You Can't Tell by Looking

by Russell J. Sanders

  Who am I kidding? That’s all bullshit. I talk a good game about being so open, so out of the closet, so I’m gay and don’t care who knows it. But that moment when things between us started heating up was not so tiny, especially when the phone call came from Mom about Shaun. Yes, if there’d been no call, I would have let anything happen to see where it led. Then I heard what happened to Shaun, and suddenly I worried about the shit that having a Muslim boyfriend might bring. Yes, Shaun brought it on himself, but what if the attacker had been the aggressor who hated Muslims? It happens. And it scared the piss out of me as I sat in the emergency room that day. All-American Methodist Gabriel Dillon, head over heels in love with Muslim Kerem Uzun, was a coward. A lily-livered pansy who was having, deep down, doubts.

  But not making any time for Ker just about killed me. It ate at me. I had to face it all. My fears, my prejudices. I had to decide who I was. Was I someone who could face the world no matter how it treated us? Could I deal with the prejudices that Kerem deals with every day of his life? Did loving him mean that much to me? And I had my answer.

  “I know what you mean, Ker. I’m sorry. I should have—probably could have—squeezed in time for you.” I’m afraid to go further, explain why I treated him like I did. I want my friendship with Kerem back on track, and confessing now could ruin this walk. And ruin my life. “You know you mean the world to me, don’t you?” I say, trying to keep emotion out of my voice.

  “I think back to that afternoon, the day that happened to Shaun, and we were making a connection. It’s been hard being apart so much, but what you said, that you think the world of me, is something I know very well, because I feel the same about you.”

  “And you understand the pressure I’ve been under? When Mom stepped up to the plate and took charge, she was run ragged. It’s been three full months, and Aunt Evvie still is not herself entirely. She’s barely able to take care of the two younger kids. Mom knew right away that Shaun would not get the care he needed unless she took him in and made sure of it. I’d rush home from swim practice so I could give her a couple of hours of respite from dealing with Shaun and his needs. Some days, I don’t know how I had my head in the game—at school, at swim—because I worried so much about Mom.”

  And so I—chickenshit Gabriel Franklin Dillon—tell the half-truth, the half that weighs so little compared to its 50 percent omission.

  “Your mom is a good person. To take on all that extra responsibility.”

  “Well, as she says, somebody had to do it. She was on constant vigil while Shaun was in the hospital, and then she rented a hospital bed for the family room and moved him there. Little by little, he got stronger. Then she carted him to PT every day. And of course, she fed his family almost every time they came to visit. My mom’s a saint.”

  Why can’t I come out with it?

  “She sure is,” Kerem confirms.

  The pond looms ahead. There is a bench farther away from our usual place. It is surrounded by a small grove of trees which will block the wind. It also provides more privacy than our other bench. We head for that.

  As we sit, I say, “You see the motherfuckers?”

  He shakes his head and laughs at me. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?” He points. “See the tall rushes over there? They’re hiding in there, staying away from this wind.”

  “Like we’re hiding here, on this secluded bench?”

  “Exactly. The pond never freezes. It doesn’t get cold enough here. So as long as there is protection from the wind, they survive.”

  “And as long as we have protection, we survive. I’ve prayed a lot during these last months. For Shaun, for Mom.” I pause, then add, “For me. For us.” I look into his eyes and see them tear up.

  “And Allah has heard from me as well. Not only did I pray for Shaun and his family and your mom and you, but I prayed for the strength to endure our separation. I hated every moment we couldn’t be together, but Allah saw me through.”

  I want to kiss him right now, but I don’t know if he’s ready for that. The last—and first—bit of physical affection we had was holding hands. Dare I progress from that to a kiss? And do I deserve it? And do I understand and accept what a kiss would mean for us?

  Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe, deep down, he harbors resentment that we’ve not seen each other all these months. I know I do, but my resentment is not for him. It’s not even for Shaun. I hate myself for not making time for Ker. For my doubts. How can I tell him I love him when I’ve had such thoughts? When I’ve neglected him for so long? What am I thinking? I should have banished those negative thoughts, trusting only in what I was feeling—what I feel now—and made the time. That’s what people in love do. If nothing else, we could have skyped. But no, I told myself I was bound up in swim team, the Shaun thing, and the worry I had for my mom. But I was really bound up in my own fears. I wouldn’t blame Kerem if he just stood and walked away.

  “Shaun finally told me exactly what happened that day,” I say, distracting myself from my thoughts.

  “I thought he didn’t remember. That’s what you told me in one of our infrequent skypes.” Do I hear a tiny bit of resentment? Or is it that I want to hear it so I don’t feel so guilty?

  I trudge on, trying to clear the negatives in my brain. “I wasn’t lying. His memory was a blank. But little by little, it has come back. Here’s how it played out: he and his buddies were shooting hoops at the park. You know that already. It was hot, and one of the guys pulled off his T-shirt and had it hanging on his head. Shaun kept calling him ‘raghead.’” I look for a sign that I’ve offended Kerem. Somehow—it’s weird—I want to offend him, if only to punish myself.

  He sighs. “Go on. I’m not surprised. Your cousin has a way with words.”

  “Just so you know, this isn’t me talking. I’m repeating what he said.”

  “I do. You would never say such a thing otherwise.”

  A thunderbolt of guilt sends its voltage through me.

  He puts his gloved hand on mine, and even through my heavy wool gloves, I feel his warmth. How can he be so even-tempered? So forgiving of me? And will he still be forgiving if….

  I babble on, telling the story so I don’t have to say what I need to say. “So this guy they’d never seen before came up and asked if he could join their game. The guy was friendly, Shaun says, so they let him play. As the game progressed, the guy got more and more frustrated because his every shot was getting blocked. He was trying to make a successful layup when Shaun shouted at his buddy, the one with the tee on his head, ‘Raghead, nine-eleven his butt.’

  “Well,” I go on, “the stranger went ballistic. He lunged at Shaun, screaming ‘What’d you say?’ Shaun says angry flames were in his eyes. The other guys were so startled at what was happening, they held back, frozen in place. Shaun’s friends are mostly pussies, so I’m not surprised. After all, all these months and they kept this shit to themselves. I had to wait for Shaun to remember it to hear what happened. Anyway, the guy kept raving, ‘My uncle was in the Twin Towers that day. It’s not a joke, you shitass.’ And he threw Shaun on the ground and began stomping him. And as he stomped, he sobbed and said, over and over, ‘It’s not a joke, it’s not a joke, it’s not a joke.’ Finally one of Shaun’s friends grew some balls and pulled the guy off Shaun.

  “Shaun says his friends told him later it was like a light bulb went on in the guy’s brain. He stood stock-still with a stricken look on his face. Then he ran.

  “While two of Shaun’s buds hovered over him, the third dialed 911. The rest you know.”

  “Did they catch the guy? I never saw a thing in the newspaper.”

  “He was long gone. May have been a drifter. May have had family who put him on a plane. Who knows?”

  “That’s quite a story. I prayed to Allah for Shaun’s recovery.”

  After all Shaun said and did, Kerem could still pray for him. That’s what his religion does for him. And it’s what mine should do for me. They’re one a
nd the same, after all, only different expressions of the same feelings. I pray that God, that Allah, strengthens me and gives me wisdom, courage, and the words I need right now. But my prayer’s not being answered.

  “Well, Allah listened. So I know Shaun thanks you.”

  He huffs. I look at him. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I would never have wished that on your cousin, and I’m very glad he has made his remarkable recovery, but the Shaun I know would never thank a Muslim for praying for him. He’d probably be pissed because I pray to a different God from his. Or at least he thinks Allah is not the same as his God.”

  “Ker, you know and I know whether we call Him God or Allah, He’s the same guy sitting up there watching over us all.” Just speaking those words gives me insight, a tiny bit of inner strength. “And Shaun knows that too, now. I was not about to babysit him without making sure I set him straight. I put him on a path to enlightenment, I tell you what. But I have to say this: he was already right at the edge of the path once he remembered the whole incident and understood he brought it on himself. You won’t be hearing Shaun calling you raghead, towelhead, Johnny Jihad, or anything else derogatory again.”

