His Other Wife Page 14

  The sound of coughing and choking prompted Janice to stop in her snow-covered tracks and stare at Bailey in concern. Is he dying? she thought, petrified. “Are you okay?” she said, her breath white puffs beyond the wool fabric. Bailey kept coughing and choking and waving his hand desperately at her, and it was then that she saw the amusement in his eyes. He wasn’t dying, she realized in mortification. He was laughing so hard that he couldn’t contain himself.

  “Your autograph?” he said after he gathered his composure as they approached the double doors of the church. “Do you really think someone named Niecey Meesy will be famous for anything except making a fool of herself?”

  Tears stinging her eyes in offense, Janice marched ahead of him to the church, refusing to speak to him again that day. After waving a hello to her mother, father, and brother, she rushed to the basement where the donation bags and boxes were kept. She yanked off her hat, earmuffs, scarf, and gloves then huddled in a corner, where she sobbed and hiccupped as she thought of how stupid the name Niecey Meesy now sounded to even her own ears.

  “It’s okay, Niecey Meesy,” she whispered to her alter ego. “We’ll think of a better name. You’ll see.” She then wiped her face with her palms and stood with her hands on her hips. A look of determination was on her face as she surveyed the array of clutter. She was sure that somewhere inside the overstuffed bags and boxes of clothes, shoes, and weathered jewelry, there was an amazing outfit to match her new name (whatever it might be).

  After more than an hour of rummaging around, she found a formal, heavily brocaded off-white sleeveless dress and a pair of heels that matched the dress perfectly except that they were soiled with dirt stains and the heel of one of them was missing. But she was filled with an air of personal satisfaction when she slipped them on and found that they were only slightly loose on her small feet. Proud of her discovery, she limped around in search of matching jewelry and was content when she found a bundle of chipped synthetic pearls and slipped them in loops around her neck.

  “What are you doing?”

  At the sound of a deep voice, Janice’s body jerked in shock, and she halted her “pretty woman” limp-walk. Her hands slid cautiously from her hips, and she slowly turned around, knowing her father would punish her severely for disobeying his instructions to “leave those trashy clothes alone.” Her shoulders sagged in relief and embarrassment when she saw that it was only Bailey. The look of amusement from earlier was still in his eyes and was now coupled with a sideways grin at his mouth. A tinge of self-incrimination pinched her as she recalled how he’d pointed out how stupid her stage name was. She could only imagine what he would think of her now after seeing her dressed like a pitiful person who probably could be named Niecey Meesy.

  “I don’t care what you think,” she said, sniffing indignantly. She folded her bare arms across the empty puffy bust of the dress and turned her head away from him in a pout. “I can think of a better name, but I still won’t give you my autograph when I’m famous.”

  Bailey chuckled. “I came to apologize,” he said, his head tilted to the side as he approached her, studying her odd outfit.

  “You did not,” Janice said, her eyes crawling to the side, hoping he was serious.

  “I did,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t think Niecey Meesy is a stupid name.”

  “Well, I do,” she said firmly. “So I’m thinking of another one.”

  Bailey reached forward and lifted the string of synthetic pearls and let them slide through his large fingers. “What’s all this?”

  “I found it in a box. I’m going to put it back,” she said quickly, defensive. “I know it’s not mine.”

  “I didn’t think you were stealing. It’s just that I like how it makes you look. I think you might be really famous one day.”

  Janice’s eyes widened as she looked at him, a broad grin spreading on her face. “You do?”

  “Yes I do.”

  Janice averted her gaze and looked down at her lopsided stance. “But I have to fix my shoes.”

  “You don’t have to fix anything,” he said, pulling her into a tight embrace. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

  Janice smiled as he held her close and said nice things to her. She grew uncomfortable only when he squeezed her tighter and wouldn’t let go, making her efforts to wriggle out of his grip futile…

  The pain throbbed in her torso area as she lay alone on the floor of the basement, the back of her head against a worn plastic garbage bag overflowing with clothes that reeked of must and mildew. “If you tell anybody about this,” Bailey had said as he brought his face so close to hers that she could smell food and cigarettes on his breath, “I’ll kill you.”

