Nothing Is Predictable

by Adalina Mae

  “You’re taking me with you! I can’t be away from you, please, you can’t leave me here, Jamal, I can’t be here without you,” I cried.

  “My sweet Zara, I cannot. I cannot. Please forgive me, this is a family affair and your family will never accept me being a Muslim anyway. I will not do anything to jeopardize your relationship with your family, especially your mother. My God, she has been through enough torment, I cannot add to her suffering.” He started the car to drive me back to college.

  Thoughts whirled through my mind. Oh my God, this can’t be the last time I see him. Is this it? He’s driving me back to college, I’m never going to see him again. No way, this can’t be happening to me. I couldn’t breathe. How can this be the final goodbye? Oh Jesus, this can’t be happening to me. How can I fix this? Can I delay it? Think of something Zara, think of something. The love of my life is leaving for another country! What the hell is going on? I can’t handle this. Oh my God I feel sick.

  “Jamal, please! What are you doing? Is this it? You’re taking me back to college and I’m never to see you again? Is that your plan?”

  “I’m so sorry to do this to you, I have to, this is the only way, I cannot drag you into this. ’You’re still young and have your whole life ahead of you. You’ll be right, my darling. You’re a strong girl, I know you will be fine.”

  “Don’t you dare call me darling, how could you say that to me? You’re leaving me without any thought as to what this will do to me, without enough time to deal with this!” I yelled at him. I kept looking at the streets we were passing to see how far away I was from death. I seriously thought I was going to die. I just couldn’t deal with it.

  Please God, please God, please God.

  At that moment, my mind flashed back to the eight-year-old girl running up the stairs. I was experiencing the same fear of loss and abandonment.

  He stopped the car, leant over, opened the door, gave me a long kiss on the cheek, and then asked me to leave the car. His eyes were filled with tears and he couldn’t look at me. Tears of pain and anger were flowing down my cheeks and I had that terrible feeling of abandonment and hopelessness.

  I got out of the car and slammed the door in rage. I think I broke the window frame.

  He drove off fast and I stared after his disappearing car. As it got smaller and smaller, I fell to the ground, covered my face with my hands, and cried from the pain of my heart being ripped out and dragged behind his car.

  “This can’t be happening!” I sobbed.

  Bella a friend from college saw me and ran up to me.

  “Oh my God Zara, are you okay?” she asked, kneeling beside me and hugging me.

  “He’s gone, he left me just like that, Jamal is leaving to go to London, he’s gone.” I looked up and I must have looked a sight with smudged mascara running down my face.

  “Oh honey, what happened, why is he leaving?” she asked me softly, helping me to stand up.

  “I don’t frickin’ know! He said it’s family affairs, what is that, seriously?” I felt so humiliated at being dumped.

  She drove me home, saying I wasn’t in good enough shape to walk. I cried all the way while she tried to comfort me. She knew how much I loved him and she understood my pain.

  I walked into the house quietly, hoping I would avoid Mom if she was home. That day, I couldn’t help but resent her as in my mind, it was her fault I had lost him, because of his religious background. She noticed my red eyes and the despondent look on my face, but I told her I had a headache and needed to sleep and asked her to leave me alone. I cried for fifteen hours.

  I could barely function. College was a struggle, I couldn’t focus. I had no interest in anything but him. I became aggressive in my martial arts training, at some point hurting the friends I sparred with. It wasn’t intentional; my inner rage and anger were unleashed through my training.

  I cried myself to sleep for months, I suffered from sleep deprivation. I wondered if the deep pain I felt in my heart would ever heal. For months, I went to college and felt disconnected from everything around me. I don’t know how I eventually passed my exams. The only thing I connected with was martial arts. That was my avenue to release my anger and pain.

  One day, about three months after Jamal had left, I decided to contact his sister who lived in Michigan. I begged her to give me his number in London and to my surprise, she did. I think she heard the desperation in my voice and felt my pain.

