The Ummah: The outbreak

Chapter 5

Husniyah and I walked quickly and in silence after she told me where she lived. She clung tightly to my arm, probably in fear of another attack. I felt tired, but my adrenaline overpowered it. It almost felt unreal that any of this was happening. Especially the fact that I was about to meet my girl friend's family. It was funny that despite all of the events of that night, the thing that I was most nervous about was her parents.

When we finally turned down her street, I was impressed. Her neighborhood was upper middle class. Every house was large with beautifully manicured lawns, and there wasn't a single piece of trash anywhere. Everyone's porch lights with the exception of a few, and the street lights were all in working order, illuminating the freshly cemented street and side walks.

"Which house is yours?" I asked her quietly.

She pointed a few houses ahead to our right. "That one."

The house was beautiful, a cream color with a brown roof and small lights lining the sidewalk that led to the steps. The porch held a white porch swing beside a black wall-mounted mail box, and on either side of the brown wooden door was porch lights that made the whole porch and sidewalk look golden. Over the door in golden numbers read "6329" in golden numbers.

We ascended up the steps slowly and approached the door, my heart in my throat. I rang the door bell twice, then glanced down at Husniyah, wondering why she hadn't let go of my arm yet. She still looked shaken up and her eyes were zoned out. I hoped her parents would understand everything that had happened and wouldn't be angry with her.

"It's okay now," I told her softly.

Boy was I as wrong as ever.

The front door opened and a guy about my size opened the door. He looked awfully familiar, but I couldn't see him clearly until he stepped out into the light. My friend Ibrahim. My jaw dropped. I was going out with one of my best friend's sisters.

"Muhammad?" Ibrahim gasped. He looked down at Husniyah and rage filled his eyes. "What are you doing with my sister? And where's her scarf? What the hell happened?" His voice got louder with each question.

"Who's that at the door?" came a woman's voice. A second later, an older woman came to the door with a black abaya and a black scarf wrapped around her head. She looked as if she had just woken up. When she saw Husniyah, her eyes widened. "Ohhh, my baby! What happened to you, come inside honey!"

Husniyah didn't move an inch. She just stared at them, still looking shaken up.

"Husniyah, go on..." I whispered to her.

"Husniyah," Ibrahim growled. "Get in the house."

Husniyah's jaw set in a stubborn way and her eyes seemed to flicker under the porch light. But she wasn't looking at her mother or her brother. Her eyes looked past them. Behind her two relatives, in the shadows of the entryway, was a tall, large man. That must have been her father.

"Everyone get in here," her father commanded. 

Ibrahim and their mother backed into the house, and I tried to nudge Husniyah to go inside but she wouldn't budge off my arm. So as I began to walk inside, she walked with me. The inside of the house was dark. I followed behind her family until we reached the living room, where the light was on, and so was the television. A warning was on the TV. Something about terrorists in the area.

"Jehan, go to your room," Husniyah's mother said quickly to a girl on the couch. I was guessing it was Husniyah's younger sister. She had no scarf, so I quickly averted my eyes.

Once I heard the girl's footsteps fade, I looked back up and squeezed past her family to take Husniyah to the couch. She sat down, but pulled me down beside her.

"Who are you?" her father barked at me.

"He's one of my friends," Ibrahim answered, looking at me.

"Yeah, but there isn't anything going on between--" 

"He's my boyfriend,"  Husniyah hissed at her father.

"Boyfriend!" they all gasped.

"Yes, and I don't care!" 

Her father took a step forward. "Don't you ever talk to me that way!"

Her mother held his arm. "Husniyah, habibti, tell us what happened."

"Yes, why were you outdoors without a scarf?!" her father added. "This is the second time this week you've come home bruised up and no scarf!"

Second time? Something had happened earlier this week?

"Well," Husniyah began fiercely. "I called Muhammad so we could make out--"

She was only making things worse for the both of us!

"-- and when he came to pick me up from the party, we went to central park and did, and then there was explosions. When we went to go see--"

"Make out!" her father cried in complete rage. He whipped around to me. "And you agreed! She is ONLY 17 years old! And how old are you?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Husniyah continued.

"When we went to see what was going on, we were attacked because we were said to be terrorists--"

"I can only believe that is a punishment from Allah! You lie to your mother and I, you go to fornicate with a boyfriend that is forbidden in islam to have--" her father yelled.

Husniyah jumped to her feet, yelling over her father. "--And you know why that all happened? Because of me wearing a scarf! You already lost one daughter for being a freaking towel head, and you almost lost another tonight!"

"Husniyah!" her mother gasped.

"That's enough!" Ibrahim fumed. "This is your religion! How could you say something like that!"

"I don't care!" Husniyah screamed. "Everyone hates this religion and so do I! This is the so called religion of peace? Where is it? It isn't at home! It isn't at the mosque, when everyone is arguing, kids are running and yelling, I don't see it anywhere!"

"Husniyah--" I began.

"You can shut up!" Ibrahim roared at me. "You have been using my sister, and now you're both going to hell for fornication! Good job!"

I sprung to my feet. "Who are you to tell anyone they're going to hell, huh?" I growled. "When you can't go a day without smoking weed with a hundred different girls! What the hell is that about? Does your parents know about it?"

Everyone went on screaming over each other for a very long while until Husniyah's mouth snapped shut. She turned and ran out into the hall. 

"Husniyah!" I called after her. 

"Leave her alone!" Ibrahim yelled, shoving me.

I spun around with my fist flying right behind me and smashed it into his jaw. Husniyah and Ibrahim's father hit me onto the ground, then sent a powerful blow into Ibrahim's chest. "You want to live the life of a gahba!" Gahba meant a prostitute in arabic. If we weren't so furious, Ibrahim and I probably would have laughed together. Instead, Ibrahim and his father began to brawl, and pulled me back into the fight some how. I could hear the mother sobbing loudly. 

I would have apologized to her, but at that moment, the last thing I remembered seeing was the father's large fist coming down on me.

Then, everything went black.

(Remember, Islam is perfect, we are not...)