I glance at my wristwatch instinctively. Then I realize there was no specific time given.
“Chill, Tim. Wedding’s not for another hour and fifteen. Baba inside?”
“Yeah.” We walk past him, and I don’t like the look he gives Gabe.
Baba’s pacing, so it’s obvious his anxiety has increased.
“Mama and Aysel here?”
Baba says, “Got here an hour ago. They’re in the prep room.” A room had been designated for the bride to get ready in. “Better check in with them, or they’ll be sending out smoke signals, asking about you.”
I knock on the door of the room, and Gabe’s mom opens the door, just a tiny wedge. When she sees it’s me and Gabe, she lets us in. This may be a Muslim wedding, but Aysel is an American Muslim, born and bred, and a lot of traditions she’s chosen are straight out of the anybody’s wedding playbook. She does not want Hasan to see her until she parades to the front of the mosque.
“There are my handsome boys!” Mary kisses each of us on our cheeks.
I gaze past her at my sister. She’s radiant. The gown’s nothing short of magnificent, a wedding dress fit for a princess. A vision in white, Aysel’s skirt is full, with tiers of delicate lace, seeded with tiny pearls. The arms of the dress poof a tiny bit—not too much—at the shoulder, then flow to a point that brushes her hands. The top is a sort of turtleneck-like device that sweeps up over her head into a turban that covers her hair entirely, with a flowing white lace veil coming out the top. Surrounding the veil is a diamond tiara. My sister could not be lovelier.
I rush to give her a hug and a compliment. I’m met with “Careful, careful now. Don’t smudge my makeup onto my dress.”
That’s Aysel. Always giving orders. I hug her gently and whisper into her ear. She laughs.
Mama looks at us and glows. “For a moment I was seeing my two beautiful toddlers, playing.”
“Well, one of those toddlers, the beautiful one, is a woman today,” I say.
“Ah, my love, you’re quite right,” Mama says, “and the other, equally as beautiful in his own way, is a man.”
“Well, both of us, and I know I can speak for my sister, have the most gorgeous mother in the entire world.”
We have a group hug, my mother, my sister, and me.
“Stop it,” I hear Gabe’s mother say, “you’re going to ruin my makeup.” I look at her as Gabe gives her a tissue to wipe her tears.
“Shall we?” I offer my arm to Aysel and then escort her to Baba.
He walks her to where the imam’s standing with Hasan.
The nikah ceremony begins. Hasan proposes to Aysel in front of the attendees. Then he explains the terms of the mehir. The imam asks if these terms are acceptable and then asks if they wish to be married. Each of them says, “qabul, I accept” three times.
Two male witnesses sign the marriage contract, making it legal both religiously and civilly. Hasan and Aysel share a date, eating the sweet fruit, signifying the sweetness of their union.
The imam reads the Fatihah, the first of the Holy Quran, and gives them blessing.
Finally Aysel has chosen to say vows, much like the vows in non-Muslim weddings, but these pledges to each other are sworn on the Quran.
After that, my sister and her groom are forever tied. And I truly believe that. Aysel, my sweet crazy Aysel, does not choose lightly—anything. And certainly not the man she will spend the rest of her life with.
If Hasan’s family had had their way, the reception would have been done tomorrow, and it would have been a simple meal.
But Aysel’s version of a wedding reception is the big blast we are heading to right now—well, after a million pictures are taken—in the giant hall of the mosque where communal meals are eaten.
There’s a DJ, about twenty-five feet of decorated tables groaning with food, and an open bar—no liquor, of course, but an open bar nonetheless filled with ten or twelve choices of beverage. I can only hope that those burqa-clad women on Hasan’s side can lift their niqabs high enough to enjoy this feast.
There is both traditional Turkish music and pop. Aysel and Hasan actually take the floor to do “YMCA,” and it’s hysterical watching them, Hasan in his awkwardness.
Baba takes Aysel for a spin around the floor in the traditional father/daughter dance, and I dance with Mama.
Timur, during all this, stands, apart. Once again, my inscrutable cousin is hard to read.