  I stood in front of the phone and stared at it for an hour, trying to build up the courage to call him. Each time I picked up the receiver (it was a landline; there were no cell phones at the time), I’d replace it, and I don’t know how many times I did that. My heart was beating so rapidly I felt nauseated.

  Agitated and frustrated, I tried to convince myself. What the heck, just do it idiot! He’ll be happy to hear your voice. I dialed the number and as the phone began to ring, I fiddled with the cord. Oh God, it’s ringing, I feel sick, hang up, hang up, hang up before he answers.

  “Hello!” His voice coursed through the phone line, into my ear, and then shot me straight in the heart. God, I couldn’t breathe.

  “Hello? Who’s ringing at this time of the morning?” he sounded agitated.

  “Umm…Jamal…umm…hi…it’s Zara…I’m sorry, did I ring at a bad time?”

  Bad time? What was I thinking? It was 4 am in London. How on earth did I not think of that before I rang?

  In a displeased tone, he said, “Zara? How did you get my number? Why are you calling me? You shouldn’t be calling me here.”

  Wow, wow, wow! Did I really hear that?

  “I’m so sorry to call you at this time, Jamal, I just needed to know you’re okay, I needed to hear your voice.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “If I wanted you to call me, I would have given you my number, please don’t call me again, I’ll call you, okay?” And he hung up.

  Bang! Straight to the heart.

  With one hand on my head and the other still holding the phone receiver, I stood there in shock and disbelief. I can’t breathe, I need to sit down. Did that really happen? He hung up on me! First I get dumped on the street and then this! Are you frickin serious? You fool! This was a bad idea. I feel sick, I want to die, I want to die.

  I fell into the chair, my jaw trembling and my eyes filling with tears. I felt that same pain, in the center of my chest, only this time, it was deeper.

  That was not my Jamal, the man who loved me more than life itself. How could he leave and treat me so heartlessly? I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

  What an ugly feeling rejection is. The feeling of knowing I was not loved by the very soul who had showed me what love was. I felt worthless and insignificant. I couldn’t connect to anything around me, even beautiful things seemed grey and dull. I forgot how to laugh and when I did, it was at things that brought pain instead of joy.

  I tried hard to forget about Jamal and divert my attention instead to my studies (my graduation was in the middle of the year) and martial arts.

  That night, I had another nightmare.

  Chapter 12

  The ugly man

  USA 1991

  One day, I drove Mom to work. She worked as a kitchen hand for a relative. I watched her walk in with a limp. My God, hasn’t she suffered enough in life? I thought. She’d had an abusive husband who had blown our fortune on his sick habits and bad decisions, and after all that, she had to work as a cook and kitchen hand.

  I cried the whole way home. I couldn’t live with myself knowing how much she was struggling to send me to college and pay for my martial arts lessons. I needed to give her a better life, so I made an oath to myself. Once I am established, I will never let her work again.

  Although Dad was an alcoholic, he had been a successful businessman who had always provided the best for the family. He lost our wealth due to his bad life choices and Mom and I struggled to adapt. Not only had we lost the so-called protector of the house, although he wasn’t an ideal exampl
e, we’d also lost our financial stability. I had to do something to improve our life.

  By nineteen, I graduated from college and found a part-time job with a computer company. I knew if I sacrificed on some expenses, Mom could quit work and I would be able to look after her and pay all our bills. Having so much responsibility at that age was a lot of pressure but I was very happy to do it for her sake; after all, she had always made sacrifices for me. One evening I took her out for dinner in Santa Monica.

  As we were talking, an extremely tall man with black hair who looked around forty passed our table on his way to the bathroom. He briefly looked at us, smiled, and nodded his head in greeting as he passed.

  “Hey Mom, did you see how ugly that man was?” I giggled and Mom, being the polite woman of course, kicked me quietly under the chair.

  “Don’t be rude, that’s not nice, missy,” she said, although she giggled at my comment.

  We both chuckled quietly and a few minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom. I started to giggle again. He was heading toward our table.

