Holding Hands

Chapter 3

"What the total heck!" I cringed. My eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Mom definitely didn't tell me about that! "Rip, tear, and blood don't sound like the proper descriptions of a romantic honeymoon to me." What about strawberries and chocolate? And, I mean, we could just hold hands. Couldn't we? I didn't want to imagine a scenario where there would be blood and pain. This was probably why my mom never wanted to talk to me about the "s" word. She was sheltering me from the sheer horror of it all.

"I read somewhere in a magazine that sex is supposed to be fun." Laila said lightly. I just knew she'd been reading way too many of those teen magazines.

"Fun for whom? Did your magazines mention anything about the guy ripping and tearing and bleeding?"

"No, but they do say that after the first time, it gets better." Laila shrugged, patting my knee in pity. "Anyway, I'm telling you. It's better that we live in the modern world. My mom said that back in the day in like Europe or Asia somewhere, the first time newlyweds had sex, they used to hang the bedsheets outside so everyone would see the blood stains." Laila continued with her lesson. "That still happens in some places, I think."

"Gross!" I shuddered to think of that. Wasn't it already embarrassing enough that everyone knew you were off probably having "s" word? Now you had to prove to everyone that you were doing "it"! Why would any self-respecting woman hang her bedsheets outside for any reason other than to dry them after a washing? "Thank Allah we weren't born before the 2000's! The 90's must have been the Dark Ages."

"Seriously. And get this," Laila continued. "Sometimes, when the bride was too shy, like you Malika, you know absolutely nothing about sex." Laila rolled her eyes and sighed like a weary professor. "They would cut a hole in the sheet, so the girl, you..." She pointed an index finger at me. "... Could stay covered up and the guy would stick his penis through the hole!" She made a circle using the thumb and forefinger of her left hand and began to make a vulgar gesture.

"You're so nasty!" I squealed at her, pressing my hands over my bulging eyes. Why was she so ridiculous? She grabbed at my hands, pulling them down from my face. At least while she was holding onto me, she couldn't do anymore explicit sign language.

"Penis," Laila whispered into my face. I twisted out of her grasp.

"You make it sound so disgusting. I never wanna get married!" And I didn't. I might not even want to hold hands anymore either, if it led to doing it. Why couldn't I just be friends with a guy and just have a guy my age to talk to? We didn't have to actually do anything together. Ever. 

Laila shook her head full of curly twists. The strands bounced joyfully. If hair could dance, that's what hers was doing.

"Oh, you're getting married Malika, but at least you have options." Laila teased letting go of my hands and drawing me into a big bear hug. The aroma of coconut cream and Shea butter floated into my nostrils. Even her leave-in conditioner was making me hungry. She whispered into my ear. "You can choose red sheets."