Tripping on Tears (5 page)

“Fanatics exist everywhere and in every religion,” I continued. “As an ex-journalist I can tell you that fanatics make for good copy. People want to pick up newspapers to hear what went wrong with the world today. Nobody wants to pick up a newspaper and read that all went well in the world and nothing of note happened. They want to read that somebody bombed someone, not that that person instead went to work and provided for their family, then went home, had dinner, watched some TV and went peacefully to bed. Good news is generally boring, while bad news traditionally has sold newspapers. It’s just the way it is.”

I paused. I didn’t know if I was rambling on, or saying anything remotely intelligent or helpful to our conversation. I didn’t know if I was making the possibility for a second date that much harder – digging my own hole and stepping willfully into it.

“Does that sound conveniently diplomatic and neutral?” I finally asked.

“It does. Bravo,” she said.

The rest of the dinner was spent discussing our families - brothers, sisters, etcetera. Surprisingly the conversation never let up; somehow it all felt natural and easy, like we were meant to be together; our talk moving carelessly from frivolous and funny to serious when it needed to be; and along the way we both laughed, which to me is important. Safia was a fascinating woman. She spoke her mind, which I loved, and, it seemed, was being honest and forthright with me. You know all that talk earlier about men lying on first dates and such, well, don’t think for one minute that I don’t believe women didn’t do the same as well. We’re all human and we all do the same shit, unfortunately.

Safia told me that despite having graduated from college and taken business administration courses, she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life; the job at the coffee shop was a pleasant substitute to make some money until she decided; something that was enjoyable enough to do, but not stressful. She’d been interested in art and drawing, but her parents hadn’t supported that notion. They wanted her to get a solid practical education, and had been pushing for her to get a job at a bank, or something respectable like that. I told her my parents were just happy I had a job and wasn’t in prison or living out of a cardboard box, when I was starting out. I’m sure Mom and Dad weren’t sure I’d amount to anything, seeing how they’d had a front row seat to all my stupidity during my teenage years and college days.

“A respectable job makes me more, I don’t know how to say it properly, but, valued, I guess, if my parents were to arrange a marriage for me,” said Safia.

An arranged marriage? This took me by surprise. I’d never considered the possibility, or that such things still went on today.

“Does that still happen these days?” I asked.

“You’d be surprised. It seemed that the older me and my sister got, the more serious my Father and Mother became about honoring such traditions.”

“Have they tried to set you up with anyone?”

I was truly curious. The prospect of an arranged marriage is fascinating to me, yet scary. Back in the day, we didn’t trust my Father to pick a movie from the video store, let alone let him pick a woman or man for one of us to marry. Mom would have been different, as she would have put some thought into it, but Dad, he wasn’t that thorough and would have went shopping for us off the rack. At the same time, having my parents bring home women for me, would have severely cut into the stress and insecurities of dating and having to approach women on my own.

“They’ve brought families over; friends from the Mosque, with their children. Usually there is a son who is old enough for either my older sister or I. It’s funny, because we both know the reason for the visit, but it’s unspoken. My parents want to follow the tradition, but just don’t want to come right out and say so.”

“If that’s the case, what do they make of something like this? Our date?”

Safia smiled coyly and took her time sipping on her wine.

“I take it they don’t know you’re out on a date with a white guy?” I said.

“I wouldn’t be allowed out of the house.”

“What? Grounded? At your age?”

“In a way, yes,” she said.

“Oh, you’re a naughty girl, aren’t you?”

“I know they mean well, but times have changed. We’re not living in Pakistan. Other than my older sister who was five at the time my parents left, neither my brother nor I have ever been to Pakistan. You could say we’ve been Westernized. That’s all we know and understand.”

“So why don’t you just tell them that in love you plan to follow your own path?”

“You make is sound so easy. It isn’t,” she said.

I could see in her eyes she wasn’t lying; there was conflict there – conflict I couldn’t understand.

“It’s funny,” I finally said, “the conceit of man...sorry, not mankind, but humankind.”

She looked at me.

“We always think we can control things; things well beyond our control. You mentioned earlier that your parents became more serious about honoring their traditions as you and your sister got older, right?”

She nodded her head in agreement.

“You mean after puberty, when you both had started developing from little girls into young ladies and eventually young women, right?”

She nodded again.

“After puberty. Your sexual development,” I continued.

“We’re going to talk sex? On a first date?” she asked.

“In a roundabout way,” I said. “I guess I was lucky in that my parents were open about sex. They didn’t hide it from us, nor did they encourage us to engage in it. For decades, no, forget that, for centuries, men and women have tried to control sex and sexual urges. Let’s face it, sexuality is a natural thing; inherent in all of us. It just happens, and sexual thoughts and urges just happen, whether you want them to or not. Hell, I remember when I first started realizing I was interested in girls and no longer thought they had the cooties.”

“The cooties?” she asked, smiling.

“Oh, yes, it’s a proven fact on the playground that girls have the cooties. It wasn’t like we all didn’t know that growing up. The last thing you wanted to catch on the playground was girl cooties. We didn’t know if they had a cure for it.”

“Really? And what were the symptoms.”

“Don’t know,” I smiled. “I was fast and smart. Never caught them, nor did any of my friends. We spent a lot of time trying to avoid the girl cooties, and then one day, everything changed, and suddenly we did everything we could to get caught and become infected. We went from running away from the girls to chasing them - the natural progression for a young man as he develops sexually. It’s instinct and can’t be stopped; which is what parents strive to do all the time – stop the natural order of things.”

“For my parents those natural instincts threatened to get my sister and me pregnant, if they weren’t diligent about trying to control them,” she said.

