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Off Balance

Karma

These last few days I've done nothing but lie on the couch and think. Mostly about life. My life in particular. I could have died. My throat was closing. And I would have died alone.

* * *

Last night I dreamed about Husani again. It’s happened twice since I left him. In my dreams, I’m not screaming. I’m clinging to him. I wonder what that means.

I was working toward my MBA at UMSL. He had come to take classes in international business. He ran the family exporting company in Alexandria. It was his first time in this country.

I was late for class. I sped to campus and ran from my car. As I neared the classroom I noticed him—tall, dark, and handsome—running from the opposite direction. We reached the door together. He insisted I go in first. We sat together.

After class he smiled at me. “Could I borrow your notes? I had trouble keeping up.”

I liked his accent. It evoked images of far off places where I would like to go someday. “I’ll make copies and give them to you next class period.” I walked away, in the direction of my next class. He followed.

I turned. “What are you doing?”

“I can go with you to make the copies.”

"I need to hurry or I'll be late for class."

"I need the notes."

I was getting irritated. “Look, if it’s that important to you then just take the damn notes.” I shoved them at him and quickly walked away. He still followed.

“I don’t want the notes. I want you.”

I turned around and looked into his deep dark eyes. Six months later we were married.

But not without overcoming some serious obstacles. Namely, our families.

Mom didn’t say much. She smiled when Husani offered to help with the dishes but I caught her frowning behind his back. I asked what was wrong. “Nothing,” she said.

My sister was more vocal. Two weeks before our wedding she pulled me aside.

“What are you doing, Nina? Do you know he’s a Muslim?”

“Yes, I know. What’s the problem?”

“He’s a Muslim. That’s the problem.”

“I know how religious you are, Nadine, but I haven’t gone to church in years. What difference will it make?”

She glared at me. I’m sure she was mulling her responses. He’ll go to hell and take you with him. How can you turn your back on everything Mom and Dad taught us? But she didn’t waste her breath. After a few seconds she clicked her tongue and walked away. “I don’t know how you can be my sister,” she muttered.

I almost responded, but decided to let it go. I had bigger battles.

My family was nothing compared to Husani’s family. They were distraught, he said, because he wasn’t marrying a Muslim. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Of course, they’ll probably like you once they meet you.”

Probably? I should have seen the signs. Instead I patted his knee. “Of course they will.”

He perked up and turned to look at me. “I know how we can make them happy.”

“How? Get married in Egypt?” I had visions of saying my vows in the shadow of the pyramids.

“No, it’s simpler than that. All you have to do is become a Muslim.”

“Simpler? What is simple about that?”

“You don’t have to pray or fast or anything. I don’t. Just make the shahadah on our wedding day. It will make them happy.”

For a second I wanted to tear out his hair. Looking back, I should have. But I thought I loved him so I said, “I’ll think about it.”

For the next two days I turned it over. I didn’t want to be a Muslim. But what would I be losing, really? I didn’t practice Christianity. I wouldn’t have to practice Islam either. All I would have to do is say the words. How hard could it be?

When I told Husani of my decision he took me in his arms. “That will mean so much to them. Thank you, Nina.”

Mom and Nadine frowned as I recited the Islamic confession of faith in the mosque on my wedding day. I wore a modest white dress with a beautiful white scarf his mother had sent from Egypt. It was a special moment. And when the ceremony was over it was time to celebrate. Husani had arranged for the reception at an Egyptian restaurant. His friends came. There was dancing and wine. A day to remember.

At one point he introduced me to an old couple. "My aunt and uncle."

I was wondering when I would meet his family. He said his parents couldn't come for the wedding. "They flew here from Egypt?"

"No, they live in Dallas."

His aunt hugged me tightly and gave me the obligatory three kisses on my cheeks. His uncle proclaimed that my new name would be Anisa. They were delighted.

We went to Florida for our honeymoon. When we came back his aunt and uncle were still in town so we had to pretend to be good Muslims. We all prayed together, five times a day, with his uncle leading. Thank God it wasn’t Ramadan because there was no way I could pretend to fast.

Is my illness a punishment for deceiving them? But what did I do wrong? His aunt and uncle went back to Egypt with glowing reports about the new daughter-in-law. His father died with a smile on his face. His mother always sent me beautiful gifts. I made four old people happy.

* * *

I lie down on the couch and try to sleep through the pain. Nina? Anisa? Does it matter? All I care about right now is living through this hell.

Jamilah Kolocotronis