  “That’s good to hear. For his sake more than for mine,” Kerem says. He’s such a good person. But I guess forgiveness is part of every religion.

  “After Shaun admitted the error of his ways, he was open to understanding. We talked after he came to live with us. He wanted to change. And I helped him understand Islam, that it has nothing to do with the terrorists. Those cowards clothe themselves in your religion, Ker, because they can’t justify the evil they do any other way. I won’t say it was a quick reversal of Shaun’s thinking, but because he was willing to change, I was able to get through to him. Thank God. Shaun now knows that Islam is good.” And indeed it is. It is only the bad seeds in this world who rail against it or are too ignorant to know that.

  “Would that it were that easy with everyone.” There’s sadness in Kerem’s voice, and I feel for him. I don’t think he’s experienced a huge amount of prejudice in his life, but I’m sure he knows those who have. And he faces that every day; the threat is there every moment. How he does it, I don’t know. I do know that if he can do it, so can I. I have to tell him that if we are to be together. But something still holds me back.

  “But enough about Shaun. Catch me up on the Uzun clan. I feel like I’m totally out of the loop. I haven’t caught an episode of All My Days of Our Guiding General Lives of Aysel and Hasan in years, it seems.”

  That elicits a belly laugh. I love hearing that laugh. The icy wind that whips past us in our little barricade here is a warm one as long as I can hear Kerem’s laugh. “Oh, you’ve missed a ton of stuff, my friend. There is a wedding to be in exactly one month’s time.”

  I look at him incredulously. “Have I been out of the country? How do I not know this?”

  “Aysel sprang it on us! And the date is looming because Hasan’s grandparents are coming from Lebanon for a visit—the first ever—and she and Hasan want them to be there.”

  “You have to hand it to your sister. She makes her mind up fast.”

  He puts his hands under his arms to warm them.

  “You want to go back?” I ask. “You must be freezing.” I kick myself for even suggesting we sit out here in the cold. But I don’t feel it. Kerem is my warmth.

  “No, I’m fine. I’m enjoying this too much to cut it short.”

  I put my arms around him and draw him to me. “Let me warm you up some.”

  As soon as my flesh touches his, I feel it. Under all the layers of down quilting, my body becomes vibrantly alive to the warmth that is Kerem. It’s not a body warmth; it’s a soul warmth.

  He looks into my eyes with more love than I’ve ever seen before. I’m content. More content than I’ve been in months. How could I have blown him off, barely communicating, letting my doubts overtake me, and blaming my cousin? I don’t deserve Kerem’s love, but oh, how I want it.

  And right now Kerem and I are back together, huddled against the cold, and life is more than good. I want to hear all about Aysel, the sprite who makes us both smile, just to bask in Kerem’s joyous laughter. Before it pulls us apart.

  “So,” I say, “fill me in.”

  “Aysel is in a dither right now.”

  “When is she not in a dither?” I quip.

  He laughs, a gentle tinkling sound that could shatter in this cold but brings life to me. “This is worse. The wedding is fast approaching, and she doesn’t have a dress. She found pictures of three different dresses with features she wants to combine, but she can’t sew and neither can Mama. And especially not a fancy wedding gown. Mama has asked every friend she has and even some strangers at the mosque, but so far she’s found no one. The really good seamstresses are totally booked up and laugh at the idea of having so little time, especially when they see Aysel’s pics.”

  “I know someone.”

  “Huh?”

  “I know someone.”

  “You, a man who has only been in town a few months, can steer us to someone who can make an elaborate wedding gown in three weeks. Not believing it. Unless you’ve managed to squeeze in a part-time job at a bridal shop between nursing your cousin and winning swim medals. Congrats, by the way.”

  I had won gold at our last swim meet. “Thanks, by the way. Now, it’s true I haven’t scoured the city from top to bottom. It’s true I’ve been consumed with Shaun and swimming—and a senior research paper that ate my lunch. But I tell you, I know someone.”

