If I Should Speak

by Umm Zakiyyah

  Seeing Durrah change so abruptly, so unexpectedly, terrified Aminah. She had never before seen a person on one path one day and literally on an entirely different one the next. She remembered as if it were yesterday the conversations she and Durrah would have every day after school, expressing their shock about and disappointment with the lifestyles of most non-Muslims. She and Durrah had gone to public school because no Muslim high school was in their area, a small suburb of Atlanta. This experience was one that Aminah would never forget. The promiscuity and carelessness of the students unnerved her.

  “They’re crazy,” Durrah would often remark about their behavior, sharing Aminah’s sentiments.

  Their faith was high then, and although up and down as everyone’s was, it was never so low as to incite them to abandon major parts of their religion. Covering had been one of the most important things to them, and they were the only Muslim students who actually dressed according to Islamic requirements. There were a few other students who were Muslim, but none were openly, the Muslims students having been influenced by the attractive lifestyle of those around them.

  But not Aminah, and definitely not Durrah. They were strong, the spearheads of all Islamic activities in their school, Durrah more outspoken about the religion than Aminah. In fact, Durrah was Aminah’s strength through much of high school, as Durrah’s confidence was higher and her shyness much less, and Durrah had no problem arguing with others about religion and telling them what she believed. Aminah had admired Durrah then, had wished she could be like her, strong-minded, not caring what others thought of her. But Aminah had been somewhat timid, self-conscious about her dress, though she was a strong Muslim and wanted to be nothing else. But still, she felt uncomfortable in the public school environment, dreading each day of school, and although she loved talking about Islam, she did not have enough guts to strike up a conversation with non-Muslims—unlike Durrah, who would go to even teachers and initiate a discussion about Islam, no care given to the fact that she was outnumbered, not fazed by the fact that on-lookers supported the teacher.

  But what happened? This question pained Aminah even today. She had searched her mind for any indication, any warning that she may have overlooked, but she had found none. But when she had woken that morning, she had thought of something, the memory of the day vague but becoming more vivid as its significance heightened.

  She and Durrah had been on their way to lunch one day during their senior year, and Aminah had to go to the restroom. As usual, they stopped at the women’s restroom that was down the hall from the cafeteria. Durrah was waiting for Aminah to finish when some other girls had entered the restroom. The girls had greeted Durrah, who had become quite friendly with many students during the course of the year. They exchanged polite conversation as the students combed their hair until one of them said, “Let me see your hair.”

  At that moment, Aminah emerged from the stall, smiling politely at them and giving a gesture of a wave as she approached the sinks to wash her hands.

  “No!” Durrah laughed, holding onto her white cotton khimaar.

  “Just let me see!” one student begged, laughing, touching the white cloth.

  “I thought you said women can see your hair,” the other reminded.

  “They can,” Durrah confirmed.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” the first promised.

  Aminah had glanced at Durrah to see how she would respond, wondering how she would brush the students off and tell them no. But Durrah’s expression had surprised Aminah. It had been one of thoughtful consideration, as if she saw no harm in it.

  “Pleeeeease.”

  “Just let me see,” the other tugged on the cloth.

  “Fine,” Dee finally gave in, shocking Aminah, who said nothing while watching the exchange more curiously now. “But you can’t say anything.”

  The gasps and awes of the women were exaggerated in Aminah’s view as they gawked at Durrah’s hair, which fell down her back from under the khimaar, under which it had been tucked with a hair clip.

  “It’s so long!”

  “You should show it!”

  The suggestions were greeted by a shy shake of the head as Durrah returned her khimaar to her head, Aminah finishing washing her hands at that moment.

  Presently, Aminah wondered, was that it? Had the students' comments affected her so much that she was drawn in, taken by the attention to which she was unaccustomed? Had it been intoxicating, their words? So intoxicating that Durrah needed—wanted—more, more attention, more praise?

  But why? Had Dee not stated on several occasions that she cared nothing about what the disbelievers thought? Had she not asserted several times that she only cared what her future husband thought of her beauty? And had she not told Aminah that she, like Aminah, felt that it was not good to show them her hair?

  But what now? Had that all changed, her view now the exact opposite?

  But even if that was it, why the extremity? Why the modeling, the singing, and the male company? Was uncovering not enough? Psychologists would probably deduce Durrah was in need of attention, attention she had not received at home, but Aminah knew better. Durrah’s parents were full of warmth and affection and were constantly showering compliments to their children, about their Islam, yes, but also about the physical beauty Allah had given them.

  So, no, that was not it. There was no void. Rather it was an influence of evil, which likely began as a whisper. But Durrah had succumbed, shocking everyone, perhaps even herself.

  Could she too be like that? Aminah? Could Aminah be vulnerable to the attack, the temptation? Did she have buried cravings for the unlawful, for evil, lying in wait to plant itself inside her heart? If so, how would she respond?

  As Durrah did?

  She hoped not.

  Tamika spent much of the morning and the afternoon writing the song, after which she and Dee practiced it. Dee loved it and insisted that they do it over again. Tamika enjoyed the attention. Dee's company was addicting, which was why Tamika felt so comfortable with her, so relaxed. Being with Dee freed her of her burdens, whether academic, mental—or spiritual.

