by Rusk, Day
“What’s your point?” asked Duncan.
“Just that in some cultures they have a different way of doing things; we may not understand what they’re doing and why, but to them, that’s normal. I mean this guy didn’t even seem to be thinking twice about it. His parents helped find him a bride and arranged everything and he just took it in stride and went for it. I don’t understand it. I definitely wouldn’t have wanted my parents to do the same with me, but it happens.”
Monroe, serious Monroe, looked at me.
“You’re disrupting that tradition, my friend. Didn’t you say earlier that she said her parents tried setting her up for an arranged marriage or something like that?”
I shook my head, “Yes.”
“So her parents fully expected her to follow that tradition. I don’t think it’s a Muslim thing, more of a cultural thing. Anyway, you’re getting in the way of that. I don’t know, what does it mean for her to not follow her parent’s wishes? Are they ostracized from the community or something? What’s the fallout? Have you ever thought about that? Given them some thought?”
“You think he should walk away?” asked Duncan.
“No, I’m not saying that,” said Monroe, “I’m just pointing out that there are always two sides to every coin. We have our side; you’ve fallen in love, that’s great, but you’ve fallen in love with a Muslim girl, raised by Muslim parents, and they have their own beliefs and wishes for their daughter. Arranging her marriage, keeping her spouse within their faith, how important is that to them? How long have they been planning for this? What do you mean to them? You think it’s nothing, love’s love, right, but that’s your viewpoint, not theirs.”
Monroe could be a jerk and an asshole obsessed with sex, but when he wanted to get serious, he could get serious and make a whole lot of sense. I hadn’t been thinking about this from her parent’s perspective; he was right, but at the same time what about my perspective? I mean, both of our perspectives were the complete opposite of each others. So what do you do in that situation?
“You think I shouldn’t be seeing her? I should walk away?”
“No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying not everything is straight forward. We can sit here and go on about how wrong they are for wanting to get their daughter into an arranged marriage; pick her husband for her and the family he comes from, and think we’re right, but that’s only because we were raised here and that kind of thing hasn’t been around for a long, long time.”
“Then what are you saying?” asked Duncan.
“Fuck, you guys know me. Love’s love. If you think this girl is the one, go for it. You only live once. Is the relationship going to be complicated, hell, what relationship isn’t? I can’t figure out women. I’m married and half the time Cindy says anything, I don’t know what she really means. I’ve been in trouble for things I don’t even know what I did. Did you know she once had a dream about me cheating on her, woke up in the morning and was mad at me because of the dream?”
Duncan and I both laughed.
“I tried to point out to her that while asleep her mind was the one that went to cheating; I hadn’t even had any dreams that night, so why the hell was she mad at me?”
“You lost that argument, didn’t you,” said Duncan.
“Damn right I did. You’re married; you know where I’m coming from. Cindy once got mad at me because I didn’t show enough interest in new mats she was buying for the kitchen floor. Mats? What the hell do I care? She wants to talk about getting the right big screen TV for the den, then I’m right there, but mats, I just can’t get excited about the concept. That’s relationships; complicated. I don’t care where the woman comes from, if she’s black, white, brown, purple or plaid, they’re all the same, and it’s all just a little crazy, and, you know what, I probably wouldn’t have it any other way. My worst day with Cindy is still far better than my best day without her.”
Duncan and I just looked at Monroe; he’d said a lot.
“And, Jesus Christ,” he continued, “look at you two, you have us sitting around here jabbering like a bunch of women. Jesus, if our periods sync we’re in real trouble.”
There was silence between the three of us; each of us lost in our thoughts based on what Monroe had said.
“Oh,” said Monroe, breaking the silence, “and the other important thing, buddy, is you’ve got to get this woman naked for some happy, naked, sticky time. That’s imperative.”
Monroe was back.
As I’ve matured in life; yes, I know, after meeting my friends, maturity seems like a questionable concept, but as I’ve matured in life, and am no longer that teenager or young punk who thinks he knows everything about everything and the way the world works, I’ve come to recognize and accept some of my own shortcomings. I’ve realized I don’t know it all, and may in fact, God forbid, not be perfect. I do know one of the things I do, which doesn’t always work in my favor, is get too caught up in my head and my thoughts, over analyzing things, and as a result of that, making uncomplicated things more complicated. Not only is this unnecessary, but I imagine accounts for higher stress levels, which are not going to be good for me the older I get.
Was I over thinking and over worrying about things regarding Safia?
Yes, we both came from different cultural backgrounds. It would seem to me that in this day and age, and the make-up of the world around me, I was more likely to meet someone from a different culture than from my own.
Yes, Safia’s culture definitely placed some roadblocks in our way. We couldn’t approach a relationship like a normal couple would, but so what? It was just the way it was. The bottom line, I figured was, am I interested enough in her to want to navigate those roadblocks with her?
