Nothing Is Predictable Page 6

  “Good night to you, young lady. Please be careful out on your own this late, there are crazy people out there, Mam.”

  “You too, Sir, take care.” I felt bad when I saw how the poor man was struggling to walk down the stairs, and I’d feared him? I think I almost gave him a heart attack.

  The following day, Tariq and I finally met for the first time at the café. After that, he would frequently meet me at that café after some of my training sessions. Our catchups were easy, I enjoyed his company, and while I knew he had feelings for me, at that point I was just enjoying the attention I had been missing.

  He attended my fights with his entourage and gave me all his attention, making me feel loved and important. I was getting distracted.

  A few weeks went by and Tariq rang me several times. As he became more familiar to me, I finally agreed to go out to dinner with him. He wanted to pick me up from home, but I didn’t want him anywhere near Mom. I caught a taxi and met him in town. I waited outside the restaurant and saw him come round the corner driving a Range Rover. He pulled up at valet and got out of the car with the biggest smile on his face, as if he’d won a marathon. I was mesmerized by his class. He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek then grabbed my hand to escort me. I looked at his hands. They were neatly manicured and reminded me of my dad’s hands. How weird, I thought. My mind flashed back to when Dad used to give me sips of coffee when I was sitting on his lap. Our little ritual was to quickly drink the bubbles before they vanished, as it was meant to be auspicious and bring prosperity. Tariq’s hands reminded me of those pleasant times with my father.

  I let him take my hand and walked beside him as we entered the restaurant.

  Before our dinner, I had convinced myself to try to focus on him as a person and not on his looks. It was hard, because I’d always been attracted by looks first, but instead I found myself being won over by his masculine charm and manly demeanor, although I couldn’t bring myself to hug him yet. We spent the evening chatting and engaging in all sorts of topics. He ordered the finest and best wine the restaurant had to offer. He was a gentleman in every way.

  As I returned home, I was consumed by the feeling of some form of weird attraction to him. What was going on with me? He was drawing me in. I went to bed early that night to stop thinking and a few hours into my sleep, Jamal was in my dreams calling out my name. “Zara, Zara, Zara.” I woke up to the phone ringing. I ran to get it, but no one answered. There was a moment of silence, then they hung up. I didn’t think it could have been Tariq, as I’d rung him when I arrived home, although maybe he wanted to hear my voice again but was embarrassed to admit it.

  I began to think of Tariq more often. Although I didn’t want anything to happen physically – I didn’t even like him that way – I kept wondering why I was attracted to him. It definitely wasn’t his looks or his age. He was also Muslim. The first two men in my life had to be Muslim, just to make life more complicated, although complicated was what I had grown up with. Religion was never an issue to me, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist…I had always believed all religions were based on love and compassion. However, I knew there would be grief from both families, particularly the older generation.

  I began to realize the only reason I was drawn to Tariq was purely because of the attention I used to get from Jamal that I missed so much. So, I rejected the idea of pursuing anything serious with Tariq, deciding instead to remain platonic friends.

  It didn’t help when he visited the club frequently to see me. The days went by, and my affections oscillated between the love I had for Jamal and the overpowering magnetic pull toward Tariq. My emotions toward him were a never-ending battle. I didn’t want to be with him, yet there was something pulling me toward him. It almost felt like a spell I couldn’t control. We had not been intimate; I was a nineteen-year-old virgin, which probably made me more desirable to him.

  I wish I hadn’t been. It would have saved me the agony of the loss that was to follow, the loss of the most precious thing to me, which changed my life forever.

  Chapter 13

  Three kids or two?

  USA 1992

  Mother found out I was seeing Tariq and decided to find out more about him. Ooft! I will never forget the day she confronted me.

  I had just returned home from work and as I walked into our apartment, there was Mother, sitting at the dining table with a pot of Lebanese coffee before her waiting for me. “Hi sweetheart, sit down with me and let’s have coffee.” Her voice was soft.

  “Mmm, sure! God, that smells so nice!” I’ve always loved my coffee.

  I looked at Mom’s face and saw that she was about to explode. She didn’t disappoint me.

  “So, this Tariq you’re hanging around with, do you know he’s a Muslim and he’s married and has three kids?” There was anxiety behind her rage.

  “Married? No. Kids? Definitely not! Muslim? Well, yes. He doesn’t really practice religion, Mom, he’s quite modern,” I replied.

  “He is married with children and he is seeing you? This is outrageous! You are to stop seeing him at once, you don’t need that in your life.”

  “Hang on, Mom, where is this information coming from? As far as I know he isn’t married and as for children…this is bullshit! Who have you been talking to?”

  “Don’t worry how I found out. This man is a womanizer, and everyone knows that about him, and yes, he has a wife and three children living with his mother! Why don’t you ask him? I’m sure if he’s decent, he’ll tell you the truth.” Mom picked up her coffee cup with shaking hands.

  “I will, Mom, I will ask him. I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding somewhere and anyway, we’re only friends, Mom, so relax.”

  That evening I was so overwhelmed by what my mother had told me I couldn’t wait to speak with him again. When the phone rang, Mom quickly picked it up. Oh boy…big mistake! I could tell it was Tariq from the tone of her voice and her questions.

