“What’s her name?”
“Jenna.”
“Jenna? I didn’t know that was an Arabian name.”
“It’s not. Her name is Janna, with ‘A’ not ‘E’, but the first time she told me her name I thought I’d misheard her and asked her if it was Jenna, like you just did. She tried to tell me how to pronounce Janna the right way but she said I made it sound funny when I said it. She let me call her Jenna for a while, but then I mastered it eventually, and I couldn’t be any happier knowing how to say a new name.” He grinned, his eyes shining as he told me the little story about his princess.
A real princess.
The delight was back in his eyes with that spark that showed how much he actually loved her as he spoke those few words about her. I was completely sure by then that he really loved her and it wasn’t just a thing that would soon be over like most of his hookups.
She truly did make him happy.
And it was all that mattered.
“Then let’s start getting ready to meet your Janna.”
The things we do for love …
Here I was sitting on a plane, even if it was the thing I hated doing the most. It had everything to do with what had happened to my parents and what had happened on The Black Day. I think I had developed some kind of phobia towards airplanes since the accidents. But it was my brother’s wedding, so it was impossible not to be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the whole world. And if it took me two hundred hours sitting on this thing, I was willing to do it in a heartbeat.
I’d always known that I would do anything for my brother. I’d even take a bullet for him if things came to that, no questions asked.
I took a sip of my warm soda that I’d been holding in my hands for more than an hour, clinging to it and staring at the fancy glass for distraction. The anxiety I was feeling wasn’t a nice feeling at all, but I had to be at the wedding. It was Joseph’s.
Joseph’s wedding.
The words felt strange even in my mind, not only on my tongue. It seemed that everything was happening so fast and so rushed that it almost made my head spin. He said it was love at first sight, and even though I’d never believed in such a thing, I believed him.
He’d told me all of these nice things about his Janna: how they met – which was so strange I might add – and how they spoke for the first time. He’d told me about her blush, her dark eyes and very pale skin. He talked of her very long and silky, dark-as-the-night hair–his words, not mine–and he went on and on about her so much that, at some point, I thought I’d fallen asleep because I spent so much time only listening and not talking.
I had no idea how he had seen her hair, though. I thought all Muslim women covered their hair? Whatever.
Our pilot announced that we were about to land, and I felt my heartbeat going crazy, while my heart itself was going crazy with fear. My hand moved on its own to my chest, clutching the silver cross that was hanging from my necklace for dear life.
“Our Father, Who art in Heaven...” I started praying in soft whispers, my eyes closed tightly as fear crept into my insides along with my heart and mind. My breaths tangled and I started having a mini-panic attack. If it wasn’t for Joseph’s hand squeezing my free hand, I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this landing.
I couldn’t wait to get off that plane, but I had to take a few minutes to make sure, that after so many long hours sitting there bored and scared at the same time, that I looked decent, at least. After all, I was going to meet a princess shortly, and most likely a royal family as well.
Joseph wasn’t happy with me forcing him to wait until I had dressed before we left the jet. He’d told me to do it as we were still flying, half an hour before landing, but there was no way I was going to move around in that thing as it flew through the air. It was just a no-go for me. He had to wait.
I dressed in a long, short-sleeved summer dress with a loose skirt. The V-neck dominating the top of the dress wasn’t that low cut. It looked nice; I always felt good wearing navy blue, as it was my favorite color in clothes. I let my hair fall over my shoulders and down my back in straight locks, then added a slight blush and a little bit of light, rosy lip gloss.
When I stepped out of the jet’s bedroom, Joseph was standing by the door, anxiously waiting for me. I wanted to tease him about how love had turned him into a nervous mess, but decided to take it easy on him. He looked on edge enough.
“Marie,” he smiled. “You look beautiful.”
“Why, thank you, Big Bro. You don’t look so ba-” I was cut off by him offering me a piece of cloth, a baby blue one.
“Would you please wear this?” he asked.
“What it is?” I frowned as I took the cloth from him and looked at it. “A scarf?”
“Well, yeah. Kind of,” he replied.
“But I’m sure it’s really hot out there. I won’t need it,” I pointed out.
“Uh, it’s not to be put around your neck, it’s, uh...it’s to cover your hair with.”
“What? You mean like Muslims?” I asked in shock. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I almost yelled when he didn’t reply.
“Marie, please, just put the thing on,” he sighed.
“Did they tell you to force me into wearing this?”
“I’m not forcing you into wearing anything. It’s fine if you don’t want to, but it’s just a sign of respect.”
The anger and upset I’d been trying to get over since my brother told me about his upcoming wedding started to boil over again as I fisted the stupidly soft material in my hand.
Why should I show respect by covering my hair? Why were women supposed to cover their hair anyway? It was utterly stupid, and I refused to look like their laws had anything on me. I refused to be manhandled by anyone like the rest of the women here; it was not going to happen.
“Good, because I’m not wearing the stupid thing,” I spat and passed him after throwing the thing to rest in his hand again, making my way to the exit.