Sure it’s not perfect. So what? If I’m looking for perfection, I’m a fool, it simply doesn’t exist. I know that, so why was I getting carried away? I’d met a beautiful woman who seemed to want to spend time with me; I’d met a beautiful woman whom I enjoyed being with, talking to and sharing a quiet evening together watching a movie or two; I met a beautiful woman whom I think I could very easily find myself falling in love with. What else mattered? Why would I complicate that unnecessarily?
I dropped Monroe off at home. He wasn’t feeling any pain, but he wasn’t out-and-out drunk either. It was a nice night and Cindy was sitting on their veranda enjoying the evening when we pulled up. I stopped to say, “Hello,” of course. There was Monroe, the least likely of our group to have gotten married so young, and the least likely of our group to be an expectant father, yet he was both. Cindy was now showing and there was a glow about her. They looked good together, two individuals who somehow found one another and were embarking on a lifetime adventure together. It was all good. And was it perfect? I don’t know the full details of their relationship or marriage, as Monroe is just not the type to talk about those things regarding himself and his wife, but I would imagine it wasn’t all smooth running either; life has a way of complicating things, and I guess the true test of any relationship is how the two of you deal with those complications, both as individuals and together. If you can weather the storms together, you’ve got a chance, because it’s not always storming and there’s a lot of great weather and times where just being together and sharing one another’s company is the secret to happiness in life. Monroe and Cindy looked good together. Duncan and Laverne looked good together; add into that mix their children and you had the picture of domestic bliss; family, the family they’d created, was greater than any troubles or complications that might arise.
I left Monroe and Cindy on their veranda, but I didn’t head straight home. I stopped off at a coffee shop for a cup of coffee and to do some thinking; not Safia’s coffee shop. I liked her; I really liked her, and knew I could very easily fall in love with her if I didn’t get in my own way. I was hoping she felt the same way; I figured she must, as seeing me definitely complicated her life and it would be much easier for her not to see me than it was for her to see
me (how’s that for a mouthful?). We had a chance together of finding that one thing everyone secretly dreams about, finding real love, finding family. Yes, her parents were Muslim and their cultural and religious beliefs were going to be difficult to deal with, but not impossible. I am a reasonable man; I understand; and I’m willing to experience new things and entertain new thoughts and beliefs. It would be complicated but over time, I’m sure we’d all find a middle ground and somehow it’d all work out.
To hell with complications, I wanted to be with Safia; I wanted to see where our relationship would take us. That’s all that mattered. Time to get out of my head and just enjoy what is and the possibilities of what could be. Sure there might not be any Norman Rockwell-type Sunday dinners with me and her family any time soon, but eventually, in time, we might be able to rethink those Norman Rockwell images and put our own ethnic, multi-cultural spin on them. I honestly believed we could get there.
CHAPTER Eight
“SO, What did your friends say?” asked Safia.
We were making our way along the Lakeshore, a busy city street to the left of us and a small beach and the lake to our right. We weren’t alone. Seeing as we spent most of our time confined indoors because of winter, when summer did arrive, it was time to get out and enjoy the sunshine, and walking along the lake was a favorite pastime for young lovers like us, older lovers, joggers, dog walkers and many more.
“In a nutshell, go for it?”
“Sound like deep thinkers,” she said.
We walked along, arm in arm enjoying both the beauty and quiet of the day.
“So,” she asked, breaking the silence, “did they ask you if we did it?”
“What?” I said a bit surprised but not completely. “Did it?”
“C’mon, I know guys. Sex is never far from their minds. Were you talking dirty about me? Lying?”
“I’d never.”
“Not even to make yourself look good? A little white lie?” she asked.
“You know, sex isn’t the only thing men think about.”
She laughed. I looked at her puzzled.
“You forget I have a nineteen-year-old younger brother. You don’t think I’ve never overheard him and his friends when they’re hanging out downstairs at my parent’s place? Men can be pigs. Get them alone together, without a woman to supervise, and they’re pigs. If they’re not farting and stuff, they’re talking about women and sex. Probably all of it lies, but they’re still talking about it. Are you telling me that you and your friends are different?”
She kind of had me there. We weren’t. And she also brought up another point that has always perplexed us guys, why don’t women find farts as funny as we do?
“So they didn’t ask you if you’d nailed me yet?” she asked, a mischievous smile on her face. She knew she was making me uncomfortable, and was enjoying it.
“And if I did say we had, you wouldn’t be too happy about that, would you?” I asked. “You wouldn’t want to be seen with a liar, right?”
“Probably not.”
“Of course, if I did lie, there is one way to save my soul. Turn a lie into a truth. I could go get the car now, if you wish,” I offered.
“Sorry, you can’t fix a lie retroactively,” she said.
“There’s no harm in trying.”
“So?” she asked.
“They asked,” I replied. “Of course they asked; they’re guys, aren’t they?”