The DJ spins a wild rock song, and drunk with the happiness invading the room, I pull Gabe onto the dance floor, and amid the crowd, we dance together for the first time. Well, not together because this is one of those songs where you just stand with each other and gyrate.
As the music turns traditionally Turkish, even Hasan’s family seems to loosen up. They applaud at Baba’s attempt at Turkish folk dancing. He pretends to be the whirling dervish, the mystic Sufi. I would need at least two shots of tequila in me—not that I know how that would make me feel—to do what Baba is doing right now.
Bellies full and bouquet thrown, Aysel and Hasan are escorted outside, the crowd tossing rose petals, and a limousine takes them away to the Hilton, where they will spend their wedding night, then leave on a cruise the next morning, the honeymoon orchestrated as carefully as the wedding and reception have been.
It’s been a fun, exhausting night. Mama and Mary, with Baba’s help, salvage any souvenirs they want. The caterers are packing leftover food for Mama to take and packing up all the dishes and serving pieces to be taken away to be cleaned. A cleaning crew will arrive tomorrow morning to leave the meeting hall spotless.
Gabe and I offer to help, but Mama tells us we’re free to go.
As we head out to the parking lot, we pass the ever-lurking Timur.
“Aren’t you staying for evening prayers?”
“No, Tim. I’ll do them at home. Great night, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose,” he says noncommittally. “See you tomorrow if I don’t see you later tonight. I’m staying.”
“Okay.”
He turns to go inside, and Gabe and I go to the car.
Inside the car, Gabe touches my hand. “Beautiful wedding, huh?”
I look at him. “Indeed it was. And it was made more wonderful because I shared it with you.”
I lean in and kiss his cheek, not caring who might be watching.
Chapter 18
Timur
IT’S OVER. This show. This production. This mockery of holy ritual.
I can only hope that Aysel comes back from her honeymoon and settles into being a good Muslim wife for Hasan. He deserves it. He comes from an observant family, and this foolishness of my cousin’s must be over.
If Hasan knows what is good for him and his soul, he will demand that she settle down. The Quran doesn’t require the wife be obedient, but she certainly mustn’t bring grief to the marriage with open defiance. In my heart, I know that Aysel will make a good wife, once she is living in Hasan’s father’s home, the good Muslim home that it is.
Amca seems to be taking to the ways of the new mosque. I believe that he will continue to come with me to prayer. As for Aunt, she is so American in her ways. Her parents were much too liberal. But if Amca switches his allegiance to Hasan’s mosque, Aunt is sure to follow. She does believe in family, and families that pray together are better for it.
Kerem, though, is becoming more and more of a problem. How can he be so disrespectful? Of our family? Of Allah?
What was he thinking, dancing like that, for all to see? Did he not give one thought to the fact that good, devout people were observing him bouncing seductively around that evil boy?
It is an insult that he is named for the angel Gabriel. Gabriel brought the Holy Word to our prophet, PBUH, and this namesake of his has led my cousin into such deep sin that he will be denied his place in paradise.
Because of this unholy Gabriel, Kerem will burn in hell. And he will take his family with him.
They think I don’t know what
they are doing. Kerem blindly follows, and each time he falters, he thinks he can say his prayers and be absolved. But some sins cannot be forgiven.
Not these sins. I saw them. Kissing in the car. Disgusting. Two men doing that. And one of them a supposedly devout Muslim, led astray by one who lives in sin.
This. This thing. This evil. Must be stopped.
Kerem will not lead our family into ruin with his degradation.
May
Chapter 19
Gabriel
SHAUN SPRAWLS on my bed, and I sit in the desk chair. It’s a Saturday—two weeks before prom—and Shaun’s folks have gone on a much-needed weekend trip. This is the first time they’ve left him since the accident. Even though he lived at our house throughout his initial recovery, his parents hovered. They were happy that he was in good hands with Mom, but still, they worried about him, checked on him constantly, and then, when he returned home, they were devoted to him.