  Janice’s neck ached as she moved her head to look down at herself. Her first thought was panicked as she feared that she had ruined the dress. Mommy and Daddy will be mad at me. She pulled at the fabric bunched up at her waist, frantically trying to keep the glistening red smudges on her thighs from touching the beautiful dress. She forced herself to a standing position and carefully lifted the dress over her head and stuffed it back into a bag. She then gathered her clothes under her arms and hurried to the dilapidated basement bathroom. On shaky, aching legs, she stood in front of a filthy sink and held her palm under a stream of water then she rubbed her thighs clean.

  Back upstairs, Janice found her mother, father, and Asher laughing together about something. She started to approach them to ask to go home, but she froze when she caught sight of Bailey just feet from them glaring at her. “My father was in the war, and he trained me how to hurt people,” Bailey had said to her. “So if you say anything, I can kill your mother and father too. And it will be your fault.” Terrified, Janice backed out of the worship hall and sat quietly in the lobby of the church until it was time to go home.

  ***

  It took Aliyah a full hour to calm her offense and frustration as Deanna’s status kept resonating in her mind. You know someone’s Islam is a front when they line their pockets with your sadaqah, pretend to be needy so you’ll help them get a job, and then drop you when they feel they can’t use you anymore. Aliyah certainly couldn’t deny the litany of faults she saw in herself, but whatever Deanna didn’t like about Aliyah, she had no right to question Aliyah’s religious sincerity and faith in Allah.

  Heart racing as she realized she was actually going to speak up for herself, Aliyah lifted her laptop from where it lay on the nightstand next to her bed. Balancing the laptop on folded legs, she opened it and connected to the Wi-Fi.

  Aliyah rarely used Facebook except to share inspirational quotes, videos, and blogs or to post a link to an important news story. As a general rule, Aliyah stayed out of Facebook discussions because most of them seemed to serve no purpose except to offer a platform for complaining, exposing people’s faults, bickering, and one-upping other commenters. In Aliyah’s experience, even when someone offered a balanced, sensible perspective during a discussion, there was always someone who zeroed in on the tiniest contradiction (It’s their, not there. Learn how to spell, then come back and join the discussion). When all else failed, some people went as far as to highlight a personal fault in the commenter that had nothing at all to do with the discussion.

  Aliyah logged into her Facebook account, and her hand trembled as she opened the page of Deeja Marriage Guru.

  You make some interesting points, Aliyah typed a comment under the offensive Facebook status. She willed herself to ignore the childish LOL’s and Tell ‘em, girl! comments egging on Deanna’s foolishness. Aliyah imagined that most of these commenters had no idea what or whom Deanna was referring to in her post. But Aliyah figured that Juwayriah knew exactly what Deanna was referring to, so it cut deep to see someone who knew her personally corroborating the character assassination (I told you, girl! Some people are so uppity and fake, it’s sickening).

  But here’s my question, Aliyah typed. If someone’s Islam is a front, then doesn’t that make t
hem a munaafiq, a disbelieving hypocrite? Correct me if I’m wrong, but from what I understand, the Prophet, peace be upon him, forbade speaking about the state of anyone’s heart (We aren’t even supposed to speak confidently about our own), and this is even more so the case when we’re saying someone’s very submission to God (i.e. Islam) is just a mask they put on to take advantage of others. This is not only accusing a Muslim of disbelief, it’s also accusing him/her of the worst form of disbelief: nifaaq (religious hypocrisy). In the Qur’an, Allah says these hypocrites (who pretend to be Muslim) will be in the lowest level of Hellfire. And to warn us against making such serious accusations against a fellow believer, the Prophet said, “Whoever says to his brother, ‘O disbeliever,’ then surely the disbelief falls back on one of them.” So, Deeja Marriage Guru, are you saying the disbelief falls back on the person who “lined their pockets with your sadaqah,” or on you?