“Are you coming?” I looked over my shoulder, and the sight of him looking at the stupid thing in sorrow made my insides tighten. He looked so sad. For a moment, I wondered why something so insignificant would affect him that much, but I couldn’t just go on my way knowing it meant as much to him as it obviously did.
I shook my head and huffed, taking a few steps back to him, then took the cloth from him. “Fine,” I said harshly. “But I’m not happy about it.” I straightened the stupid thing in my hands, and put it loosely over my head and shoulders.
It wasn’t until I had it on that a memory flashed in my mind, not exactly a memory but more like something I’d seen on TV years ago. It was when Hillary Clinton was visiting this very same country and putting a similar thing over her own head. Hillary Clinton was one of the most powerful women I’ve ever known, so strong and effective. I couldn’t imagine her being manhandled by anyone, and I thought that maybe Joseph was right after all–it could be only a sign of respect.
That very thing led me to notice just how important the people I was going to meet were, for someone like Hillary Clinton to visit them more than one time to discuss things that were important to both countries.
With a sigh, I put my shades on; I didn’t want them to see the rage in my eyes since that wouldn’t be ‘respectful’ or whatever. I had to show my brother’s in-laws that I wasn’t disrespectful–no matter how much I despised their religion or loathed their race.
Snap! Did I just say ‘Race’?
My God!
Down the stairs of the plane, we were greeted by a large number of people. Well, men to be clear. Not even one woman in sight. Most of them were dressed in those weird dresses that Joseph had told me was their official costume, called a ‘thawb’. All of their ‘dresses’ were really, really, really white – it was almost blinding. On their heads was some kind of scarf shaped in a neat way that was either white or white and red. On top or around it –I wasn’t sure–was a thin black circle that I assumed was ho
lding it in place.
I couldn’t deny that with the tan, bronzed or pale skin they had that they were very handsome, with the dark eyes and dark hair that was on either their chins or above their lips, or both–if not a complete beard.
They shook my hand politely with a nod of their heads and a small smile as I passed one after another in the line they’d made, mesmerized by their tall frames and built forms– hardly any of them weren’t fit.
My lips were pressed into a line as I offered a tight smile in greeting to each one of them. But then my mouth fell slightly agape as I felt like I was shocked by electricity when I shook hands with the last one.
My eyes darted from our joined hands up to his face. The words ‘very handsome’ wouldn’t do him justice. He was a sight to look at, an attractive young man with pale skin. A soft gasp escaped my parted lips when I looked into the bright green garden that was his eyes, eyes that were trapped by thick long lashes that were a beauty in and of themselves. His soft features were toughened by the sharpness of his jaw, a jaw that was growing dark brown hair that was more like scruff than a beard, and a slight sign of a mustache where it should be.
His own lips parted slightly when I took off my sunglasses with my free hand to get a better look at his outstanding features. He stared into my eyes for a few moments before his lips formed the most beautiful crooked smile I’ve ever seen in my whole short life, bright teeth shining like pearls when his smile widened a bit. The very same smile that was so infectious that I couldn’t not smile brightly back at him, a smile that widened even more when he offered me a bouquet of red roses that looked more like the kind you’d pick from a garden in heaven.
Bitterly and against my will, I released his hand, because I had to. But then I took the bouquet from him, whispering a small ‘‘thank you,’’ which he returned with another smile, his hand moving to push the white and red material that was above his head with the tips of his fingers.
My own smile fell at the motion, and I blinked twice, for it made me realize who I was standing in front of, or better yet–what he was.
An Arab.
An Arab, and for sure Muslim, as well.
It was then that I noticed that his bright green eyes were darkened by secrets I knew were hidden there somewhere, by the toughness and cruelty I was so sure he was trying his hardest to hide. But I was no fool. I knew he wasn’t someone I should have any thought of attraction to or see the beauty in, because I just knew he was anything but on the inside.
I just knew it in my heart, and my heart could always tell.
I went on with my way.
It had only been less than a day since I set foot in the country and I already felt like I was going to go crazy.
Traditions, traditions, and then more traditions.
Come the heck on! I was bored stupid.
When we first arrived we were ushered into some kind of private hotel. It felt as if it was almost empty aside from the staff, which were all men I might add. I started to think that there were only men in this country, but then thought it would be stupid of me to think so, because how on earth would men be here if it wasn’t for women?
I was on edge the whole frigging time, and again, I was pretty sure I’d lose my sanity if it wasn’t for Joseph hardly ever leaving my side.
In our suite, we were constantly offered a huge amount of food –enough to feed the armies of two or three countries. It seemed like a never-ending story of people entering our suite to drop off more food and take away hardly touched plates. It felt weird to see all of those men looking at the ground, like slaves. I hated it. It made me feel bad, so bad beyond words.
Joseph told me that they’d let us rest. We should be starting our day in the morning; they’d let us know exactly when. I hated that, too. Joseph and I were to be some kind of family to them soon, so why wouldn’t any of the royal family meet us now? That was disrespectful.
To be honest, when I put my head on the pillow and slept like a rock almost instantly, I was very grateful for the space they’d offered us. I really needed that rest after the long hours in the plane.
