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The Invitation

Umm Zakiyyah

Published

By Umm Zakiyyah

a short story

PART ONE | PART TWO

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I hugged my knees and concentrated my attention on the parking lot beyond my third-floor apartment window. It was all I could do to steady my trembling and think of something besides the torn envelope and embossed card next to me on the crumpled sheet of my bed.

I was upset. I knew that much. But there was something deeper knifing at my heart.

Your attendance is requested at the wedding celebration of

I gritted my teeth until my jaws hurt.

Betrayal. The feeling sliced through me so suddenly that for a moment I stopped shaking.

 

Fourteen Years Before

Life as I knew it ended a week after my ninth birthday. It was late May, right when a month of school felt like a year, and the days dragged on until the desire for summer drove everyone, even the teachers, to a mixture of madness and dejection. Schoolwork was no longer displayed on classroom walls. Decorations were slowly and surreptitiously removed from bulletin boards, and the hall monitors turned a blind eye to students lingering in the corridors without a pass. And even failing students held a flicker of optimism because teachers no longer had the energy or concern to hold students back.

Later, I’d find myself wondering if my life would have turned out differently had my mother’s energy or concern for my future mirrored the pity teachers had for hopeless students…

I came home aggravated as usual. I was tired of the rushed homework assignments that I had to cram into my schedule every night because yet another teacher wanted to finish the book before the year ended.

“Faith! Is that you?”

I threw my backpack on the tiled floor of the foyer and groaned as I shut the front door. Who else would it be? “Yeah, Mom!” I yelled back.

“Come here, sweetie.”

I groaned. I already knew something was wrong because my mother never called me “sweetie” unless there was bad news or she wanted me to do something I loathed, like clean the bathroom.

“Mo-om,” I whined before I even dragged myself into the den, where I was certain she was sitting in front of some stupid soap opera.

I was surprised to find her on the couch in front of a darkened television screen. She forced a smile when I entered, and I saw the thinly veiled sadness on her face. I kept my arms folded, and my face twisted only because it didn’t make sense to change my stance or soften my pout. But I sensed my mom was trying to cheer me up to lighten the blow, and that’s when a sick feeling came over me and I knew something was wrong. As awkward as it sounds, this was the first moment I actually saw my mother, I mean really saw her.

In retrospect, I should have known. I know I was only nine, but really, let’s be frank here. My mom was a fiery redhead with blue eyes, and my dad, who shared my mom’s eye color, was so blond that he was often mistaken for an albino. And they both shared that pale, colorless complexion that the sun blotched instead of tanned, not to mention their straight, limp hair that wouldn’t curl even when it grew long. I, on the other hand, had dark brown eyes, kinky black hair that only braids and thick ponytail holders could keep in place. And my skin looked like latte with a generous portion of milk.

Yet stupidly, I’d thought nothing of how my playmate and neighbor, Paula, was often mistaken for my parents’ daughter and I her best friend, instead of the other way around. It was something we’d laugh about. But in that moment before my mother spoke aloud what I should have known all along, I saw my parents for who they were: two middle-aged, White people who had everything they could want in life, except the hope of ever having a child of their own…

 

Five Years Before

“I’m so happy for you!” Paula squealed as she drew me into a brief hug as I stepped into the foyer of her parents’ home. I wore a smug grin as I shrugged off my coat and stepped out of my muddy boots. I usually didn’t bother taking off my shoes when I visited, but I didn’t want to soil the plush carpet.

“But are you sure?” Paula said, drawing her eyebrows together as she regarded me.

I looped my arm through hers as we walked toward the stairs leading to her bedroom. “Mm hm,” I said, giddy as a kid who’d won a trip to Disney World. “Positive.”

“Oh my God,” she said as she hurried up the stairs, almost dragging me beside her. “You have to tell me everything! How are they?”

I laughed as she ushered me into her room and closed the door. “I don’t know yet…” A tightness formed in my throat, and a twinge of sadness weakened me. What if my birth parents didn’t want to meet me? Just because I was eighteen now and had a right to find them without my adopted parents knowing didn’t mean my birth parents would want me to find them. But I had found them. Or at least the agency I’d paid with the money from my part-time job at the mall had found them. Now it was just a matter of waiting to see if they wanted to be found.

“But John is really supportive,” I offered, a smile plastered on my face as I sat down on the edge of her bed.

“That’s good.” Paula’s tone was distracted as she sat beside me, one leg folded between us. I hated the way she acted whenever I mentioned my boyfriend. He was the first boy I met that I really connected with, and although I’d only known him for a few months, I really felt like he was “the one.” I’d never felt like that with anyone else. Why couldn’t she be happy for me? She knew how much anxiety I usually felt around guys. That’s why I was still a virgin while most of my classmates debated whether or not “respectable girls” could have one-night stands.

