a long time ago, but it never registered in my head.
“No, he didn’t do anything to me. Maysa told me that Oliver was Aiden’s little brother and that I shouldn’t talk about Zakariya at all. So I didn’t. We’re not that close anymore.”
“What does Oliver have to do in all of this?” Mom asks, struggling to understand all the intricate connections that got us into this mess in the first place.
“Zak told me that if he screws up, Aiden could get Oliver to…do something to Nazia. So I basically told her what was going on and I warned her to keep her distance from Oliver.”
The sheer horror on our parents’ faces makes me feel like the lowest piece of scum. “Why were you so disheveled last night, Maysa? Do I want to know the answer to this?” Dad closes his eyes and asks this quietly.
“Probably not, Dad. Um…Zakariya was missing last night so I tried to find an exit to go look for him outside. I ended up using the stage exit that led to the back parking lot. And I was walking and….”
“And?!” My mom asks. I can almost hear her heart beating, that’s how frantic and scared she looks. I wish I could just not tell her, but I know that she needs to hear the truth.
“I ran into Oliver. And this other guy. And they took me to Aiden. He was kind of on the other side of the building and,” I swallow. “Um. He was…beating up Zakariya.”
The kitchen is so quiet that even the refrigerator isn’t humming. “He was. Beating up. My son?” Damn it, my mom’s going into stone-cold mode. I brace myself for what’s about to unleash. “He was beating up my son? HE WAS BEATING UP MY SON? And they had my DAUGHTER?” She screams it so loudly we all jump. I’ve never heard my mom this mad.
“Liyana! What’s done is done. Our son was trying to do the right thing.” Dad jumps up and rubs my mom’s shoulders, trying to get her to calm down. She buries her face in her hands and slowly, eventually, we hear the sobs as her body shudders and finally collapses in heaving, shaking movements. The sunlight reflects the diamonds on her wedding ring, making them glint happily in the sunlight, a direct contrast from the mood of their wearer.
It’s one of the worst feelings in the world, hearing your mother cry and knowing you’re the cause of it. Nazia and I look down as the pain repeatedly hits me. “Mom? I think…I think Zakariya needs to be there for us to piece all the pieces together. I know we haven’t been honest with you but please believe us…none of us know the whole story. And we need Zak to be there and…we need Adam and Noha. It’s the only way to get the whole story.”
Those two minutes Mom and Dad took to reply were the longest two minutes of my life. Finally, they nod. “Let’s head to the hospital.” Dad says. We quietly get up to get ready.
☮ ☮ ☮
An hour and a half later, we’re at the hospital. “Zakariya Malik is on the third door to your left once you walk down the second hallway.” The lady at the front desk smiles at us perkily as we quietly shuffle to the room she said he was in.
My parents and Nazia all pause at his door and I go ahead and open it. I don’t realize how much I’ve sucked in my stomach until I release a breath, refreshing air gushing into my lungs. He’s asleep. Thank God he didn’t wake up yet. I check the clock in the corner of the room. It’s 9:34 AM. He’s been knocked out for almost twelve hours now. Is that normal?
“Hello.” Someone says. Someone standing by the open door.
“Hello.” My mother speaks up.
“I’m Dr. Rice.” The woman extends her hand and Mom and then Dad shake it. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your son.”
“How’s he doing, Doctor?” My mother clasps her hands together so tightly that her knuckles turn stark white and blue and purple veins press against the tan skin on the backs of her hands. She clenches them in worry; she clenches them in love, in concern.
Dr. Rice clears her throat and takes out the clipboard that is sitting on the plastic shelf. She looks over the papers. “Dr.Franceswas taking care of Zakariya until his shift ended. I’ve been here for a couple of hours, and I’ve had the nurses update me on his condition. He—” She sighs. “I think we should sit down and talk.”
My parents glance at each other. Dr. Rice indicates towards the two chairs by Zak’s bed. “Please, have a seat.” Somberly, Mom and Dad take their seats. Mom reaches out and takes Dad’s hand in her own and he squeezes it reassuringly. “Would you like for your girls to step out or…?”
“Can we stay?” Nazia speaks up. When everyone looks at her, she looks down. “I mean, I want to know too. Please Daddy? Please Mom? I think it’s important for us to know. Right, Mays?” I nod quietly but I don’t want to put them on the spot in front of Dr. Rice.
My dad, the more lenient one, clears his throat and nods. “I think it’s a good idea for them to stay and learn about what’s going on. I think they’re old enough and mature enough to handle this.”
Dr. Rice slowly nods. “All right. Let me begin. When I first got here, I was told that a teenage boy was beaten—” Mom squeezes the life out of Dad’s hand as she hears the word. “And I assumed it was a typical case that we deal with here from time to time. We don’t like seeing our youth in here, obviously. But something about his condition compelled me to investigate further.” I think she stops to make sure we’re all breathing. We’re not. We’re tense. Baited. Waiting for more, yet dreading what we’ll hear.
