-Two and a Half Weeks BCC-
Alarm blaring in her ears Yasmina rolled over with a whine smacking at all of the buttons on top of the hellish device she so loathed until with a sense of victory she silenced it. Smiling to herself the teenager turned back towards the wall dragging her previously discarded pillow to her chest and wrapped her arms about it with snug sense of security. Blissfully she began to feel her tired, overworked muscles beginning to relax again as she gave herself five extra minutes. It was when she felt herself teetering dangerously upon the precipice between awareness and the sleep that she finally got up.
Still foggy headed she made her way to the bathroom, and sat down to relieve herself only to feel a rush of momentary panic at the unexpected sight of blood. "Ugh!" she groaned when the shock wore off a half second later. It came early! That was great, just freaking great! Leaning over she riffled through the cabinet beneath the sink fishing out the much needed supplies and the extra pair of underwear Yasmina had learned to keep handy. Finishing up she brushed her teeth with a quick haphazard fury, spitting, rinsing, and throwing the door open with a scowl.
Storming back into her room she ripped apart her bed with frustration, balling up her sheets and blankets carrying them down the hall and stuffing them into the washing machine. A little soap, a little fabric softener, and the teen slammed the lid shut and started it up.
"Rough morning?" her dad smiled as he walked past, unaware of the dangerous waters in which he tred.
Ignoring him Yasmina got dressed running a comb through her long, easily tangled hair, trying to compose herself, and breathe reigning in her emotions even as she swept her dark locks up into a bun. She sighed heavily staring down at the noose of a hijab on her dresser, picking it up reluctantly and sliding on first the under-cap and then the long tube like covering that fit snuggly under her chin, covering hair and neck alike. She felt strangled by the oppressive cloth, the tight spandex that framed her visage making her cheeks feel somehow puffy and swollen.
It's just for a minute, she told herself heading for the kitchen.
There she found that the activity in her house was already buzzing as her father, dressed smartly in his suit rushed about looking for his car keys. Her mom was busy frying up an egg sandwich, and Sameera, who much like her big sister had a bad habit of sleeping in until the last possible minute was brushing her teeth drowsily at the table trying hard not to get her juice cup confused with her spit cup.
"Need some coffee kiddo?" Yasmina asked roughing up the girl's hair as she walked past, determined not to let mother nature's cruel little joke ruin her day.
"No," their mother, Lailah, said over her shoulder. "What she needs is to start waking up the first time I go into her room. You-" her mom said flicking her hands away as if she were shooting away a fly. "There's no more I can do for you, if you're late, you're late. Then if the police want to arrest me for having a truant child, so be it, at least I won't be the one doing all the cooking and laundry anymore."
Yasmina couldn't help but smile, rolling her eyes at her mother's predictable but irritated response. Opening the cupboard the teen fished out her protein powder, side stepping her mom and grabbed her blender bottle as well. "We're going to need milk." Yasmina announced to anyone that might be listening as she used the remainder of the gallon to make her breakfast.
"Fridge." her mom sighed, clearly put out.
"Huh?" the teen asked with confusion as she shook the bottle vigorously, the metal ball inside rattling loudly.
"Write it on the fridge!" the woman snapped pointing to the legal pad she had hung up a few weeks ago. Yasmina who kept forgetting that her mother was trying to come up with a new routine so she didn't have to run to the grocery store four and five times a week quickly scribbled down her addition, waving a distracted bye over her shoulder when her dad called to them from the front door.
"Well, I'm off too." Yasmina announced, swinging her backpack onto her shoulder, kissing first Sameera, than her mom on the cheek and darting outside.
Hitting the pavement the girl checked her watch, she would be cutting it especially close today, but if she sprinted the last block or so she'd be fine. The first order of business however, was to make it past the gossipy Mrs Houda's house. Walking at a quick pace the girl was putting in her earbuds to block out the brash noise of the world when a half empty fast food cup bounced sharply off her back causing her to jump in pain and surprise, sticky soda soaking into the leg of her pants.
"Go back to where you came from!" the asshole called out to her from the passenger window.
"Fuck you!" the American born Yasmina yelled back flipping him not one, but two birds.
