My Islamophobic Bully, the Gangster

1. Why do you hate us?

Jawa

It was past midnight on a Wednesday. Wednesday, November 3, 2014, to be exact. It was three days before Eid al-Fitr. That evening, my parents were going out.

"Jawa, Take care of your younger brother and stay with him until we return." My mother, Dunya, ordered.

"Why don't we hire a babysitter for him, Its Ramadan and I want to go to pray in the mosque with you and Baba." I protested angrily.

"astaghfirullah, My child, Why are you arguing with your mother." My father stated as he entered the living room after fighting for about five minutes with my mother about this issue.

"Because I want to go pray and Mama wouldn't let me go!" I said sweetly.

"Don't you know that we don't trust anyone to take care of your brother except for you?" My father said as he placed his hand on my shoulders, he was about to kiss my head when I refused and moved.

"Baba you taught me to obey elders except when I find it wrong and inappropriate and I don't find babysitting Mohammad instead of praying right," I argued.

"Princess," He began. "You can worship Allah(SWT) in so many different ways than praying, you can recite the Quran or make dua or even pay zakat and I promise you that tomorrow I will allow your aunt watch your brother and I will bring you with me" He stated as the smile that was always painted on his face was still visible.

"Fine!" I gave up.

"Ma'a Salama, See you after Fajer prayer !" Mama said as they walked out the front door.

I didn't replay.

An hours later, Muhammad and I were still at the house as I was complaining about babysitting my four months old brother, Muhammad, with one of my closest friends via phone as he started crying.

"Ya Allah, Muhammad shut up already!" I shouted as Muhammad started crying louder. "I should just get Muhammad and give him to my mother since she is only across the street." It was more of a statement directed to myself that a question.

"Why did you even agree to babysit your little brother ?" My best friend asked.

"I didn't have a choice." I laughed at the phone. "My father is the Imam so he had to be at the mosque and my mother couldn't miss the last ten days of Ramadan besi-" Before I could continue talking, I heard a loud BANG that sounds like it was nearby.

It was a matter of minutes after hearing a "huge bang" as I left the phone hanging and went to look at the window as I saw the mosque on fire and later grabbed my little brother and went running down the stairs as I ended up seeing dead bodies on the floor and blood splattered everywhere. Everyone was frantically running and screaming and crying. It was horrific. There were people with bandages, there were blood splatters everywhere, I couldn't move or talk at that moment.

I thought about how I was preparing to go shopping for clothes and how I would trick my parents into buying me designer clothes since Eid al-Fitr was in three days. Instead, I found myself searching for coffins for my mother and father to bury them that day.

*****

"Ja-Jawa? Jawa, wake up. Jawa? hear me?" I heard someone pleading. "Hear me please" The voice kept insisting.

I groaned at the sounds that surrounded me as I heard children muttering and a voice that kept pleading for me to wake up from that nightmare that repeated itself every day for the last four years.

"WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP!" I yelled as I sat straight and then it went silent that was until a few seconds later when there was a knock on the door.

"Finally the fat cow woke up!" I heard a familiar voice state.

That was Becky.Of course. She lost her mother in 9/11 and I don't know who told her, I was Osama bin Laden.

"Astaghfirullah," I said as I rubbed my eyes. "I am not in the mood for you Becky, specifically today."

"My name is not Becky, stop calling me that, Racist" She scoffed.

"And I am not Osama bin Laden so stop expecting an apology from me" I stated calmly as she got more irritated and groaned before she left.

"Jawa.." The calm voice kept calling my name.

I looked down to find my brother waiting by my bed for me to wake up.

"Morning good," He greeted as I looked down at his chubby cheeks and pinch it.

He giggled.

"Good morning to you too," I stated as I lift him up from the dirty floor.

I looked at his face and I could see a part of Baba in him.

That smile.

I shook that thought out of my head as I saw a frown on my four-year-old brother face.

"What's wrong honey ?" I asked.

"Ms.Miller told me to wear The nice shirt,"

I started worrying but I didn't show it, "Is Mrs.Philips downstairs ?"

He nodded.

I was always afraid of that The nice shirt, but at that exact moment, I knew our lives won't be the same anymore. My worries were confirmed.