Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13)

by Heather Wardell

  It shouldn't have, but it did. I remembered how much I'd enjoyed coming up with designs for models' makeup, and even how much fun I'd had making pictures in the sand that morning. All of that was art, and I loved it.

  I was artistic. So why did I resist the label? And why did I dress like a particularly uptight lawyer instead of someone with art in her soul?

  *****

  Even though that question stayed stuck in my mind, I did enjoy the afternoon spent painting and chatting. Everyone was so relaxed and friendly that the time sped by, and the mural I'd sketched was blossoming into such gorgeous life that I found it hard not to stare at it.

  I'd created that. I couldn't quite believe it.

  During one of my breaks to stand and study it from a distance to see if anything was missing, I heard a man clear his throat and say, "Miss Larissa?"

  I turned to see Muneera's dad. His neck was red and he looked like he'd rather be anywhere than beside me.

  I gave him a friendly smile anyhow and said, "Hello. How are you?"

  He cleared his throat again. "I am fine. Muneera..." He grimaced. "She needs help."

  Alarmed, I looked around but didn't see her. "Where is she? Is she hurt?"

  He stared past me as if meeting my eyes caused him pain. "She's not hurt. She's in the bathroom. She needs... a woman's help, and my wife is away for the week. Would you go talk to her? Please? She asked for you."

  "Then of course I'll go," I said, and his shoulders sagged with relief.

  Mine tensed as I hurried toward the bathroom outside the gym, and tensed still more when I opened the door and heard faint sobbing.

  "Muneera?"

  She sniffled and said, "Miss?"

  "Yeah, it's me, Muneera. Can you come out?"

  "No, Miss." She started crying again.

  I moved down the row of stalls until I found the one she was in. Luckily we were the only two in the bathroom. "Muneera, what's happening? I want to help but I can't if I don't know."

  She blew her nose and gave a deep shuddering sigh. "I'm... I'm bleeding, Miss."

  As her tears started again, to my surprise my own eyes filled. The fear and confusion and embarrassment in her voice brought up awful memories for me. I blinked hard and pushed my emotions away. I had to take care of Muneera now, not my childhood self. "Muneera, do you know what a period is?"

  "Yes, Miss," she said through her tears, fortunately since I didn't have any idea how detailed of an explanation to give her. "But my mom said none of the girls in my family get it before they're sixteen."

  "Well, I guess you're special then," I said gently. "I'm not surprised. I knew you were special, right from when I first met you."

  She sniffled again. "You did?"

  "Definitely. I think it's your pigtails."

  She giggled, but when she said, "What do I do now?" there was no amusement in it.

  I took a deep breath. "Okay, let's think. Is there a lot of blood?"

  "I think so, Miss."

  She would. I remembered the shock of seeing my own ruined underwear and skirt. "What about your jeans? Are they--" I pulled back from saying 'dirty' just in time. I didn't want to give her that attitude, and besides I had no idea how Muslims viewed menstruation. "Do they have any on them?"

  "No," she said, sounding surprised.

  "Okay, that'll make things easier. I am going to go up to our room and get a pad for you. It'll stick on to your underwear. Are you okay to stay here for a few minutes?"

  "Does everyone know what's happening?"

  She sounded so miserable my throat tightened again. I cleared it and said, "I don't think anyone does. Your dad came and got me but he was quiet." A thought occurred to me. "How did he know to get me?"

  "Baba called in to tell me to hurry up and I said I needed you. For girl stuff." She sniffed again. "I couldn't tell him. What if he didn't know what it was?"

  I bit my lip to keep from giggling at the world-weary "I'd have to explain it to my clueless father" tone in her voice. Once I was sure I was under control, I said, "He probably does know, but I see what you mean. So, I'll be back in a few minutes. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "I'll go as fast as I can."

  "Okay," she said again, and I thought she added, "Thanks, Miss," as I left.