  ***

  No one knew what was wrong with Janice when her previously honor roll grades slipped to near failing, and she did not utter a single word except when she was alone talking to herself, engrossed in an imaginary world that enabled her to laugh, dance, and sing in a delirium that incited deep worry in her family.

  Her parents took her to doctors and psychiatrists, but no one knew what was wrong except that she was a “selective mute.” It wasn’t until she was thirteen years old and hadn’t seen Bailey for three straight years that she told her mother in a runaway letter the details of what happened to her.

  I don’t want anything bad to happen to you and Daddy, she’d written. So I’m going to go live somewhere else to keep you safe in case Bailey comes looking for me. I changed my name to be extra careful, she wrote in the last lines of the letter. My middle name is my first name now. But I’m only telling this to you, so please don’t give away my secret. I’ll come back when it’s safer. Yours truly, Deanna.

  Janice had made it only a few miles down a main street before her parents found her and brought her back home.

  ***

  Oh my Lawd! Deeja Marriage Guru, please tell me you don’t have bona fide religious zealots on your friend list! Who or *what* is Ally Thomas, and please save us from him/her/it! (11 likes).

  Looks like you got yourself a potential client, Deeja Marriage Guru. Then again, you don’t fix loony, do you? ROFL. (7 likes)

  You can always count on at least one nutcase to sour a perfectly innocent discussion with some arrogant, sanctimonious quotes from God and scripture. #ImOut (16 likes)

  Deeja Marriage Guru: Sorry about that folks! I’ve deleted the offensive comment. But now you see what kind of madness I have to deal with every day!!! :/ O Lord, give me the strength! #BePatientWithTheIgnorant #TakeTheHigherGround #BeTheBiggerPerson (21 likes)

  ***

  “That girl is crazy,” Janice overheard her father saying to her mother in a heated argument the night they’d found the runaway letter and brought her back home. “There’s no way anything like that happened to her. Bailey was a good kid. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “But what about her falling grades and refusal to talk?” Janice’s mother said, her voice a plea. “How do you explain that?”

  “How do I explain anything she does? She’s been living in an imaginary world since she could walk. We’d be crazy to believe anything that comes out of her mouth.” He huffed. “And if it did happen, why did she wait so long to say anything? You saw how she was always walking around in those slutty clothes. The poor boy’s been through so much, he probably thought she was seducing him.”

  ***

  “Unfortunately, most people view their spiritual life as separate from Facebook and other social media,” Reem said from where she sat on the couch next to Aliyah Saturday afternoon. Ibrahim was in Aliyah’s room watching a movie on her laptop so that Reem and Aliyah could talk privately without him overhearing.

  Reem had called Aliyah an hour before saying that she was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by Aliyah’s before heading home. But as Aliyah listened to Reem talk about seeing the online discussion sparked by Deanna’s Facebook status, Aliyah imagined that Reem had driven to Aliyah’s neighborhood for the expressed purpose of checking on Aliyah.

  “It’s like we believe the angels stop writing for us once we log into our Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram accounts,” Reem said, frowning, sadness in her tone.

  “I can’t believe no one challenged her.” Aliyah shook her head, troubled. “How could dozens of Muslims read something like that and say absolutely nothing?”

  “They probably didn’t see anything wrong with it,” Reem suggested.

  “How is that even possible?” Aliyah’s eyes were narrowed in deep thought. “She practically called me a kaafir.”

  “I don’t think she thought of it like that.”

  “But it’s what she said.”

  “It’s what she implied,” Reem corrected. “Had she been aware of the serious implications of her words, I don’t think she would’ve said it. Even in our angriest moments, most Muslims wouldn’t purposely call someone a disbeliever.”