“And you said?”
“The truth. We were taking it slow, getting to know one another. Your virtue is still intact.”
“And they picked on you, right?”
“Of course,” I said.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
We continued along in silence for a bit.
Telling the truth had never been a question in my mind. I’ve never understood a guy who could talk freely about sex and what he did or didn’t do with his girlfriend or wife. Some guys, they liked to get graphic, and to tell you the truth, I really don’t want to hear it. If a good friend was having a problem sexually and needed to talk about it, because they were hoping for some advice, or something like that, then that was different, I’d listen. There was a purpose to that sex talk and it wasn’t exploitive or frivolous. Any other talk had no purpose except to try and titillate. You see, most guys forget one thing, you’re their friend, and when they meet and fall in love with some woman, eventually you develop a friendship with that woman as well – the two of you becoming friends. With that in mind, I don’t want to hear about what their wives or long-term girlfriends do in bed. Those are intimate moments only to be shared between the two of them. I like my friends, but the last thing I want to hear about, or mentally envision, is their sex lives.
I think that is one of the reasons why I’ve never had a problem with gay friends. There have been a couple over the years who have come out of the closest, and, while I’m sure they were worried about what would happen when they told us, when they did, I realized it really didn’t matter. These guy’s sexual preferences had no bearing on who they were as human beings. A jerk is a jerk is a jerk. If you’re an asshole in life, you didn’t get that way based on your sexual preference, but on the simple fact that somewhere along the way you embraced the call of the asshole. So if you were a good guy, someone whose company I enjoyed, and someone I got along with, it really didn’t matter if you liked men or women. I didn’t want to hear about my heterosexual friend’s sex lives, and I didn’t want to hear about my homosexual friend’s sex lives, either. Keep that stuff to yourself and we’re golden.
As an aside here, I should also note that while a person’s sexual orientation didn’t make a difference to me, the idea that I was supposed to understand the homosexual preference, didn’t fly with me either. While a man being with a man didn’t bother me, for the life of me, I could never understand how a man could look at a beautiful woman and not be aroused, but was instead interested in another man. There was just something about women. I’d never understand same sex attraction, but will also acknowledge that the reverse was probably true for homosexual men, who couldn’t understand how us hetero guys could look at a handsome guy and not be interested? Life was full of mysteries. It was best not to try and figure it out, just go with it and make life as simple and pleasant as possible.
“You know,” Safia finally said, “I’ve been thinking about telling my parents about you?”
“Really?” I think I sounded a little more surprised than I wanted to.
“It won’t be easy,” she continued, “but I think it might be the right thing to do. While I don’t always agree with them, I do love my parents, and I hate lying to them.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “I guess they could disown me. Kick me out of the house. Something like that.”
“Disown you?”
I couldn’t help laughing, which didn’t help any. An annoyed look quickly crossed her face.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just that, I don’t know, I just had this vision in my head of your parents taking you back to the hospital where you were born, receipt in hand, and getting in the ‘return’ line. ‘And what’s wrong with her?’ the clerk would ask. ‘She’s defective; she’s dating a white guy,’ they’d say. ‘You should have gotten the extended warranty,’ the clerk would offer. It’d be a hell of a scene.”
“Are you finished?” she asked slightly annoyed.
“Hey, I’m not the one dating a writer. I can’t help it if my mind works differently than others.”
“Well, you’re not helping.”
In time she’d learn that I very rarely do.
“Would they really kick you out?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” she said.
We walked along in silence. This concept was new to me; my siblings or I had never lived under the threat of being kicked out of our family home, even though at times I’m sure my parents wanted to.
Safia stopped in her tracks, forcing me to do the same, as we were locked hand in hand. I guess I’d taken her by surprise.
“Are you serious? Live together?”
Was I serious, or out of my mind?
I looked around. Close by was an empty park bench. I think this conversation required a seat, at least for me. I led Safia over to the bench and sat down. This was a moment; a big moment in our relationship, and one that was moving faster than it should have been.
“I don’t know,” I said, as we sat down. Remember, smooth wasn’t my thing, and I was sure this conversation was going to be further proof of that. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you, about us. I know we really haven’t been together that long, and in many ways we’re still trying to get to know one another, but, I don’t know, maybe it would be right; maybe it’s the right thing to do under the circumstances.”
Safia just looked at me. Looking into her eyes I could see the thoughts in her mind were racing along at a mile a minute.
“Living together would be a big step. A huge step,” she said.
This was awkward. We’d stumbled across a conversation we probably shouldn’t be having this early in the relationship. Circumstances, unfortunately, had conspired to put us here, though, and while I wasn’t sure what I’d say or how she would take it, we were here and there was no backing away from it.
“It bothers me that you’re lying to your parents as well,” I said. “It just doesn’t seem right, and I know it puts you in a difficult position.”