  I rushed upstairs and took my last two pads from my desk drawer. I had no pockets, though, and I didn't really want to carry the pads in public because I'd be revealing Muneera's situation and that didn't seem right. I considered bringing my purse, but that seemed weird too, so I tucked a pad into the waistband of my yoga pants at each of my hips and fluffed my t-shirt out over them.

  When I returned, the bathroom was no longer empty. Shaikha and Fatma, two of the girls in my class who I'd noticed lately acting like they were the queen and princess respectively of the other girls, were standing where I'd been outside Muneera's cubicle, giggling and saying variations on "Ew."

  "Girls," I said, trying to channel Janet's best cool tone, "what are you doing?"

  Fatma had the decency to blush but Shaikha said, "Muneera's in there. She's got her period. It's gross."

  I didn't need Muneera's stifled sob to outrage me. "Shaikha, it is not gross. It's perfectly natural. It means Muneera is growing up and becoming a young woman. That's all. It's going to happen to all of you girls sooner or later, and when it does I hope nobody is mean to you like you're being right now."

  Fatma ducked her head and stared at her feet. Shaikha tossed her hair, but I noticed she was blushing a little. Still defiant, she said, "It won't happen to me for years. That's what my mother said."

  "That's what mine said too," Muneera snapped from the cubicle.

  Shaikha's blush vanished as she went pale. "Really?"

  "It's not so bad, though," I said, surprising myself so much I couldn't keep going. It wasn't?

  Shaikha and Fatma stared at me.

  "You get it too?"

  Fatma's awed tone made it impossible not to smile. "I'm a woman, you know. So yes, I do. Every month. It's scary at first, which is why Muneera's a little upset, but once you get used to it it's just part of being a girl."

  Fatma, looking like I'd shocked her so badly she'd never speak again, skittered out of the bathroom. Shaikha glanced at the closed cubicle door then began to follow Fatma, but there was something in that glance that I didn't like.

  I let her get almost to the door then said, "Shaikha?"

  She turned back, and I said, "I'm sure you're not planning to go out there and tell everyone that Muneera has her period. It's not something to be embarrassed about but it is private and nobody else needs to know. I'd hate to have to bring your mother in and tell her you've been bullying your fellow student. So I'm glad you're not going to do that."

  The mention of her mother made alarm flash across her face, and I didn't blame her. I'd met the woman once and she had made it abundantly clear to me that any misbehavior on Shaikha's part would be punished far more severely at home than I could ever do at school.

  "Right?" I said, looking into her eyes.

  She looked away. "Right, Miss."

  "Good. Off you go, then."

  She did, and I held a pad under the door for Muneera and talked her through how to stick it in place. I gave her the spare one too, once she was done, so she could keep it in her pocket in case she needed another before she went home.

  When everything was done, Muneera flushed the toilet but she didn't leave the cubicle. Once the water's rushing had completely died away, I said gently, "Are you coming out now?"

  The door unlocked but she still didn't emerge.

  "Muneera?"

  "I don't want to see Baba. I feel weird. Him or anyone else."

  I remembered that feeling well, how I'd been sure everyone would be able to tell just by looking at me. What would I have wanted someone to say to me? "I can understand that."

  "You can?"

  I nodded, then rolled my eyes at myself since she couldn't see me. "Yes, I can. It's ver
y personal, so it feels weird to think that everyone could know. They won't, though, unless you tell them. Which you don't need to do unless you want to."

  She opened the door and stood before me. The misery on her tear-stained face before she dropped her head to stare at the floor made my heart lurch. "Miss, will I ever get used to this?"

  I'd thought I hadn't, but having such a vivid reminder of my first period made it clear to me that they were nowhere near as traumatic now. "You will," I said, making my voice firm and clear. "It may never be your favorite thing, but it'll just become part of life."

  She kept her head down but raised her eyes to my face. "Do you really get it too, Miss?"

  I smiled at her. "I do. And I'll tell you a secret. I've had it since I was teaching you. You didn't know, did you?"

  She shook her head.

  "So that means nobody else has to know about yours unless you tell them." Worried I was harping a bit too much on the 'hide it at all costs' side of thing, I added, "You can tell them, if you want. And I do think your father knows but you should probably tell your mom when she comes back. It's nobody else's business, but it's also not something to be ashamed of. So you can tell or not tell, however it feels right to you. Okay?"