When the sun rose, Joseph woke me up, and I hugged him and wished him the best wishes I could think of. My heart was breaking for the fact that he was going to get married in a few hours without a father or a mother or even a friend, nothing but a sister that loved him more than the whole world.
I respected his wish of not telling any of our friends about the wedding, saying it was a sensitive matter given who his in-laws were. We would let the world know about it when they were ready. There was no one important to us besides each other anyway, so it wasn’t even worth telling.
Out of nowhere, Joseph started crying over my shoulder, whispering so many times that he loved me so much and that he only wanted the best for me, that he would never put me into any situation if he thought I’d be in danger even for a moment.
I didn’t know what to think about that, and it broke my heart some more to see him like that. I realized that maybe he was sorry for bringing me into a country he knew I hated to be in, where I was thinking I’d be in danger or fear for both of our lives.
I assured him that as long as we had each other, nothing else would matter.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he told me.
I offered him a smile as my chest tightened with a confusion that was uncalled for, a confusion some of his words had caused, a confusion I hid from him so well. Today was his wedding day, after all.
Only a few hours before the wedding, and I’d yet to meet the bride. I couldn’t wait to meet the girl who’d captured my brother’s heart and stole the sleep from his eyes. I had no picture or anything like that of her, only the perfect image Joseph had drawn in my head.
To say I almost danced when I heard a female’s voice would be an understatement. It turned out to be a lady that was to assist me to some kind of a spa inside of the hotel that was only for women. The lady was covered literally from head to toe with black, only thickly kohl-lined, brown eyes and pale hands were showing, and nothing more.
In the spa, the lady took off the dark, er, robe? she was wearing, and underneath it she was wearing jeans and a very stylish blouse; I thought she looked really pretty. I was greeted by the one who managed the place, and the lady who gave me her name as Huda told me with her thick accent that I could get whatever I wanted. It was a nice thing for them to offer, to be honest. I got a massage and my nails done as well as my hair.
I was then brought to a table that I knew very well was for something I didn’t like to do. Ever.
“Um, I’m not going to do this,” I told Huda.
“Uh, but it’s a tradition, Miss Marie,” she said.
Tradition? What on earth? Why should the soon-to-be-sister-in-law wax? I wondered.
Weirdos!
“I’m sorry, but no, I don’t do it, and I won’t.”
Huda was really shocked by that; I didn’t know why. It looked as if she wanted to say something; however, she just smiled and nodded.
When I was done with everything, I thought it was time to put on my dress that I had bought just two days before we left. But when I told Huda, she told me that my dress was already waiting for me.
I didn’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but I also didn’t like that someone had bought me something that I might not like. Though, I thought that maybe it had something to do with the way the bride wanted things, so I didn’t say anything.
Inside the room I was to get dressed in, I saw a very beautiful wedding dress on a hanger. It was brightly white with shining pearls and diamonds, and I assumed it was my brother’s fiancée’s. I thought she was really lucky to wear it; it was breathtaking.
“Where is my dress?” I asked.
“This one, Miss Marie.” She pointed to the wedding dress.
WHAT?
Why was I to wear a wedding dress?
“Uh, this is for me?” I asked Huda.
“Yes, Miss Marie,” she replied.
A frigging wedding dress?
“But...I...uh...I think it’s not appropriate for me to wear that.”
I mean, it’s supposed to be only the bride wearing something like that.
“Of course it is, Miss Marie. It’s a tradition.”
This word again! It was really beginning to get on my nerves. I was seriously nearing the point where I’d consider telling her that I couldn’t care less about their stupid, meaningless traditions.
But after refusing the weird request of being waxed, I didn’t feel like refusing another tradition would be nice. After all, I’ve been met by nothing but kindness since I arrived here. Fake kindness, I knew, but still…
“Okay,” I sighed.
The dress needed a little work to fit properly, since it was a little loose in the waist and chest area, but other than that, it looked and felt perfect.
Looking at myself in the mirror–I just couldn’t take it. I looked like a bride, and I didn’t like it. It wasn’t my wedding, it was my brother’s. In my opinion, it wasn’t fair for me to be wearing this; only the bride was supposed to wear something as beautiful as this.
I wanted out of the dress. And that was what I did.
As hard as she tried to hide how displeased she was, I could still see it on Huda’s face that she wasn’t happy with me refusing to keep the dress on. It just felt wrong, and I had to do it. She just had to get over it.
I wore my silver dress that was brought to me from my room as I’d requested, and only then did I feel like I was wearing something appropriate.
Looking in the mirror, it felt right.
Huda was about to say something when we heard a knock. She said something loudly in Arabic that I supposed was directing the person to come in, because that was what happened shortly thereafter. A young girl entered and smiled at me, which I returned before she spoke with Huda. The conversation went back and forth and I didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t aware of what they were talking about, but I was pretty sure I heard the word ‘Ameera’ more than one time. It seemed like it was her name from the way she was saying it and Huda was responding.
Black Keys Page 2