“Zakariya’s beating…it wasn’t an ordinary one.” She picks each word carefully, pausing before she says ordinary.
“How so?” Dad asks. Love has rendered my mother speechless, its effects apparent in her anticipating eyes and shaking hands.
“Firstly, whoever beat him was quite skilled. He knew exactly what points of the body to hit so that hitting back would be quite hard. Mr. and Mrs. Malik, I take it that your son is an athlete?”
Mom nods once slowly, dizzily. She then starts nodding rapidly when she realizes what Dr. Rice has asked. “Yes. He’s been on the soccer team all of high school and in his spare time he plays basketball and lacrosse and he does track and field.”
Dr. Rice nods, looking down, her hands wrapped around the plastic clipboard. When she looks up, she has this pain in her eyes, and suddenly, I understand why her job is so hard. She has to say what others don’t want to hear, but need to. And sometimes, speaking up is the hardest thing humanly possible.
“Exactly. From a superficial standpoint…it doesn’t seem like Zakariya has that much strength to him because it’s obvious he went down from those beatings pretty fast. But, the severity of some of his wounds, especially around his torso…that indicates something.” The ‘what?’ is stuck in my throat, but I can’t get it out.
“It indicates that whoever beat him did not beat him just with their hands. No. Whoever beat your son had something like metal spokes around their fingers. The puncture wounds could not have been done by just fingers and hands. Not even nails can do that much.”
The tears start falling down Mom’s face. It’s the biggest crime in the world: making the woman who gave birth to you cry. “How bad is his damage? Last night the doctor told us that he would be fine but I want to know the specifics.”
Dr. Rice sighs and tiredly pushes away a strand of hair. “The puncture wounds are just deep enough that it’ll take a week or two longer for them to heal. He also has a broken arm. His right arm. Is that the hand he writes with?”
I shake my head. “He’s a leftie.” She nods.
“Oh, and another thing. I believe the boy who did this to your son has been arrested?”
I nod. “Yeah. Last night.”
“Is he left-handed?”
The question makes me pause. “What?” Dr. Rice repeats her question and Nazia and my parents await my answer.
I think long and hard. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
Dr. Rice walks over to the window. “Because most of the more serious wounds are on the right side of Zakariya’s body.”
It’s like he heard his name. The blankets shift and we all stare at him, waiting to see if he’s just moving around or if he’ll actually wake up. One eye is slightly swollen but when I see those brown eyes with those specks of green in them, I want to start sobbing in happiness.
I’m blessed to be able to see those eyes once again.
You want to know my theory of death? When you’re dead, you can’t open your eyes by yourself, right? They say that eyes are the windows to the soul. Why would the windows have a reason to be open if the soul has left the body?
But I’m blessed. I get to see that soul again. “Zak.” I say softly. His eyes shift to me.
“Are you ok?” His voice is scratchy and hoarse.
“Don’t worry about me. Are you ok?” I ask desperately. Of course he would ask about me first, not even bothering to ask why he’s in a hospital bed.
“Where are Noha and Adam?”
“They’re—wait, what?”
Zakariya tries sitting up, but his face goes white as he shifts. “Oh, God.” He wheezes. My mom rushes over to him.
“Zak, honey, where does it hurt? Tell me.” She quietly pleads. Zakariya shakes his head and takes her hand, which is wrapped around the sides of the bed in worry, and kisses it.
“I’m fine. Alhamdulillah. But I need to know. Are Noha and Adam ok?”
“Why don’t we figure out how you are before we discuss Noha and Adam?” Dad suggests gently.
Zakariya shakes head jerkily. “No, Dad. I have to know if they’re ok. Are they ok?” My parents don’t say anything, just look at him, trying to figure out something. “Maysa, please tell me they’re ok. Are you ok? Please tell me I haven’t done anything that could hurt them.” He’s begging now, in desperation.
“They’re fine. Alhamdulillah.” When he hears this, he falls back onto the bed in relief. We talk for a few more minutes, but the questions and answers are all careful and thought-out. They’re not casual. They’re posed.
It was a long two hours.
☮ ☮ ☮
It turned out that that day wasn’t the one when we found out everything. Nope. But it was two days after, on Monday. We had the Monday off from school, so we had a three-day weekend. For that I was glad because after getting back from the hospital on Saturday, Nazia and I just did homework.
Sunday is when everyone found out about Zakariya being in the hospital so I was bombarded with phone calls and texts. A few aunties from the mosque kept calling Mom, and as appreciative as she was, I don’t think she wanted to talk to anyone.
Monday, Zakariya was released. His body is healing at a pace that’s faster than the doctors expected. They think it’s because he keeps himself healthy, but I honestly think it is God’s doing.
