“Ma, I can’t speak Arabic right, I’ve never even been there, and I don’t like all of those dancing parties. I like stories and movies. I can be American and still be your daughter.”

“No! No daughter of mine is American.”

We have this fight all the time. She is always telling Baba how shameful it is that I don’t speak my language, that I don’t mind her, and that I walk like a boy. I sort of like the boy part of what she says, because those girls are so silly—always brushing their hair and listening to music. I hate dancing in front of all those people. My boy cousins are more fun, but I’m not supposed to play with them anymore because I am getting too old.

Baba sometimes especially likes me because I’m his only daughter. (Mina and Monia are from Ma’s first husband.) He used to let me sit with him and his friends, even when Ma wanted me to help her in the kitchen. I liked to listen to their stories and when they yell at each other about politics, even though they are all on the same side. But now I’m older and I have to cut vegetables.

I have a friend at school, but I don’t tell my parents about him. His name is Michael and he’s Jewish, but the real problem is that he’s a boy and I’m not supposed to be friends with boys. He’s very funny. When I first met him I forgot his name and called him David. I was so embarrassed, but then he called me Fatima and we were even.

“My grandmother is dying,” I told him one day.

“That’s sad,” he said. We were both quiet. “My grandmother died,” he said, the way he might say he saw such and such movie.

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

“Thank you, but that is not the point of my story. We went to my uncle’s house to pray for her. Did you know Jews face Jerusalem when they pray?”

I didn’t know that. Michael likes to bring up the similarities between Muslims and Jews, I think to show that we can be friends. I just try to forget all those things and listen to his stories.

“I didn’t either. It’s funny, because if you were in Jerusalem, a Muslim and a Jew would face different directions, but by the time they come to America, it’s all just east. So there we were at my uncle’s house and we were supposed to face east, so we all faced the television and prayed, and I thought to myself, are we praying to the television god for my grandmother’s soul? I mean, she never missed her soap opera, but really!”

See what I mean about him being funny?

10 HALA White

10HALAWhite