  Aliyah drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Yeah, that’s true,” she said. “But that doesn’t make it right.”

  “Well, I can’t disagree with that,” Reem said.

  “But I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Reem said after an extended silence. “When I first saw Deanna’s status, I didn’t pay much attention to it because I’m so used to seeing those kinds of posts on her page. But when I saw your response, I grew really concerned.”

  “You think I was wrong to post that comment?” Aliyah asked sincerely.

  “I can’t say you were wrong,” Reem said tentatively. “I just don’t think it was wise, and Allah knows best.”

  Aliyah nodded reflectively. “I can definitely see that now.” She sighed. “I just wish someone else would’ve spoken up.”

  “People are scared, Aliyah. Facebook doesn’t exactly welcome righteousness, so no one wants to be the sacrificial lamb, so to speak.”

  “But I’m talking about the Muslims. We have an obligation to speak up when something wrong happens.”

  “I’m talking about the Muslims too,” Reem said. “Whether you’re Muslim or not, social media is terrifying when you’re the lone dissenting voice.”

  Aliyah started to respond but was reminded of her own reluctance to participate in Facebook discussions. Over the years, Aliyah had seen dozens of posts and discussions that involved open wrong, but she’d said nothing. How then could she blame other Muslims for feeling the same wariness she felt?

  “But I know how you feel,” Reem said. “A few years ago, Deanna posted a status that said something like, ‘Show me ONE real Muslim from Saudi Arabia. No offense to my Arab friends here, but you all know how MESSED UP your country is when it comes to women.’”

  Aliyah wrinkled her nose. “I remember that.”

  “Well, I don’t know if you remember the comment I posted in response. But like you, I was personally offended, so I mentioned some ahadeeth about the corruption of racism and nationalism and the ayah from Al-Hujuraat about Allah making us nations and tribes so that we can know each other.”

  “Really? MashaAllah.”

  “MashaAllah,” Reem said humbly. “But it didn’t go over well. She didn’t delete my comment, but she said something like, ‘You have some nerve coming on MY page talking about racism and nationalism while YOUR country is the most racist and nationalistic in the world. If you really care about fighting racism and nationalism, then go back to Saudi Arabia and fix that pathetic excuse for a so-called MUSLIM country.’”

  “SubhaanAllah!” Aliyah brought a hand to her mouth. “Are you serious?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. And like what just happened to you, no one said anything to challenge her.” Reem shook her head, clearly still troubled by what had happened. “Can you imagine the backlash if I posted a status saying show me one real Muslim from America?”

  Aliyah nodded her head sadly. “Th
at’s so true.”

  “That’s why I said I don’t think posting that comment was wise,” Reem said. “I just don’t see it bringing any good.”

  ***

  Forgive, forgive, forgive. Those were the words Janice’s mother kept repeating over and over again. But at thirteen years old, Janice had no idea what forgive meant in this perplexing context. Janice was used to hearing the term in reference to God forgiving sins. Was her mother asking her to play God?

  “Good Christians love their enemies,” her mother would say whenever Janice would grow angry and start throwing and breaking things and yelling at the top of her lungs about how she hated her cousin Bailey. “So if you’re showing any anger, then God is not happy with you.”

  It took a full year before Janice could understand and appreciate her mother’s advice. “Put a smile on your face, and walk with your head high,” her mother constantly advised. “You must walk with dignity. You are better than this. You are better than Bailey. You are better than the wicked and sinful. You are walking with the Lord.”

  By her junior year in high school, Janice’s grades had shot up, and she was back on the honor roll. She was also on the Dean’s List and was part of the National Honor Society. Whenever she remembered that fateful day in the church basement when she was eight years old, she would plaster a wide smile on her face, even if she was alone, and wrestle with her thoughts, repeating the mantra to herself: You are better than this. You are better than the wicked and sinful. You are walking with the Lord.