  “Hello Madam,” he said to Mom, then, “hello miss, I’m Tariq, may I join you for a bit? I…”

  Before he finished his sentence I replied rudely, “Noooo thank you, we don’t even know you. Please leave us.”

  I shrugged him off and burst out laughing. He felt embarrassed, then walked away confidently. After I realized how rude I had been, not to mention immature, I felt awkward and out of place and I knew I had been heartless. No one deserved to be treated that way.

  “Shit! I shouldn’t have laughed like that, I feel bad,” I said to Mom. She looked at me and shook her head, displeased at my rude comment and behavior.

  I don’t know what it was but despite his ugliness, there was something about him that made me feel he didn’t deserve the response I’d given him. Perhaps he was just being a gentleman.

  The following day I was in my bedroom listening to music and all I could think of was Jamal. My heart was fractured by the memory of him. Many times, I received private calls to my home but when I picked up the receiver, no one would say anything. It was complete silence. I would remain silent to hear something in the background, but the caller would wait a few seconds then hang up. It couldn’t be Jamal calling from overseas, or I would have heard the international connect tone when I answered. So who was it? Who was calling me and playing these silly games once or twice a week?

  That evening, the phone rang again.

  “Hello?” I answered. No one responded. “Hello? Hello? Ok, I’ve had enough of this! Who is calling? Enough with the games, you idiots!” I was about to hang up when I heard a deep chuckle.

  “How cute,” he said.

  “Who is cute and who is this calling?” I asked angrily.

  “Miss Zara, I’m sorry to call you unannounced, this is Tariq.”

  “Tariq who?” I asked rudely.

  “I am Tariq, I met you last night at the restaurant. You know, the guy you rudely shrugged off and laughed at when I asked to join you.”

  I put my hand on the receiver to cover the mouthpiece, quickly turned around to get Mom’s attention, and pointed at the phone. “It’s the ugly man,” I whispered.

  Mom had a confused look on her face wondering why on earth he was calling.

  “Oh, I’m really sorry for being so rude last night, and ah, may I ask how you got my number, and how on earth do you know my name?”

  “Here, speak to someone you know,” he said, instead of answering my question.

  “Hi Zara, it’s Troy from the club.” Troy was one of my friends from the martial arts club.

  “Oh Troy, you know this guy? Why on earth did you give him my number without asking me first?” I said sternly.

  “Tariq is a good friend of mine, Zara, actually he’s your biggest supporter. Haven’t you seen the way he stares at you when you’re training? He’s even been to your fight tournaments.” Troy was laughing and at the same time, I could hear Tariq in the background yelling at him to stop talking.

  “Ha-ha! My biggest supporter, that’s really funny. But, um, the guy is like, old enough to be my father, Troy. Isn’t he a little old for these silly romantic games?”

  “C’mon, he’s harmless and he’s my friend, I would never give your number out to someone I don’t know well. We’re all friends here and he’s a gentleman. Now please Zara, put him out of his misery and talk to the guy, he’s dying here.”

  “Oh shit, okay, put him on,” I said.

  I was a bit annoyed and confused but at the same time, I loved the attention. It was exciting.

  Tariq grabbed the receiver back from Troy.

  “Miss Zara, please don’t listen to Troy, he’s exaggerating. I mean yes, I am a big supporter and yes, I am…I am…okay, maybe I’m a little obsessed with you, but hey, the whole club is for God’s sake.”

  “I have never seen you before last night, but Troy says you’ve been watching me fight.”

  “I tried to tell you last night, but you shrugged me off and laughed at me before I was able to properly introduce myself and explain how I knew you. So, now that you know who I am, can I ask you out for dinner?”

  Okay, so you have seen me fight, right? You have seen what I am capable of, right? And you still want to take me out? Also, I’m sorry to be blunt, but how old are you?”’

  “Oh c’mon, I’m not that old!” he laughed. “I’m only thirty-three and besides, what does age have to do with anything?”