  She nodded, and I reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Why don't you wash your hands and wipe your eyes with a wet paper towel and then we'll go out and do some more painting?"

  "Okay, Miss."

  I watched her get cleaned up, then said, "You go on ahead. I'm right behind you."

  She took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom. As promised, I stayed on her heels. I didn't really think Shaikha would risk her mother's fury, but I wasn't sure, and I would not leave Muneera to be humiliated.

  When we returned to the gym, nobody looked in our direction except Muneera's father. He came over, squatted down in front of her so his long robe bunched up at his hips, and said, "Are you okay?"

  She nodded. "Miss helped me. Do... do you know what it was?"

  He leaned in and murmured something to her, too quiet for me to hear, and her cheeks pinkened as she nodded.

  He said, "Congratulations, my big girl," then gave her a hug.

  My eyes filled up as she hugged him back hard. The simple acceptance and understanding in his voice would have meant so much to me coming from my dad, but Dad hadn't been able to provide them.

  For the first time I realized the whole thing had probably been just as hard on him as on me. Seeing the little girl he'd wished had been a boy experiencing such a purely feminine thing must have made the reality that he'd never have the son for whom he'd longed so clear. He hadn't been able to see past his pain to how badly I needed him, but he hadn't deliberately hurt me.

  I blinked away my tears, feeling something inside me relax for what felt like the first time in forever, and Muneera's dad let her go and said, "Do you want to paint some more?"

  She looked past him and nodded. "Khalid's painting the cat but maybe I can do the big rock."

  She left, and he straightened up and gave me an awkward smile. "Thank you so much. She's okay now?"

  I nodded. "She's got a spare pad in her pocket but I didn't have any more to give her, so if your wife doesn't have any at home you might want to go shopping on the way home."

  He smiled. "Thank you." He held out his hand to me. "I'm glad you were able to guide my little girl into her womanhood."

  I took his hand, and as we shook I said, "So am I."

  We smiled at each other and he set off to join his daughter at the wall, and I watched Muneera ordering Khalid around with her usual energy and felt more glad than I could say.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When I arrived for painting the next morning, Muneera came rushing over with a brightly wrapped box in her hands. "For you, Miss."

  I smiled at her. "It's not my birthday, you know."

  She giggled. "Open it, Miss. It's from my mom. Well, Baba bought it but she told him what to do."

  "Muneera," her dad said softly, shaking his head.

  "What? She did."

  She looked at me expectantly, so I unwrapped the box to find a stunning necklace made of three strands of deep purple amethyst chips held together by intricately engraved large silver beads at each end.

  "Oh," I breathed, brushing my fingertip over the flowers and vines on a silver bead. "Muneera, it's lovely."

  "There are earrings too," she said excitedly. "Put it on, Miss."

  "It doesn't go with her outfit," her dad said before I could answer.

  He was right that my black yoga pants and brown shirt didn't really deserve an amethyst adornment, but his words reminded me of when Amirah had given me that gorgeous pink silk scarf. I hadn't worn it that day, and I had never worn it. I'd considered it over and over but when I reached for it a little voice somewhere inside told me pink wasn't right for me.

  Though this wasn't pink, it was still stunningly feminine and like nothing else I owned, but I couldn't disappoint Muneera so I smiled and said, "It doesn't, but I'm going to wear it anyhow," and secured it around my neck. "Does it look nice?"

  "Yes, Miss."

  I put on the earrings too, then said, "Thank you so much." I looked from Muneera to her dad. "It's so sweet of you. You didn't have to, though."

  He nodded. "We felt that we did. Because you've been such a good teacher to Muneera." His eyes told me he was speaking about yesterday, not my classroom work, which of course didn't surprise me.

  I glanced down and could just see the last strand of amethysts lying against my t-shirt. "I love it, and I appreciate it so much. Thank you."

  He smiled and Muneera tugged at my hand. "Come paint with me."