Blinking back tears as she assessed the damage to her jeans the teen took a trembling breath. It wasn't glass this time, she thought still trying her best to remain optimistic, and it wasn't beer. Banishing the thought of turning around and going back home to catch a ride with her mom Yasmina took another deep breath. She shoved her ear buds in, tucking them beneath the binding fabric which brought her only scorn and hatred, and set her favorite playlist to shuffle. Head bobbing to the beat as she got into the rhythm the teen took a swig of her liquid breakfast and began jogging away at a steady pace. She just had to make it around the corner, she thought bitterly, and everything would be alright.
Heart pumping, and lungs drinking up the morning air the girl savored the rush of endorphins and feel of her body working at peak form. There was nothing else like it in the world the athlete thought dodging and weaving around fellow pedestrians as she took another victorious gulp of shake. Or almost nothing.
The girl grinned broadly as she rounded the city block and out of view of the prying eyes that knew her mother. The loud calamity of cars speeding past, horns honking, people yelling or talking on their cellphones came flooding back with full force when Yasmina ripped off the hijab pulling the miniature speakers out of her ears in the process. Smiling with a freedom fueled elation Yasmina stuffed the garment into her bag and let her hair out of its bun, allowing it to cascade in a flowing ponytail. Stepping to the side the girl plugged herself back in, listening to the music and letting each song's tempo set her pace until she reached school.
"Terrorist," it wasn't the most original line, and even though she knew it was there it still stung enough to pull the girl out of her runner's high when she saw it written on her locker. She'd given up trying to wash it away as each time it began to fade it would magically return to life like a hateful phoenix rising from the ashes. Yasmina had even brought it up to the principal, and asked for it to be removed several times, but as of yet nothing official had been done about it. So the girl resolved to ignore the issue which appeared to be the only solution as demonstrated by the facility that had a rather fluid "zero tolerance" policy when it came to bullying.
Quickly grabbing her books she headed to her first class. The school year was nearly over and yet Ms Greene still felt the need to force her students to sit through another boring lecture. History class was honestly a crime against humanity and really ought to have been an elective, Yasmina thought clicking her pen repeatedly as boredom and early morning drowsies loomed. After narrowly surviving the monotony of it all, was trigonometry, and lit both of which she had testing for making the day drag on grinding away at her mood like a millstone.
Finally when the last of her nerves had been stretched to their limit the bell dismissed it's captives to lunch. Hitting the cafeteria with gusto, pizza, frys, soda, cottage cheese, and several preportioned packets of salt found their way onto her tray. Delving into cheesey, salty, fatty goodness of the meal Yasmina closed her eyes savoring how it hit that particular spot that always seemed to hollow out during her menstrual cycle, a hole that only junk food could fill up.
Looking across the room the teen who ate in isolation found herself looking at former friends as they talked and joked amongst each other. Yasmina's heart sank when Aubry meeting her gaze gave a short wave before whispering to the others causing the table to erupt with laughter. No matter how hard she tried it always seemed like people were going to hate her simply for existing. Turning away as she finished her meal the girl played absentmindedly on her phone, most of her attention given instead to plotting out the remainder of the day, organizing things just well enough that she could get in some quality training in before heading home.
Emptying her tray into the garbage Yasmina had a few extra minutes before her next class, more than enough time to swap out textbooks and grab something sweet from the vending machine. She was doing just that when the sound of her last name caught her attention, jarring her by surprise.
"Good, Miss Fadoula, I was hoping I would catch you!" Mr Blavin said trotting up to her from across the hall.
The tall man smiled in a bright charming manner that seemed to come naturally to him. Depending on who you asked he was either famous for his affable, understanding nature that made him a sought after advisor for many students, or infamous for the vicious rumors spread about him, and his signature rainbow enamel pin that he had to fight first the school board, and then the PTA to wear. Secretly the art teacher was one of Yasmina's favorite people on earth, educator or otherwise.
"What's up?" she asked turning towards him, his joy infectious.
"I just wanted to talk to you about the sunset you painted in class the other day. I found it to be a very moving, very introspective piece," he started out, talking with his hands as he usually did. "I was especially touched by the varying gradients of orange cut by a bank of clouds shifting into hues of pink..."