  “Tariq, why are you ringing my daughter? Why don’t you go and look after your wife and family at home? Aren’t you married with children? You think people don’t know you, and we won’t find out the truth! Please do not contact Zara again, leave her alone. I’m sorry, but you are not welcome here.” She hung up on him and stared at me with a grim smile, sighing with relief.

  “Let him dare contact you again,” she warned, walking into the kitchen.

  “Um…okay…” I replied slowly, shocked at her reaction.

  I wanted to call him back, but Mom’s eyes were like a hawk’s and I couldn’t go near the phone. So, I went to my room, put on my boxing gloves, and started punching my boxing bag to vent my frustration.

  The following morning, I went across the road to get some milk from the shop and rang Tariq from the public phone.

  “Hi, I’m really sorry about yesterday, but is any of what she said true?” I asked.

  Tariq chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, I understand she is a mother protecting her daughter.”

  “Yes, I know, but you didn’t answer my question. Is it true? I know you’re Muslim and I don’t care about that, but are you married, and do you have children?”

  “Look Zara, it’s a long story. Some of it is true but there is more to tell you and I would rather tell you to your face than over the phone. Please, don’t over-think the situation, it’s not all as it seems.”

  “Okay, I’ll try and catch up with you this week sometime so we can talk about it. I can’t talk right now. I have to go.”

  Disappointed, I hung up the phone. Some of what Mother had said was true, at least in part. What on earth was my attraction to Muslims? With Jamal, there had been no hope of a relationship between us because of our different religious backgrounds, and so being with another Muslim seemed crazy. Although I was warming up to Tariq, our relationship was platonic. I was not so heavily involved with him that I couldn’t stay away from him. I was not in love with him. I was sure I could make the right decision and walk away if I had to. I just wanted to
know directly from him and not from rumors. Even the idea of remaining friends was inappropriate if he was married. I didn’t want rumors spreading around about me that I was hanging out with a married man, nor did I want to cause him marital problems. I just needed to know the truth.

  That week, my uncle came over with a friend of his who knew Tariq. He confirmed that Tariq was a womanizer, still married, and had three children. He was even known to be a drug dealer.

  Wow, really? All that?

  My uncle demanded I stay away from him. He even sent a message to Tariq and threatened him to stay away from me. I couldn’t believe the pressure and drama just because this guy was a friend, but I think they were all worried it would lead to something more serious.

  I wasn’t even thinking about that. I just liked his company and I liked how I felt when I was around him. For God’s sake, wasn’t I entitled to have a male friend just to hang out with? The perplexing thing was, the more they tried to keep us apart, the more I found myself drawn to him and standing up for him. Yet I still wasn’t even thinking of pursuing a serious relationship with him. Go figure.

  Over the following weeks, my family conspired to drive him further away from me. To no avail, it made us closer. He admitted he had two children, not three, and that he was divorced. He was definitely not a drug dealer. He had a jewelry shop in Los Angeles and was a successful, hard-working businessman. Why should I condemn him for having children and being divorced? As a nineteen-year-old, I preferred someone with no history of failed marriages, but these things happened and I couldn’t bring myself to criticize him for that.

  My family went to extreme measures, endlessly trying to end our friendship. They even locked me up in my uncle’s house for days without the use of a phone. I thought that was worse than how they thought Muslims treated their women. The hypocrisy made me angry and rebellious. Yet still, I had no thought of pursuing the guy.

  One evening, my uncle contacted Tariq and asked him to meet at his house. Mom and I were also asked to be there. He arrived at my uncle’s to find around fifteen people waiting for him in the lounge room. Clearly, it was a planned intervention. My uncle and the others welcomed him respectfully into the home and offered him drinks and coffee, as is usual Lebanese hospitality. They didn’t insult him, they just wanted to discuss the situation in a diplomatic, respectful manner. They made it clear to him they did not approve of nor did they consent to our union or friendship and they asked him to stay away from me.

  I gave him credit for his courage in showing up. He went knowing that my family were all against him and he still had the courage and the respect to fight for me in an honorable way.

  That night, I realized I was falling in love with him. He had courage, and he had proved to everyone that his intentions toward me were honorable.

  While my family stated their objections and Tariq stated his opinion, he finished by saying it was up to the both of us to decide without the interference of anyone else. That infuriated my family even more. They didn’t care what he thought and made it clear to him that our union was not acceptable. It was strange they objected to a union, when up until then my relationship with him had been purely based on friendship. Before I knew it, it was us against them. How could this be happening with a man I had once called ugly?

  Before he left that night, his last words to Mother were, “I’m sorry if I have caused you any grief but I do want you to know that your daughter is an honorable and respectable young lady and her foot alone is more valuable than any other young lady out there.”

  By saying this, he was making sure my family knew I was not besmirched, that I hadn’t been involved with him in a dishonorable way. He respected me. I was the type of woman he was looking for. This might sound old-fashioned today, however, in the context of our Christian culture, it was quite normal.

  I didn’t care about any of that. He had become my knight in shining armor, riding in on his horse to rescue me.