Paula herself would often tease me about being so “compulsive” about intimacy with the opposite sex. She went through boyfriends like most girls went through lipstick. In a way, I envied her. I wanted to feel that freedom with myself and my body, but I just couldn’t. Paula had all these radical ideas about feminism and women opposing patriarchal oppression, especially with regards to the female body, and to be honest, it sounded really convincing. But it just wasn’t me. I wasn’t sure if I was backwards or just old-fashioned. But if I gave myself to someone, it would have to be someone special, someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And I was beginning to feel like John was that person…

“I’m sorry, Faith,” Paula said with a sigh. “I’m really happy for you and John. It’s just…” Her voice trailed as her eyes stared at something beyond my head. “…I wish I could find someone too.”

 

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The Prophet (SAW) has taught us the best of deeds are those that done consistently, even if they are small. Click here to support MuslimMatters with a monthly donation of $2 per month. Set it and collect blessings from Allah (swt) for the khayr you're supporting without thinking about it.

Daughter of American converts to Islam, Umm Zakiyyah writes about the interfaith struggles of Muslims and Christians, and the intercultural, spiritual, and moral struggles of Muslims in America. She is the internationally acclaimed author of more than fifteen books, including the If I Should Speak trilogy, Muslim Girl, His Other Wife and the newly released self-help book for Muslim survivors of parental and family abuse: Reverencing the Wombs That Broke You, with contributions by Haleh Banani, behavioral therapist. Her books have been used in universities in America and abroad including Indiana University-Bloomington, Howard University, University of D.C. and Prince Sultan University in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. To learn more about the author, visit uzauthor.com.

17 Comments

17 Comments

  1. Avatar

    shifaya

    October 15, 2014 at 3:52 AM

    Wonderful article, MashAllah:)

  2. Avatar

    Nas

    October 15, 2014 at 7:59 AM

    SubhanAllah. Very well-written. I love how the author captures the the human condition of each person – the Muslim isn’t an angel but firm in her devotion to the Deen and her friend has her own struggles but her fitra calls her to something greater. Look forward to reading the next segment, inshaAllah.

  3. Avatar

    Ilm

    October 15, 2014 at 1:41 PM

    Wow, masha’Allah, nice story!

  4. Avatar

    Ifrah

    October 15, 2014 at 8:45 PM

    Subhanallah. I was glued to the story from start to finish. I can’t wait for the next part.

  5. Avatar

    Maryam

    October 15, 2014 at 9:21 PM

    Noooo don’t stop here! haha
    Very nice story mA :)

  6. Avatar

    Rabya

    October 15, 2014 at 9:29 PM

    Ma shaa Allah!! Good start! Can’t wait for part 2!!! XD

  7. Avatar

    rama

    October 16, 2014 at 3:42 AM

    mashAllah! update for the part two

  8. Avatar

    Bint A

    October 16, 2014 at 9:53 PM

    Happy to find another intriguing story as we wait for Br. Wael to return with his Ouroboros

    • Avatar

      Rabee'ah Garga

      October 19, 2014 at 3:54 PM

      Are you the Bint I knw?

      • Avatar

        Bint A

        October 21, 2014 at 10:52 PM

        Nope, sorry. Don’t know a Rabee’ah :) . Nice to meet you though.

  9. Avatar

    thirstyforknowledge

    October 19, 2014 at 1:03 AM

    waiting for the next part

  10. Avatar

    Umm Aasiyah

    October 19, 2014 at 8:18 PM

    Assalamu alaykum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barrakatuhu-thank you for your article. Just a suggestion to Admin-maybe put a disclaimer at the start saying this story is for adults/mature teens. I almost read it aloud to my daughter-especially since it started with a nine year olds point of view. Will check for iman-boosters on Muslim kids matters :-) wa salaam

  11. Avatar

    Bint A

    October 22, 2014 at 4:52 PM

    Btw can I ask if this story will be posted every Wednesday as well? It’s nice to have something to read/look forward to on a weekly basis :)

  12. Avatar

    Asmeeni

    October 24, 2014 at 4:17 AM

    Oooh love this!!! Can’t wait to read the next part!!! Mashaallah amazing writing!

  13. Pingback: The Invitation - Part 2 - MuslimMatters.org

  14. Avatar

    Umm hadi

    January 1, 2015 at 9:33 PM

    Taqabbal Allahu minna wa minkum.
    https://alkalaamblog.wordpress.com/

  15. Pingback: We Are All Being Tested - MuslimMatters.org

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