Oh shit! Yasmina thought heart racing, he knew! Of course he would have picked up on it! She thought bitterly, condemning herself for being so stupid. The girl had seen "hidden pride" paintings made by people online who weren't able to come out yet, and she'd dared to make one for herself. She was an idiot, Yasmina thought dismally wishing that the ground would split open and swallow her up right then and there.
"I just wanted to ask your permission before I selected it to display out in the halls. It felt like it had a very, personal meaning to the artist, one I wouldn't want to flaunt leaving them feeling uncomfortable and exposed." he smiled, giving her a nudge with his elbow. "You don't have to decide now, you can take it home, or if you want me to hang it, with pride, you'll have it back by the end of the fall semester."
Relief, washed over Yasmina who was able to return the man's smile, he was giving her a choice. "I'll think about it." she nodded.
"Cool. Huh, would you look at that," he said as if suddenly distracted, tapping her locker with a knuckle. "Someone must be failing Mrs. Lowe's english class, because that's not how you spell it." Riffling through what sounded like a half dozen pens in his pocket the man produced a classic black sharpie and in large curling letters wrote the word "terrific" before surrounding the offensive slur with a heart and coloring it in so that it could no longer be seen.
"Isn't that vandalism?" Yasmina laughed though she felt like her own heart might burst.
"Ah, an astute question! But, we must first ask ourselves what is art? And in this scenario where in lies the difference between 'vandalism' and so called 'street art.' To a novice one might say 'getting caught,' and yet who decrees what is a tagging and what is a mural? Perhaps we'll close the year out discussing this topic, I mean everyone loves a good Banksy." he winked, hands resting to his pockets as he backed down the hall. "And no, it's not, it's a declaration of admiration and mutual respect for one of my favorite students. Just don't go spreading it around, I'm not supposed to have favorites, k?"
"K!" Yasmina laughed.
It wasn't until she was walking into her next class that the initial sense of unease washed over Yasmina. He knew, she couldn't help thinking to herself. Someone actually knew. It made her feel vulnerable and almost naked in a sense. After years of being both architect and construction worker, building up her defenses against the bigots, and prejudice individuals she constantly found herself surrounded by, someone had found a chink in her armor. It was terrifying. And yet, by the end of the day as she stood on the track staring the finish line down with fierce determination, it was also somehow strangely liberating.
Getting into starting position Yasmina slowed her breathing, trying to find her inner place of peace, and calm. Running gave her clarity, and made her feel invincible, but to get where she needed to be, she had to clear her mind. Only, the corner of her mouth curled slightly, someone knew. Taking off like a shot the girl tore down the rubber lane the lightness in her chest lending speed to her feet, making her feel as though she could fly. I'm gay, she thought, a lesbian, and that's ok. Blinking past the welling tears, she couldn't help but smile, it's ok, I'm going to be ok!
"Time!" the coach called, breaking her train of thought. Hands on her hips, sides heaving Yasmina walked towards him, waving away any questions he was beginning to form as she wiped away the lingering moisture from her eyes. "That's a new personal best, wanna go again?"
"Sure." Yasmina
nodded, pumping a fist at her victory against herself, before heading back to starting position. From here on out, there was nothing that could stop her, she grinned.
Tired and sore, yet still on cloud nine Yasmina's keys jingled noisily in the lock when she returned home for the evening. Getting ready to throw her hip into the door which sometimes stuck she was caught off guard when the knob suddenly pulled from her hand, opening to reveal and equally frightened looked Sameera. Pushing her way outside Sameera grabbed her older sister by the wrist pulling her after her.
"What's going on?" Yasmina asked looking back.
"Baba is going to kill you!" Sameera said in a hushed, urgent tone.
"What?" Yasmina scoffed. "Why is baba going to kill me?"
"Because he saw this!" Sameera explained holding up the cracked hand-me-down iphone she'd been given.
"Olympic Hopeful Yasmina Fadoula Finds Sponsor With Jurassic World!" the headline read, beneath was a candid photograph of the girl running, in shorts and a tank top, hair flowing. Yasmina squeezed her eyes shut as though she could wish it all away.