  "Yes, Miss," I said, mocking the way she said it to me, and we giggled and set off to paint.

  The weight of the necklace reminded me over and over of its presence as we worked. I'd never worn something so pretty, and every time I caught a glimpse of it or felt an earring brush against my cheek it surprised me. Not in a bad way, though. The feeling of being decorated with something so feminine was unusual, but pleasant.

  We carried on working throughout the day, finishing around four. The mural wall looked perfect, and I blushed when Janet led everyone in a round of applause for my "artistic brilliance".

  While we packed up to leave, Katherine wandered over. "Omar and I are going to the mall. Want to come along, or are you too brilliant for us?"

  I laughed. "Hardly." I had no plans, since Leon was away. "Yeah, I'll go with you if that's okay. Looking for anything in particular?"

  She shook her head. "Just looking."

  Omar drove us there and soon we were wandering around fulfilling Katherine's plan. We looked at store window after store window without particular interest, until we turned a corner and I stumbled over my feet.

  The window before us held five mannequins, each with identical blank faces and stylized model poses, wearing the same dress in five different colors: brown, black, an olive green, a vibrant red, and a pink that reminded me instantly of the scarf Amirah had given me. The dress itself was shaped rather like the one I'd tried on in Dubai, although sleeker because it lacked that one's ruffles, but the color was gorgeous and the urge to try it on hit me like a dune buggy crashing through a sand dune.

  "What's-- ah," Katherine said. "You've got a thing for dresses, Larissa."

  I laughed. "I don't have a single one here with me and maybe one in my storage locker at home."

  "Doesn't mean you don't have a thing for them." She heaved a pretend sigh. "All right, get in there and try it on. No Gunther around this time to make it awkward." She cuddled into Omar. "You won't drool all over Larissa, will you? You'll be..."

  He frowned at her significant pause, then laughed. "Yes. I will be genteel and not drool. And thank you for helping me get my word of the day in."

  She grinned at him, and I smiled too at how cute they were together but said, "It doesn't matter. I'm not trying it on. It's too girly for me."

&nb
sp; Katherine tipped her head to one side. "Even in the black? Or brown? They're nice. If I didn't know I'd look like a refrigerator in that dress I'd try one on myself."

  "But I thought you hated wearing skirts," I said, remembering our talk in Dubai.

  She smiled. "I hated being told I had to wear them. And I do prefer trousers. But there's nothing wrong with a skirt here and there. I agree that the pink one is kind of ridiculously pretty but in the dark colors it's lovely, and I think you'd look great. You're sure you don't want to try it on?"

  I studied the display for another moment, then turned my back on it. "Nope." I touched my necklace. "This is as girly as I can get, for now."

  Katherine shrugged. "Well, you know yourself, so I'll take your word for it."

  We walked on, and I wondered if she was right. Did I know myself? Did anyone really know themselves? Or did we all just do what everyone else thought we should do?

  My mental wanderings were interrupted by Katherine calling, "Hallo, Amirah!"

  I looked in the direction she'd turned and sure enough Amirah was there, black-clad as always, standing between Khalid and a tall woman whose resemblance to Amirah made me think she was her sister Nour.

  But maybe not, because the other woman wore jeans and a hot pink tunic top and her long braided hair hung down over one shoulder with no headdress hiding it.

  Amirah and the others came over, Khalid staring at the ground as he walked so I couldn't see much of his face but his pinkening cheeks, and Katherine said to me, "Have you met Nour yet, Larissa?"

  "I haven't," I said, and smiled at Khalid's mom. "Lovely to meet you."

  "You also," she said, returning my smile, then nudged her son. "Say hello to Miss Larissa, Khalid."

  He muttered something, hanging his head even further down, and she laughed. "Shy all of a sudden. I wouldn't have believed it possible."

  We smiled at each other, and after a little more chatting they went their own way and we went ours. I couldn't stop thinking about them, though. I had assumed Amirah was forced to wear the full covering by a man, but if that were the case, wouldn't her sister also have to do it?