  “Oh, thirty-three, wow, I thought you were in your forties,” I said, surprised.

  “Thanks,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “Haha! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you but truly, I thought you were like, forty, oops! Sorry, said it again.” Only a naïve nineteen-year-old would say something like that…again.

  “Don’t worry about it. So, what do you think? Can we go out for dinner?”

  “Noooo, I thought I said that already,” I snapped.

  “C’mon, Miss Zara, I promise you I’ll be a true gentleman. Troy can back me up on that. Here’s an idea, how about if he joins us? Would you feel better knowing that someone you know is with us?”

  “I’m not scared of you. Let me think about it. Look, maybe we can all catch up for coffee or something. It won’t be a date so don’t get any ideas. You’re a friend of a friend…and you’re so persistent I must say…I would feel quite embarrassed to turn you down again and I feel bad for being so rude and immature last night, so I guess there’s no harm in a friendly catchup for coffee. I have Troy’s number, I’ll call him during the week and we’ll arrange something, okay?”

  “I am happy with that; may I call you at least?”

  “You’re pushing it now, I’ll talk to Troy, I’m hanging up now,” I said bluntly and hung up the phone.

  I turned and saw Mom’s face and could tell she had questions about why this guy was calling me. “Don’t worry, Mom, he’s just Troy’s friend from the club, nothing to worry about, and anyway, he’s ugly.”

  He surprised me. I mean, I was just a nineteen-year-old, I was no big deal, but I was loving his attention and the respect he showed me, and I loved how he made me feel. I could get used to that. I went to bed with butterflies in my stomach that night. I liked the feeling of being wanted by someone, but if only that someone had been Jamal. His persistence won me over. I yearned for the attention that I had already lost from the two most important men in my life. My Dad and Jamal.

  Later that week I was walking out from training. Troy and Tariq were standing near the doorway waiting for me. Unannounced. I felt awkward and it was an inappropriate time for me to meet someone. I was in my training gear and needed to go home and shower.

  “Hey you guys,” I said.

  “Zara, sorry to come unannounced but we were having coffee next door and thought we’d come in to say hi,” Troy said. Tariq was standing there looking nervous.

  I shook my head briefly but said, “Sure,” and turned to Tariq. “Hello Tar
iq, how are you?”

  “Oh, I’m great, great, especially now,” Tariq said.

  “Okay, so how about you two go and have a coffee next door and get acquainted,” Troy said rapidly before the moment ended. I kept walking toward the exit door while they walked beside me. “Not today, boys, not today. I’m tired from training and I need to go home and shower.”

  “Are you serious? We’re here, five minutes, just a quick coffee, c’mon,” Tariq said.

  “Nope sorry, got to go.” I shrugged them both off but just before I walked out I turned and said, “I’ll be here tomorrow, come see me after training.”

  Entering our apartment building, I began to walk up the stairs. An older man, perhaps around sixty, startled me as he was coming down the stairs. I froze, feeling sick in the stomach. We both stared at each other without moving. I was transported back to the nightmare of my childhood when I had been repeatedly molested by that old man. This time, I was prepared to knock him out if he tried to come near me, but my heart was pounding and although I could have defended myself, I seemed incapable of calmly walking up the stairs. I opened my bag and pretended to look for something, hoping I could divert his attention and make him leave without it being obvious that I was scared of him.

  “Oh no, Miss, please, I mean you no harm! What are your taking out of your bag?” he asked frantically.

  “Sir, I’m just looking for my keys.” I held them up and wiggled them in an unthreatening gesture. The poor man had thought I was taking out a weapon and was more frightened of me than I was of him.

  “I’m just leaving my darling’s house, Mam. I mean no harm,” he said.

  “Sir, you have nothing to worry about. I live here. I was actually more scared of you!” I tried to calm him and continued to walk up the stairs. “It’s late so don’t let me keep you any longer,” I said to him as we passed each other, my eyes locked on him to make sure he walked out the front door.