  He swats me. It’s a caress to me. “Quit playing with me, Gabriel Dillon. Spill it.”

  “Mary Dillon, Empress of the Needle.”

  “Your mom?”

  “My mom. With Shaun gone, she needs a new project. And I’m telling you, she can whip up that dress in a flash. I’ve seen her work miracles.” God, it feels good to be back here, back simply conversing, making each other happy.

  “Would she do it? How much would she charge?” The excitement in his voice crackles in the cold air.

  “Yes. And zero.”

  “Baba and Mama would insist on paying her. Especially because she’d be working with Aysel. No amount of money is enough for that.”

  We both laugh, and there is diamond dust in his eyes.

  “If I know my mom—and I do, intimately—she will refuse any money. But she will want an invitation to this shindig. She cries at weddings, FYI.”

  “Done deal. As soon as we get back, you ask her and get back to me. I won’t say a word to Mama until I hear from you.”

  “You got it, but I’m telling you Mom will be happy to do it. Okay, that covers Aysel.” I pause at my joke. He chuckles. “Now what about Timur. He still his sullen self?”

  “You picked up on that, huh?”

  “Yeah, you never liked my cousin, and I never warmed up to yours.”

  “Well, he’s better, actually. There was a turnaround somehow. I’ve never told you how he came to live with us, but that’s for another day. Suffice it to say that he’s harbored resentment ever since Baba and Mama took him in. No matter how they showed their love, he resisted.”

  “I could tell.”

  “Well, about a month ago, Baba had a scare at his office. All the data went missing from the office computers. His office manager was frantic. It’s a big deal. Medical records getting stolen can be the end of a practice. Baba called in Timur, the family computer guru. I always knew he spent a lot of time in front of his monitor, and I knew he did computer stuff for a living, but I had no idea how good he was. That’s a failing on my part, so I take some responsibility for his not fitting into the family. After all, I was supposed to be a brother to him, and I cared so little I didn’t know what he really did with his time.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I say as I stroke his cheek. My fingers tingle, touching him. I want more. But I probably shouldn’t even dare this bit of intimacy.

  “Easy to say, not easy to do. Anyway, he found the prob
lem and recovered the data. It wasn’t stolen; it was just hiding. Baba was so grateful that he bought Timur a new car.”

  “Awesome. Your baba’s a generous man.”

  “Yeah, Baba has always told us that when we are old enough to drive, we use the family vehicles until we can buy our own. That’s why I walk to school and back most of the time. I can’t believe I never told you that. And Aysel? Would you believe she took the city bus to college until Hasan started picking her up each day? So—Tim was driving this old clunker he bought as soon as he saved a few bucks from his job. I don’t know how it was holding up, because, believe me, it was a bucket of rust, literally held together with bailing wire and duct tape.”

  I laugh. “I’ve seen it parked in your drive. I was surprised the homeowner’s association didn’t raise a fuss. I wondered where it went when it finally disappeared. I’ve been out of the loop.”

  “You wouldn’t believe the change in Tim when Baba presented him the keys to his new car. I know that love that’s bought and paid for is not really love, but this wasn’t like Baba was buying Tim’s love. It’s as if Tim finally feels appreciated and a part of the family, like that car has validated him, honored him, placed him on an even playing level with Aysel and me. I’m telling you, that sullenness is pretty much gone. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear overnight, but it seems Baba may have done that with Tim.”

  “A good Muslim boy making pig jokes?” He smiles at my chiding him. “But what you told me is amazing. All it took for Tim was a simple act of kindness. For Shaun, it took a stomping to get through to him. I’m glad Timur came around without any violence.”

  “I am too. And our relationship, his and mine, is healing, inshallah.”

  “I’m glad.”

  I’m still caressing his cheek, and he wraps his fingers around my hand, pulling it close to his lips. I want him to kiss it, but he doesn’t. He just holds it there. I can feel his warm breath. And it drives me crazy.