As we were driving home, the world just seems so distant and irrelevant. Nazia and I are sitting in the backseat, Dad and Mom are up front, and Zakariya is sitting in the middle seat. He has a plain white T-shirt with grey sweatpants. We ride in silence. I stare out at the deep green leaves attached to arching chocolate covered branches, wishing for an instant I was them, wishing I was one of the birds perched up on the branch just so that my only worry was finding food.
When we pull into the garage, Mom and Dad try to coax him out of the car. He refuses, telling me and Nazia to go first. We do, and slowly, he slides out and takes my hand and then hers. We slowly lead him inside as he leans on us, literally and metaphorically.
It reminds me of all the times he’s been there for me, available so that I can lean on him in times of trouble. It brings tears to my eyes because I never thought there would be a day where he would have to lean on me. The tears are happy, happy that I can finally repay him in some way, and sad because I hate the fact that he’s forced into being dependent.
☮ ☮ ☮
The next hour is quietly spent. Zakariya rests on the couch, and I finish up homework while sitting by him. I think, though I’m not sure, that he and our parents had a talk when they went to visit him alone Sunday night.
“Mom?” Zak croaks. Immediately she hurries out of the kitchen.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Mom…” Dad comes out of his study. “Dad, can we have Noha and Adam over for dinner? I think we need to discuss things.”
My parents exchange alarmed glances. I pause as I await their answer. My pen pauses, hovers expectantly over the paper. “Zakariya, isn’t this a little premature? Right now we want you to focus on getting better. We know enough right now. We can—”
“No, Dad. I made a huge, huge mistake, and I want to explain everything to everyone. Noha and Adam deserve an explanation for all that they’ve been through. I’m ashamed of how far things have gone, but please, this is really important to me. I need to take responsibility for my actions. That’s my responsibility as a friend, a brother, and a son, but most importantly, it’s my responsibility as a Muslim. Please.” His tone is soft, yet pleading.
Dad clears his throat, and then finally nods. “Alright. Liyana, do you want to call Aaliya and invite her over for dinner? Or do you want me to call Suleiman?”
Mom nods her head. “I’ll call Aaliya. We’ll invite them to come pray Maghrib prayer with us and then have dinner.” She leaves to go make the call.
My eyes travel and meet Zakariya’s across the room. I understand why he needs to do this, understand it like I understand why I love him.
☮ ☮ ☮
When the doorbell rings, I hear it from my room, where I’m applying a little bit of mascara and eyeliner. My heart and stomach both flip at the same time. One, because of what’s going to happen tonight, and two, because Adam’s here.
I head downstairs just in case nobody thought to answer the door because they were too preoccupied with their own thing. Dad beats me to it, opening the door. Dawud and Rubina walk in first, and both skip over to where Nazia is. They have nothing much to worry about.
Noha and Adam walk in next, and as Noha hugs me, Adam locks his gaze with mine, his brown eyes so intense as they meet mine that goose bumps rise on my skin and a pleasant shiver runs up and down my spine. I know what he’s trying to tell me. Everything will be ok. Inshallah it will be.
He goes off to the family room to go see Zakariya. The parents hug. “Let’s go pray Maghrib.” My mom says, clearing her throat and the awkwardness in the air.
We do, and twenty minutes later, we’re all sitting at the formal dinner table. “Ya Allah we thank You for the food you’ve provided us with. Ya Allah we thank You for blessing us with such good friends and children. May we forever be mindful of Your blessings. Ameen.”
We pass around the salad. The dinner passes by rigidly, awkwardly. There’s so much energy in the air that I can nearly hear the buzzing. I need to breathe, need fresh air, but I’m stuck.
After dinner, we all move into the living room. I’m so grateful that I have Noha and I think Zak is grateful he has Adam with him for support. Rubs and Nazzy go upstairs with Dawud to watch Toy Story.
Zakariya clears his throat. “I think we—I, more specifically—need to explain to you what’s been going on.”
Mom and Dad set down their cups of tea. Aunty Aaliya and Uncle Suleiman do the same.
“We’d like to hear it, sweetheart. And we’d like to hear what Adam and Noha have to say as well. I think we’ve all been left in the dark for too long. It would help to get it all out.” Aunty Aaliya says gently.
So we begin. We begin with hearts beating, palms sweating, and skin itching.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to sit through.
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A FEW THINGS!
1. Super awesome upload that's all romantical coming up on 'Various One-Shots from Confessions of a Muslim Girl
2. Check out my new story, Battered, With Love
3. _Flieder_ has an awesome short story, check THAT out!
4. Diamonds and Pearls. Check. It. Out. You need it for the COAMG sequel!
5. Another contest coming up AND the results fom the last one TBA very soon inshalalh!
6. New contest time ;) Details under VOFCOAMG (soon, my lovelies)
Have a super awesome, beautiful, gorgeous day filled with cupcakes and cookies and sugar and love and happiness and all the good things in life,
Ash ♥