Shaun still uses the cane, but he’s much better. At school, he gets around fine, hardly a glitch in his walk, but his mom—the queen of worrywarts—didn’t want him staying at home by himself while they were gone. It took every argument my uncle could think of to get her to go on this minivacation, and when push came to shove, she agreed, but only if Shaun spent the weekend at our house while they took the other kids for a weekend-long treat, just to reassure them that they mattered to them as much as Shaun does. My aunt and uncle are very loving—though frazzled at this moment—parents.
He got here last night, and he, Kerem, and I had pizza together; then we went to a movie. Now the two of us, Shaun and I, sit, shootin’ the breeze. I’d rather be spending Saturday morning with Kerem, but I’m playing the good host, plus Kerem is off doing something or other at their mosque. He explained it to me—something to do with some older folks who needed help with repairs on their house, sort of like a Muslim Habitat for Humanity thing. He wanted me to join them—but I had my own project going with babysitting Shaun.
Not that Shaun needs babysitting. If you ask me, he would’ve done just fine, staying at his house alone. But he’s a changed guy after what happened to him, so I’m enjoying our visit.
“You excited about prom?” he asks. “I’ve been so busy getting caught up at school, I haven’t had much time to even think about it, not to mention that you and I haven’t talked much since….” He stops. I’ve noticed he has a hard time bringing up the beating he got.
“Yeah, I have to say, kudos on your determination. Working 24-7 on the stuff you missed at school? That’s awesome.”
“Well, nothing was going to keep me from graduating with my class.” He says that quietly, but with the resolve I know he has.
I feel sorry for Shaun. That’s something I never thought I’d say. Yes, he helped me a lot to make the transition from my old school to my new one, but he proved to be such an asshole. But even assholes can change. It took almost losing everything, but he learned from it. And then he fought his way back, back to a reasonable semblance of physical well-being and back to where he was in school when it all happened. Not only that, but we found out our class rankings a few days ago, and Shaun is number twenty-five. Not bad for someone who missed a big chunk of his senior year.
“So—we were talking about prom. What skank agreed to go with your sorry ass?” I joke with him, hoping to lighten his mood.
“Watch your tongue, cousin. My date is none other than Darlene Durham.”
“The Darlene Durham?” DD, as everyone calls her, is the head cheerleader and was voted Most Beautiful.
“What? Are there a dozen Darlene Durhams at our school? Of course, the DD.” He has a smile wider than the horizon, and just as sunny, on his face.
“How’d you score that?”
“Poor choice of words, coz. I haven’t scored—yet. That’s for prom night.” He leers at me.
“Okay, okay, letch. Let me rephrase. Why would the most popular, most beautiful girl in school want to go to the prom with you? You’re not exactly King of the School, you know. Or did all those painkillers you were on make you delusional?”
He smiles, and it feels good to get to joke and be ourselves with each other. “Maybe gimps appeal to the ladies. Have you thought about that?”
“You’re not a gimp. That’s a terrible word. You barely have a limp now. If you ask me, I think you still walk with that cane for sympathy.” I smile at him.
“Well, it caught me the best fish in the pond, now, didn’t it?” Again, that twinkle in his eye. I used to hate that look because he often used it when he said something awful, but these days, he uses his powers only for good. And to snare a perfect prom date.
“Enough about me. Who you takin’?” Shaun asks.
I hesitate. I’m not ashamed, but with Shaun’s history, I’m not sure I want to bring it up.
“Hello. I asked a question. Which luscious babe did you snag?”
Still, I hold back my answer, formulating the words.
“Okay, I know you and Kerem will most likely double, but surely you’ve lined up dates. You two can’t go together stag. What’d people think?”
“That we’re lovers?”
The look on his face is startling. He knows about Ker and me. Why’s he so surprised?
“But no one at school knows about you two. Believe me, if they had a clue, I’d be told. Kerem’s liked by everybody—yeah, me too, now—and no one knows that he’s gay. You’ve managed to keep your secret too.”
“I don’t keep it a secret.”