"What were you thinking? You're half naked!" Sameera said with a pained look.
"I wasn't half naked! There's nothing wrong with what I was wearing, and I was thinking about who I am and what I want out of life. And believe it or not I was also thinking about you too." Yasmina said firmly to the twelve year old. "And about how I want you to have the chance to make your own choices, choices that I'm going to have to fight for. Now it's my turn to warn you, so, get ready for World War Three kiddo," the teen said pulling off the head covering she had worn home. "Because things are going to get ugly."
Marching through the house and into the kitchen where the warm, homey aromas of lamb bamia originated she found her parents seated, and talking amongst themselves at the table. She had known this day was coming for a while, but she had wanted it to happen on her own terms. Oh well, she thought, taking in a steady breath. "Mama, baba." she nodded to her conservative parents watching as the shock in their eyes gave way to fiery anger.
"What is this?" her father shouted, motioning towards his daughter.
"What is what baba?" she asked setting her backpack on an empty chair.
"This! What the hell do you think you're doing?" he bellowed motioning between the girl and his cellphone. "Now the whole world can see your shame!"
"My shame? My shame?" Yasmina yelled, slamming both hands onto the table, ignoring her mom who was trying to play peacemaker. "The world can see my hair, and my arms, and my knees, everyone has them, they aren't special, and they aren't dirty!"
"You are dressed as an amoral, immodest, non-believer! Where is your humility? Where is your respect for your faith, your parents, and yourself?" the man asked.
"My faith has brought me nothing but suffering baba! Everyone hates me!" the teen said voice breaking into a sob.
"That's not true," he waved dismissively. "I have not had any difficulties, your brother is excelling at University! And you, you're running around like some, some slu-"
"Jamil!" Lailah snapped, stopping her husband from saying something he might regret.
"That's because you and Ahmed didn't have to go through life walking around with big red targets on your backs!" Yasmina screamed hurling her hijab across the table at him. "Baba, you talk about respect for my parents, what about respect for your daughters, or hell even your wife? Mama has had eggs thrown at her and you only cared about the paint on the car!"
"That's not true!" her mother cut in angrily, looking with a hard gaze at her daughter. "That is not true, at all. You do not see everything. You do not know everything."
"I do care about you girls," he father said swallowing his rage. "It is because I care that I want you to dress modestly, to protect yourselves, to honor yourselves, and respect yourselves."
"Baba-"
"The discussion is over, I am your father, if you defy me I will put an end to this running nonsense here and now." he said with a wave sitting back down and turning away.
Wounded Yasmina looked at him with disbelief for several minutes before she found her voice, "You just don't get it do you?" she asked before rushing away to her room. Throwing herself on the bare matress the teenager cried in wretching sobs of frustration and anger, screaming into the fabric covered springs that made up her bed.
A few minutes later the was a knock at the door. Coming in her father sat on the end of her bed with a sigh. "You," he started softly. "You are my most precious flower Yasmina, and I know that the things I do, and say, the things I ask of you don't always seem right or fair when you look around and none of your friends are held to the same level of expectation. But all I want is to protect you from all the ugliness in the world. All I want is for you to be happy."
Turning Yasmina looked at him from the corner of her eye, she could tell her was trying, even if she wasn't ready to accept his efforts or apologies just yet. "You are a smart, beautiful, capable young woman who I am proud to call my daughter." he said lovingly, leaning over to take one of her hands in his own, giving it a squeeze. "And you are going to make some man very happy one day." he beamed. "I love you."
"I love you too." she muttered, trying hard not to crumble under the pressure of everything he had just said.
"Now come eat something, you're mother has been cooking all day."
"I'll be right there." Yasmina said, watching him leave.
Alone, head pounding, small colorful orbs darting at the edge of her vision, and stomach cramping badly the teen just wanted to curl up in the dark and never leave her bed again. He was right, she thought, it wasn't fair, none of it was fair. How could she live the rest of her life with the shadow of her parents expectations looming over her? How could she ever find happiness, find love?
Letting out a shaky breath as a few tears slipped out Yasmina carefully tried to sift through this rollercoaster of a day and figure out where exactly she had gone wrong.