“Were either one of you the type to just sleep around?” I asked.

“Not me. My sister, well, she could be a little wild, but, no, not to that extent, I don’t believe.”

“So they needn’t have worried. As for your Dad, however, I’d have definitely worried about any pimply-faced boys who came around looking to take you out on a date. The little bastards probably had only one thing in mind.”

“I take it you talk from experience?” she said.

“Damn right,” I admitted. “I had only one thing on my mind, but was too young and stupid to know that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing if I was given a chance to act upon it. We were obsessed with sex, but to tell you the truth, it was intimidating and scary at the same time. But forget sex. What I was saying about trying to control things you can’t, like sex and sexual urges. Parents and others have tried to do that for centuries, and now, what you’re saying is they’re trying to control love.”

The look on her face told me everything. I was now in dangerous waters.

“No, no, no. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying love, like I’m in love with you or anything. This is our first date. That’d be a little creepy. Just love in general,” I clarified.

She smiled. Possibly the waters were receding – a reprieve.

“Love is an intangible. What brings it about? There are people you like in life, but love, well that’s a whole different thing. I’ve been out on dates with women that I’ve asked out because I was attracted to them. Half way through those dates, I knew I didn’t want to be on that date. The attraction was there, but that was all. And after I got to know them, talk to them, find out a bit about their personalities, what they thought, or how they thought, then the attraction wasn’t really there after all. Love is hard to find. It can’t be controlled, and what your parents and others like them are trying to do is, well, it’s unnatural.”

“I’ll make sure to let them know that,” she said. “Right now, I’m kind of glad you didn’t pick me up and meet my Dad.”

“Believe me, it’s rough at first, but eventually they’ll come to love me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I should also point out another thing, while we’re on this topic. Western parents, white parents, they’re not too fond of the idea of their teenage daughters dating, going out with boys and potentially becoming pregnant, also. It is kind of frowned upon as well.”

“Well I made it through my teenage years unsullied,” she said. “Something tells me my twenties may be a different matter.”

With that revelation, and what it might mean, I completely lost my train of thought.

After dinner, we went for a walk in the city. Seeing as we both reside in the suburbs, it was something different to do. In my youth, my friends and I had often hit the city to cruise and look for girls to pick up; in my early twenties, the city offered up the action and excitement I’d craved, what with the clubs and what not, but now that I was quickly approaching my mid-thirties, the appeal had faded. Somewhere along the way, whatever wild man I might have been disappeared; now an exciting night for me was sitting at home and enjoying either a movie or a good book.

We wandered and talked; I felt comfortable in her presence and I believe she felt the same with me, or at least I hoped she did. It felt right, but as the evening grew a little later, another stress slowly arose – the goodnight kiss. Things had gone really well, as far as I could tell, so what should I do? Do I go for it? Was she the kind of woman who would appreciate me holding off until the second date? Is she the kind of woman that would wonder what was wrong with me if I didn’t make an attempt to kiss her? Did I have chapped lips? Why is the sky blue? Who killed JFK? The internal questions and insecurities regarding this pivotal moment in dating were many, and, unfortunately, far from being resolved in my mind. I was never any good with this stuff. I had no idea what to do.
Damn
.

“You know I can’t let you drop me off at home?” she said as we were driving out of the city.

“Kinda figured that. So where to?” I asked.

She directed me to the donut shop where her friend Kareena was waiting for her. It seems that Safia’s parents let her out tonight because they thought she was with Kareena and that they’d be meeting up with more female friends. It seems that Kareena’s parents had let her out tonight because she was with Safia and they thought they’d be meeting up with other female friends. It seems they both had dates with boys their parents wouldn’t approve of.

“So, I had a great time tonight,” Safia said as we awkwardly sat in the parking lot, in my car, staring into the donut shop. Kareena was there waiting for Safia at a table. She hadn’t noticed us pulling up, although there was no reason why she’d have known my car.

“Me too,” I said.

This was it, wasn’t it? The end of our date. To kiss or not to kiss, that is the question.
Damn, would someone please give me the answer
? I know what I wanted to do, but I’ve never been very good at this, and if I went in for a kiss and she didn’t want me to, I’d look the fool. It’s happened before.

“So, you have my cell number,” she said. “I guess I’ll wait for your call, or not.”

She seemed hesitant to leave; I think she wanted me to kiss her, but, I don’t know, fear was holding me back. Why does this have to be so hard?

“I’m going to call. Definitely,” I blurted out. “I do want to see you again.”

Her face lit up in a smile. She looked at her watch. “I’d better get going; believe it or not we still have a curfew. See ya.”

With that Safia exited the car, and so did my last chance to gain the courage to go in for a kiss. What a fucking fool I was. All signs pointed to everything going well, the kiss should have been a given, if I hadn’t had my head up my ass and was such a damned coward. All I could do was watch as she crossed the parking lot and entered the donut shop.

I started my car. Things had gone well, so that was a good thing. Better to have missed a kiss and had a great date than for the date to have been a bust all along. What do they say; you should count your blessings? That wasn’t good enough. I don’t know why I did it, but I turned off the car and got out.

When Safia and Kareena exited the donut shop I was just standing there leaning against the hood of my car. I also noticed that the beautiful black, stylish dress that Safia had been wearing wasn’t on her anymore, but she was dressed in jeans and a simple shirt; a casual look that said, ‘I’m not going out on a date tonight.’ It was obvious that to get out of her parent’s house, she had to wear that, and had changed into her dating clothes after she’d left the house. Seems like a lot of work for a date with me.