He smirks. “Really now? You haven’t told a soul. To my knowledge the only one who knows about you is Kramer, and he isn’t telling, for fear someone would find out about him too. Like they all don’t already know that little tidbit.”
“You got me. At first I didn’t make a big deal about it. It bugged me that I kept silent, but I guess because I was in a new school, I had to get the lay of the land. You know, figure out how people would react. Then Ker and I became close, and since he’s not out at school, I felt I needed to keep my secret in order to keep his.”
“I’m bumfuzzled. You said ‘not out at school.’ Is Kerem out anywhere else, except to you—and me, by extension?”
“Well, yeah—he’s out to his parents. He told his mom before Aysel’s wedding. Well, actually, she told him. Like most moms, she already knew. She asked him to wait until after the wedding to tell his dad, so he did. But now his dad knows too. And his sister. And his cousin. Little by little, he told his whole family.”
“Okay, but that’s a small circle. Coming out to the school’s huge.” Is he trying to talk me out of taking Kerem to the prom?
“Look, we’ve already spoken to the principal. He’s fine with the idea. In fact, he thinks that a high-profile student like Kerem coming out of the closet will be a good thing. The district already has a nondiscrimination policy, so our going to the prom together will make it real. And that’s a good thing.”
“So the head guy needs a test case, huh?” A smirk.
“Lose the negativity, Shaun. Ker and I both know what we’re doing’s risky. But we want our prom to be memorable, and we don’t want to share it with some girls we pick out just to be beards. That’s not fair to us, and it’s not fair to them.”
He shakes his head. “Gabe, Gabe, Gabe. Congrats on your courage.” He pauses. “But I fear for you.”
“You actually think anybody’s gonna care? It’s the twenty-first century. This is happening all the time now. Guys’re going to proms with guys, girls with girls.”
“But not here. Not in a school like ours. I never understood how Kerem got elected class president. That was part my own prejudice.” He throws up his hand to keep me from speaking. “That’s out of my system now, but I personally know of a lotta kids who, although they were willing to vote a Muslim into office, still harbor bad feelings about gays. When they find out their prez is gay, it could blow up in your faces. I’m just sayin’. And don’t shoot the messenger.”
I can tell
by his expression he’s very much trying to help. That he really cares, not only about me, but about Kerem as well.
But what he was saying threw me. Can kids my age—who are usually at the forefront as far as acceptance goes—actually accept a Muslim classmate and still be against a gay one? What’s the big deal? It’s as if a Muslim’s no threat, but a gay’s a giant one. Threat to what? Are they so ill-informed and so dense that they can’t see that there’s no such thing as a gay agenda, that we’re just like them? That we’re not out to ravage them all by force, to take over their cherished institutions—that we’re as loving as they are? I never would’ve thought that of my classmates. I can only hope Shaun’s wrong.
WHAT SHAUN said played on me the rest of the weekend. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Doubting our decision, Kerem’s and mine. Was our going to the prom together a terrible idea?
Shaun’s parents picked him up late Sunday night, and as soon as he left, I was on Skype.
“Gabe, I’ve been going crazy without you. Fixing the Abbasis’ house took a lot longer than we expected. There were ten of us from our mosque, and it took all day yesterday and today to finish. It was in super terrible shape. I didn’t have a minute to even text you.”
“No prob, babe. I missed you something fierce, but Shaun kept me entertained.”
“He’s changed, hasn’t he?” There is wonder in Kerem’s voice, and I understand. It’s hard to accept Shaun has made a 360 on his extreme views.
“Yes, he has,” I say with confidence. “His mind has healed as quickly as his body. He’s doing better in a thousand different ways, and he’s actually fun to be around. There was a time when I never thought I’d say that again.”
“I’m glad to hear it. May he continue to heal, inshallah.”
“Inshallah, for sure.” Kerem smiles. He loves it when I parrot his words, especially when they are in Arabic. “Get this: you’ll never guess who Shaun’s taking to the prom.”
You Can't Tell by Looking Page 16
