Tripping on Tears (12 page)

CHAPTER
Eleven

BY
The
end of our first official week living together, Safia was ready to take that all important step. You’ve got sex on the mind – that’s not the step I’m talking about; she wanted me to meet her best friend, Kareena.

I’d been lucky, as during the week, Duncan had popped over in his travels. I introduced him to Safia and they got along wonderfully; meeting Safia also gave Duncan another reason to pull out his kid’s photos – I don’t know how they all fit in his wallet – and show them to her; have you ever noticed, especially when their kids are really, really young, parents brag about the simplest of things? Look, little Johnny went potty on the potty? Bravo, dude, I do that every day and no one’s singing my praises. Oh, look at that, little Janey dressed herself the other day; I think you know where I’m going with this. Call me when little Johnny and Janey score a book deal and maybe then I’ll be impressed.

I have to admit, the fact that Duncan is somewhat normal, or at least knows how to handle himself in polite company, along with the fact his kids truly are cute, did score me some brownie points with Safia. Women crumble when they see those two cute kids. It was almost enough that I was willing to forgive him for never letting me borrow them for a walk in the park. Little ones like them, I understand, can be chick magnets; and seeing how Duncan and I went way back, much longer than he and his kids, I’ve never understood why he wasn’t willing to whore them out to me during my single days.

The first meeting of friends went well; I was lucky it was Duncan who stopped by and not Monroe. But now it was my turn to go under the microscope; see if I’d get the ‘thumbs up’ or ‘thumbs down’ from her friends.

Seeing as it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, we’d decided to meet them downtown at an English pub of their choosing; Kareena was down there anyway; her latest beau lived in the city. The suggestion made sense, as where better to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon if you’re going to be out, than on the patio of an English pub, a cold glass of Guinness in your hand and your best girl by your side?

I really wanted this to go well; to win Kareena’s approval. I don’t know why, but I did. What I wanted and what happened, however, were two different things, because sometimes, when you get right down to it, I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.

I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d just met her friend, the first she’d been willing to introduce me to, and we were enjoying a drink on the bar’s patio on a nice summer’s day, but I couldn’t help myself. And, in truth, it was more of a harmless observation than anything else. Nonetheless, I said it.

“She’s got to be hot.”

Qadi, Kareena’s latest boyfriend, Kareena and Safia looked to the sidewalk where a woman clad in a black burqa was walking down the street pushing a stroller.

“She’s probably used to it,” offered Kareena.

“I guess. It’s just black attracts the heat and that’s a whole lot of black on a really hot day,” I said.

“You wouldn’t understand anyway,” chimed in Qadi; although I’d just met him, I knew he was one of those guys who had an inflated opinion of himself, especially in relation to others, whom he considered far inferior. You could see it in his eyes, the way he carried himself, that seemingly underlying contempt for others he wore like a badge of honor. I should have let his opinion go, but, I couldn’t.

“I wouldn’t understand?” I asked.

Safia looked at me, concerned. She obviously had evaluated Qadi’s character as well and knew he wouldn’t like being challenged. The last thing she wanted was for me and Kareena’s boyfriend to get into it and ruin the day.

“You’re from the West,” he said. “It’s a cultural, a religious thing, regarding a woman’s modesty or need to embrace modesty.”

“What’s so important about modesty?” I asked.

“Again, you’re from the West. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Enlighten me.”

“In certain cultures we strive not to objectify our women; and the women are not so crass as to blatantly parade around half naked. Some might even say shamelessly,” Qadi offered.

I couldn’t help looking at Kareena, who on this particularly hot day, it could be argued, was dressed somewhat provocatively. I’d yet to hear Qadi complain about her dress or lack of it. As a matter of fact, I’m sure he quite enjoyed the visual treat.

As this was my first meeting with Kareena, I really didn’t want to get into a heated debate or argument with Qadi; I just didn’t want to embarrass her or make her feel uncomfortable.

“Actually, in many ways, dressing in a burqa is more liberating for a woman,” he continued. He obviously wanted to drive his point home. “In dressing that way, a woman also gets to choose how she wishes to reveal herself to a man. It gives her the control.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle; I knew that response wouldn’t amuse him, and I was right. A look of annoyance quickly crossed his face.

“You disagree?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Guys...,” Safia started to say, but was interrupted by Qadi.

“No, let him speak. I’m curious,” said Qadi.

“I would argue,” I said, “that the very act of wearing a burqa objectifies women.”

I could see he wanted to say something, but remained silent.

“By covering women up, you’re saying their appearance, how they look, is a truly significant factor. What are you protecting them from? The lust of men?”

“The beauty of a woman can be distracting,” said Qadi.

“I’ve heard that theory,” I said. “That is why in a Mosque, women must pray at the back of the room. A man there to pray can’t focus on worship if a woman is bending over in front of him. Is that not so?”

“What’s your point?” asked Qadi.

“All of these attitudes reduce women to nothing but objects; distracting objects, illustrating man’s weakness. I’d argue that men in those cultures that require a burqa to be worn aren’t mature enough to deal with women on an equal level. The women are paying for the men’s shortcomings.”

“So, they should let women run around like sluts?” he asked.

Again, I couldn’t help stealing a look at Kareena; she seemed indifferent to our discussion. I’d realized soon after we’d sat down that in Qadi and Kareena’s brief relationship, he was definitely the Alpha Dog.

“Women should be free to dress as they please. To express their personal style, whatever that may be,” I said.

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Western society.”

“Or its true beauty,” I countered.