  “What are you doing for Spring Break?” Dee inquired after their rehearsal.

  “Spring Break?” Tamika repeated, having forgotten completely about it. “When is it?”

  “The week after next.”

  “It is?”

  Dee laughed. “Yeah, you didn't know!”

  Tamika wrinkled her forehead, then relaxed it as she remembered seeing it on the calendar, and March was a few days away. What was wrong with her? She usually kept up with school vacations and made plans well in advance. “I know,” Tamika agreed, chuckling self-consciously. “I don't know how I forgot.”

  “You want to go camping though?”

  “Camping?

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “There's a resort not too far from here,” Dee told her. “A few of us are going, and we're going to stay in some villas there.”

  “I don't think I can,” Tamika told her honestly. “I don't have any—”

  “I'll pay for it.”

  “No, no,” she interrupted emphatically. “I can't let you do that.”

  “Don't worry about it,” Dee told her, shaking her head, waving her hand. “It's not a problem.”

  “No but still—”

  “I insist,” she interjected, grinning, arms folded, as if she was not going to let Tamika turn down the offer.

  “No, Dee, not this time,” Tamika stopped her, laughing. “I'm not gonna let you.”

  “Then it's a gift.”

  She laughed again. “You just thought of that.”

  “How do you know?” Dee challenged playfully.

  “I know,” Tamika assured her, smiling and shaking her head.

  “Well, it’s a gift,” Dee told her, more convincingly this time. “Besides, it’ll be fun if you come. We can make up songs and stuff,” she suggested.

  Tamika bit her lip, half
smiling, staring at Dee. Dee was serious, Tamika could tell. How could she turn her down? “Who’s going?”

  “Alright!” Dee exclaimed, slapping Tamika playfully on the shoulder as she realized victory.

  “Who’s going?” Tamika repeated insistently with a chuckle, as if daring Dee.

  “About ten people, but eleven now.”

  She shook her head, smiling, amused by Dee. “Like who?”

  “You’ll meet them there,” Dee told her with a wave of her hand. “Most of them are just friends, but a few of them go here.”

  “To Streamsdale?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I suppose,” Tamika said slowly, thinking it probably would not be half bad. “If it’s really not a big deal—”

  “It’s not,” Dee assured her, still smiling.

  “I hope everyone doesn’t look at me funny.”

  She laughed. “No, girl,” she assured her. “Everyone’s inviting friends anyhow.”

  “Then it’s more than ten.”

  “It started off as three,” she told her matter-of-factly. “But people kept inviting others.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, it’s not a big deal. Trust me.”

  “If you say so.” Tamika shrugged, flattered that she was invited and excited at the idea.

  “Then come with me shopping for some stuff,” Dee told her, glancing around for her shoes.

  “It’s not for another week though.”

  “But we’re leaving Friday after classes,” she explained. “So this is the only weekend we have before we leave.”

  “Okay.”

  Dee slipped on her shoes and Tamika did the same.

  “It’ll be quick,” Dee promised. But they ended up staying out for several hours, going out to eat afterwards and Tamika having suggested going to a movie. But they had fun, so Tamika did not mind. The time had passed quickly, most of it having been spent laughing and joking with Dee.

  Chapter Twelve

  Spring Break turned out to be one of Tamika’s most memorable college experiences, having been filled with excitement after excitement, and afterwards, she was grateful that she had gone. She had not realized how relaxing camping could be, the waterfalls, the lakes, the grass, and the trees, all giving Tamika tranquility, a much needed peace, an escape from the world.

  During the relaxing trip, reality became a shadow, a whisper fading in the distance, going away gently with the sunset. And although they stayed in the villas most nights, rendering the trip more a luxury than true camping would be, they had slept in tents a couple of nights, just for the experience, and stayed up most of those nights telling kiddy ghost stories with antics and drama that Tamika never imagined adults had. The stories actually ended up seeming a lot less kiddy than they were when they were coupled with the dark night and uncertainty inspired by the movement of trees and the occasional passing of an animal, not to mention that the students were almost a hundred miles from campus.

  It was strange, peculiar, how growing darkness changed moods, how reality and imagination became jumbled, indistinguishable, and one’s sense of security lost, as if a person’s comfort waned as the sun’s brightness dimmed. Tamika had been terrified, but she would not have admitted it to anyone. The stories of the campers were frightening, although she knew most of them were fictitious. Even Dee’s “what if” stories haunted her, making her sleepless, and Kevin’s stories of wild bears and cougars possibly being near captivated her, as she was almost believing, nearly convinced, leaving Tamika attributing every blow of the wind and passing animal, even if a squirrel, to some ominous monster of a creature who was lying in wait for her.

  On one of the nights, which was Saturday, their last night there, Tamika retired to her tent, which she shared with only Dee, because their tent was uncomfortably small, barely able to hold even them.

  “They’re crazy,” Dee commented after they settled in their tent, Tamika lying in her sleeping bag, Dee sitting up, hugging her knees, the light of the lantern making their faces glow and shadows large.