  If only Jamal had fought for me in the same way.

  Chapter 14

  Oh God! He’s back

  USA 1992

  I was watching a martial arts movie when the phone rang. I ran to it and answered before Mom could.

  “Hello?” I said eagerly.

  “Hello, Zara?” My heart missed a few beats and I think I stopped breathing for ten seconds.

  It was Jamal.

  “Zara are you there? It’s Jamal, how are you?”

  It took me a while to respond after the shock of hearing his voice.

  “Jamal, this is a surprise! It’s been over a year since I’ve heard your voice. So how are you? Are you here in LA?”

  “Yeah, I’m back now, can I see you?”

  “See me? No, why do you want to see me? I mean, you didn’t even want me to call you and now you’re back and you want to see me? Well sorry, Jamal, it just doesn’t work like that. Thank you for calling me.” I hung up and went straight to my room. My heart was beating so fast I had to sit down.

  I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to think clearly. Then the phone rang again. I rushed out and grabbed it again before Mom could. She stood there confused, wondering if I had really hung up on someone called ‘Jamal’, or if it had been Tariq.

  “I thought I made it clear and said no, Jamal,” I said firmly.

  “Jamal? Who is Jamal? It’s Tariq, Zara, can you talk? I miss you, are you okay? I’ve been trying to call you. Who is Jamal?”

  “Oh Tariq, I’m so glad it’s you. Um, Jamal is my cousin, I had an argument with him. Don’t worry about him, how are you?”

  The moment Mom realized it was Tariq on the phone, she snatched the phone out of my hand. “Tariq, I thought I made it clear to you not to contact Zara!” she said angrily, hanging up on him.

  The phone rang again after a few seconds and this time, Mom answered.

  “Listen here, Tariq, if you don’t stop these calls there are going to be consequences.”

  “It’s not Tariq, it’s Jamal. I’m sorry, I need to speak to Zara please.”

  Mom passed the phone to me. “It’s your friend Jamal.”

  My heart dropped, and I grabbed the phone off Mom.

  “Jamal, please, what are you doing? Why are you calling me?”

  “I need to see you, I miss you. Zara, please hear me out. There was a reason why I left, and I did it for your benefit, so please hear me out. And what’s this bullshit going around that you are seeing Tariq?”

  “You know what! That’s none of your business, Jamal. You should have thought about that before you took off back to England and left me behind! And another thing, I don’t care what your reason was, okay?”

  Just as I was about to hang up on him, he said, “Zara! My ex-wife claimed I had a child. Hear me out, don’t hang up! I didn’t want to get involved with you when I had unresolved issues. I didn’t want to ruin your life. I had to go back to sort it out. Zara please, I beg you, let me see you.”

  “Man, what is it with all you men having children everywhere?” I mumbled.

  “What do you mean?” Jamal asked.

  “Don’t worry about it. Child? Child? How did that happen when you were separated?” I asked angrily.

  “It wasn’t mine. She was trying to get more money from the divorce settlement, but it wasn’t mine. All that time I spent away from you I was trying to get to the bottom of things. I couldn’t bring you into it. I couldn’t have you settle for someone with a child at your age. For God’s sake, Zara, and now you’re with Tariq and he has three kids! I know this Tariq and he is not the type of person to be involved with. Besides, he’s Muslim. Wasn’t that our problem? What the hell are you doing, girl?”

  “Two kids, not three,” I snapped at him.

  “No, Zara, he has three kids. Who told you he has two only? I know that family.”

  “What do you mean three, Jamal? Tariq confirmed he has two. But of course, it’s very convenient for you to listen to the bullshit rumors going around, isn’t it?”

>   “Oh my God, Zara. If he’s lying to you about how many children he has, he’s going to lie to you about everything going on in his life.”

  “I’ve heard enough, Jamal. Please don’t ring me again.” I hung up the phone with teary eyes. I wasn’t sure whether it was with relief that I had finally heard from him after waiting so long, hoping he would come back to me, or the possibility that Tariq had lied to me about the number of children he had. It was all too much, I couldn’t handle it. I pulled the phone plug out of the wall so the phone wouldn’t ring again and went to bed crying.

  Throughout the night, Mom constantly peeped through the door to check up on me. God bless her, I was awake but pretended I was asleep. Eventually I fell asleep and before I knew it, I woke up with the sweats and a beating heart from a nightmare about my last night with Dad. It was like having a heart attack. That dreadful night continued to torment me for years.

  The following day, I woke up to the smell of Lebanese coffee. Mom had made the usual morning pot and was deliberately rattling around in the kitchen so I would wake up. I walked in and saw the worried look on her face, then sat down with my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. I had no desire to talk about anything, but I felt remorseful about the heartache I was causing my mother. I hated to see her upset. All I had ever wanted was to give her a better life and yet here I was, putting her through misery. Nothing was in sync and nothing was working out harmoniously for either of us.

  “Are you okay?” Mom asked me softly while she was pouring my coffee.

  “This is too much, Mom, too much for me. I mean, why are you so against Tariq? Can’t you see he is an honorable man? What man would face my family the way he did to prove his good intentions?”