“Maybe we should discuss something else,” suggested Safia. The concern and worry had not left her face.

“No, no,” said Qadi quickly. “Its beauty?” he asked, turning his attention back to me.

“Yes, its beauty,” I said. “Sexual attraction is a biological fact of life. In Western society, women also choose how they want to reveal themselves to a potential lover. You guys have it all wrong. Revealing how one looks, the shape of their body, isn’t really revealing anything. How a woman truly reveals herself to a man is when she chooses to reveal her thoughts to him, her hopes, her desires, and her fears. By revealing her true self, which is buried deep within her, and cannot be deciphered based on how she looks or dresses or undresses, is how a woman really lets you know you’re special to her. Everything else is just physical.”

I could see, based on the look on his face that my argument was lost on him.

“The burqa is simply a woman’s choice,” he finally stated.

I wasn’t ready to give up, despite the pleading look on Safia’s face. “You can hire a prostitute,” I continued. “You can have sex with a prostitute. You’ve seen her at her most vulnerable, naked. You’ve engaged in an intimate act with her, but when all is said and done, do you really know anything of value about her? You’ve seen everything, yet nothing’s been revealed.”

“Nonetheless,” he countered, “women of certain cultures are expected to demonstrate some decorum.”

“Is it not true that in many of these cultures where burqas are expected to be worn, women are still subjected to arranged marriages?”

Qadi just looked at me.

“So your romanticized notion of the burqa and the ability of a woman to choose how she reveals herself to a man flies right out the door,” I said. “When you’re told who you’re going to marry, who you’re going to have sex with and start a family, there is no choice in the revealing.”

“You really don’t know what you’re talking about,” stated Qadi. “Those of you in the West will never understand it.”

“And, from what I can tell, those of you not from the West will never understand the beauty of a truly equal relationship with an independent and spirited woman. Other cultures think we’re weak because we don’t attempt to control our women, or subjugate them, but I say it takes a stronger man to build a relationship and life with someone who is truly his equal.”

“You know what,” said Safia, “not to sound like a terrible cliché, but let’s agree to disagree.”

“What do you think of this, Safia?” asked Qadi.

Safia took a second to look at me, then back at Qadi. “I think this is a wonderful day, and not a day for cultural clashes.”

“Safia’s right,” added Kareena. “Why is it every time two guys get together for the first time, they have to try and prove whose is bigger?”

I couldn’t help laughing. Kareena had a point. Nonetheless, although he was trying his best to conceal it, I could tell Qadi was seething. I also couldn’t help wondering what the hell Kareena saw in him.

“So, I guess I made quite an impression,” I said as Safia and I walked along.

Safia laughed.

“When we live in a world of beauty and the beasts, it seems a shame that we’re covering up the beauties and letting the beasts roam free,” I said.

“I guess Qadi has very strong opinions,” she said.

“Yet he’s hooked up with Kareena, who isn’t exactly dressed all that modestly. Sowing his wild oats, is he?”

“Your life must be so simple and uncomplicated,” she said.

“No, not really. I’m as fucked up as the next guy, in my own way.”

We walked along in silence for a couple of seconds.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I finally said, “personally, I don’t care. A woman can choose to do or wear whatever she wants. Who am I to dictate anything to anyone? I am allowed, however, to have an opinion.”

“And I love you for your opinion,” said Safia, moving closer to me, wrapping her arm around me and taking my hand in hers.

“I was raised in a home with very strong-willed, independent women. If my father had ever tried to tell my mother what she could or couldn’t wear, he wouldn’t have been able to walk straight for a week, and would have had to sleep with one eye open,” I offered.

Safia snuggled in closer, resting her head against my shoulder.

“Actually, thankfully, my mother had no problem telling my father what to wear and what not to wear. He had the fashion sense of a clown; many times he’d come down in the morning and look like an uncoordinated, colorful nightmare.”

We continued along, just enjoying the day and being together. The feeling of her head on my shoulder, her arm intertwined with mine and our hands embraced, brought me both a level of excitement and contentment I hadn’t experienced in a long time – if ever.

“Did you mean what you said about a woman revealing herself?” she finally asked.

“Yeah, I did.”

“I thought the only thing men were after was sex?” she said.

“Some. I wasn’t raised that way. I have a few friends who were hounds. You know, do or say anything to get laid. That just wasn’t me. I don’t know, maybe that makes me a freak or defective.”

We continued walking.

“You haven’t really tried to get me in bed yet,” she said.

“I just...I don’t know...,” I stammered.

“I don’t excite you?” she asked.

She was playing with me. I could see by the look on her face she was enjoying putting me on the spot, playfully tormenting me.

“Of course, you...”

“I guess we can wait, some more,” she said, interrupting me. “You know, until you decide whether or not you’d like to see me naked. No hurry.”

“This is cruel, woman.”

She pulled away from me, laughing. It was a beautiful sight; the pure look of joy and happiness on her face was possibly the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. As Safia walked playfully backward in front of me, I knew I wanted her – more than anything in the world. I was a lucky bastard and I knew it. This beautiful woman had dared to go out with me, was interested in me – ME. I knew somehow that her very existence, who she was, was going to have a profound impact on me and shape me into the man I needed to be – a man who until now had no way of realizing his full potential, but now saw it for the first time ever in the beauty of her smile.

“You know,” she said playfully, “It’s important to know when the time’s right.”

She stopped in her tracks, allowing me to walk into her open arms. We kissed.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

“You’re sure? I don’t want to rush...”