  Tamika chuckled uncomfortably, still recovering from the vivid descriptions. “Yeah, I know.” She lay on her back with her hands folded behind her head, staring at the tent’s ceiling, wishing she could return to the villa that she was sharing with Dee and a few other women. She could not sleep out there, not tonight, it was too much, too unbearable. She felt that there were actually dangerous animals out there—somewhere. But she did not tell Dee of her trepidation. She feared that she would seem like a spoiled child who thought monsters were in the closet and insisted on sleeping in her parents’ bed.

  Dee sighed, scratching at a toenail with one hand, the polish breaking and falling on the ground. Her eyes became intent, and she hugged her knees again, letting her chin rest comfortably on them, a position that Tamika noticed Dee assumed whenever something heavy was on her mind.

  Tamika shut her eyes, but sleep would not come, this she knew, because the action was due more to not knowing what else to do than to any sleepiness on her part. She was not going to sleep tonight, she was determined, even if she felt herself growing tired. She had to remain alert, just in case—in case an animal did come near. She knew she was being paranoid, but she could not shake the feeling of anxiousness, fear that there could be some validity to her feeling, to the possibility that wild animals were actually out there.

  “You awake?”

  She opened her eyes abruptly, heart pounding, immediately realizing that she had drifted to sleep. For how long, she did not know, but she would have to do better at remaining awake. “Yeah,” she told Dee, her tone suggesting that she had not slept at all. She turned on her side facing Dee, propping her head with a hand. Perhaps changing positions would keep her alert. “What’s up?”

  Dee wore a faint smile, her gaze far off.

  Outside, crickets had been chirping, Tamika remembered, but now she heard light tapping upon the tent. It was raining, Tamika observed, realizing she must have been sleeping for a quite a while. It was colder than before, she noticed, pulling the covers up to her shoulders.

  “I was just thinking,” Dee said contemplatively, her words slow and measured, reflective. She started to go on but stopped herself, considering it first, her smile fading as her eyes fell on Tamika. “You ever have something that you need to do but you’re afraid?”

  Tamika thought about it briefly, silence filling the air for a brief moment, the gentle pounding of the rain creating a cozy atmosphere for the friends. “All the time.”

  “I mean, like,” Dee sucked her teeth, deciding to phrase it differently. “Is it easy for you talk to your mom?”

  Tamika’s eyebrows rose slightly as she nodded, now understanding. “Sometimes,” she replied honestly.

  Dee was silent, nibbling at her lower lip, thoughts elsewhere.

  “When it’s something we agree on,” Tamika added.

  Dee smiled, but it was not due to happiness, this Tamika could tell. “Same here.”

  “I don’t ever talk to her about my singing or anything like that.”

  Dee forced laughter, waving her hand. “I don’t even want to get into that.”

  Tamika was silent for a few minutes, listening to the pattering of the rain upon the tent, wondering what was bothering Dee. Dee’s mood reminded her of the one Dee had had the night Tamika had seen her crying, and she could not help thinking that whatever had been troubling Dee then was troubling her now.

  “You have something you want to tell your parents?” Tamika inquired.

  Dee had heard the question, but she was delaying the answer, her eyes looking up for a moment then down. She took in a deep breath then exhaled, wanting to explain but not knowing how. “I suppose you can say that.”

  Tamika felt sorry for Dee, only able to imagine what she was feeling right then. “You don’t think they’d listen?”

  Dee shook her head. “It’s not that.” She sighed. “Just how they might take it. That’s what I’m worried about.�
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  “What, your singing?”

  She shook her head again. “They pretty much know about that, but I suppose I’ll have to talk to them about that too.”

  Tamika nodded, listening.

  “It’s everything,” Dee went on, confessing. “My singing, my modeling, my—” She stopped herself. Silence filled the space between them for some time.

  “Is there something else though?” Tamika asked tentatively. “I’m not saying to tell me, but, I mean, is there something besides those things that will make talking to them harder?”

  Dee thought for a moment then nodded. “Yeah.” She sucked her teeth. “But I don’t know what to do.”

  “Sometimes I have to tell myself, just do it, and get it over with,” Tamika offered.

  “That’s what Kevin thinks.”

  Tamika’s expression changed, her forehead creasing, puzzlement apparent on her face as she stared questioningly at Dee, although she had not intended to.

  Inside, Dee groaned. She had said too much. She had not meant to mention his name. But it was too late.

  “Kevin?” Tamika repeated. “You talked to him about it?”

  What the heck, Dee thought, suddenly not caring. What did it matter? Tamika did not know her family. “Yeah,” Dee replied, chuckling self-consciously. “Because it concerns him.”

  Tamika sat up, half-smiling, staring disbelieving at Dee. “What is it?” she inquired, an expecting smirk on her face.

  “Don’t say anything to Aminah though.”

  She waved her hand as if the thought was ludicrous.

  “Nobody.”

  “Fine,” she agreed hurriedly, leaning forward, anticipating.

  Dee sighed, a smile spreading across her face, letting Tamika know what she was about to say before she even spoke. “He asked to marry me.”

  Tamika shrilled in excitement, hitting Dee playfully. “What!”