Battered, With Love

Chapter 9 -- The Game and the Dream

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"If you truly knew how many people who have wronged me I'm nice to, you might think I'm fake. I'm not. It's just that I know what these people have done is wrong, but I'm not going to be the one to seek revenge or set them straight. I've learned to let go, be the better person, and let God handle it. What's fake about that?" -- Ash

           Sunday morning my entire family and I decide to go to the mosque and help set up for Sunday school, which starts today. Sayeeda, Harun, and I all go help out. This is also Musa and Isa’s first time at Sunday school.

            I wake up at eight in the morning on Sunday, completely disoriented. It’s like the feeling of being stuck underwater yet so close to breaking the surface. I can sort of remember the gist of the dream I was having, but if I can’t articulate that dream into words.

            It leaves me in a grumpy mood all morning, but a realization that hits me really worsens my mood. This is what Harun goes through, every day. This is what he went through when he first lost his hearing. And I’m the one that got off easy.

            “Salam.” My mother greets me when she walks into the kitchen. It means may peace be upon you in Arabic. We’re not Arab (we’re Indian), but since we’re Muslim, a lot of our sayings—especially religious ones—are in Arabic, which is the language of Islam.

            “Salam.” I return her greeting of peace. “I put the tea on the stove.” She smiles and nods in appreciation. “What time did Juwariyah and Jamal say the Sunday school thing starts?”

            “It starts at eleven, but as volunteers, you and Harun need to be there by 10:15. Can you handle that? Waking your brother up will be the biggest feat. That boy….”

            I laugh. “He’s a night owl, like Dad. He can’t help it. And he’s had a rough week.”

            She sighs. “I know. Eiliyah, is he alright?”

            Slowly stirring my hot milk, I assess her expression and ponder her question. “He’s good, alhamdulillah.” Alhamdulillah means thank God in Arabic. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

            “Well, that day you had to stay after school for newspaper, he took the bus home. He was moody. He doesn’t talk to me much anymore.” Moody? Could it be about…? I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to him about that.

            “Oh. I don’t know. We’re only in five classes this year. Everything but Newspaper and English.”

            “Are you two sure that’s fine? I’m sure if we talk to the IB head….”

            “No Mom, it’s fine with both of us. It just didn’t work out with our schedules. I think he enjoys the independence. No sister to constantly be on his case.”

            “That’s true but he flat out refused a translator. We had to force him to get one, and even the only person he ever willingly lets translate for him is you. Otherwise he’s so adamant on lip reading but we both know that it’s not very helpful at times, especially if the teacher is going fast.”

            “Yeah, that’s true, but come on Mom, you have to acknowledge that Harun is doing good. Most kids who can hear don’t even get the grades he gets. His grades are higher than mine most of the time.”