Closed Doors

The Seventies Life. What is so important about life to some people? When I was a girl, some things happened to me that scarred my life permanently. I remember what I experienced in my life as a young Muslim girl. I still remember that Saturday morning like yesterday. I and my siblings sat in my brother’s room watching the Saturday morning cartoons. There were six of us: one boy and five girls. My mother, who we called Umi (Mom in Arabic), was going through a lot of issues in her present life, as she had in her past. It was a beautiful morning that Saturday. The sun was shining through the eighth-floor window of the project apartment. We kids all sat on the floor watching the small black-and-white television that also sat on the floor. All of our beds were on the floor—that was the Muslim custom. We were very close when I was little. All I knew were my siblings, my Umi, and my Abu (Dad). As we sat there joking around with one another, I could hear small cries coming from Umi’s room. I wasn’t sure if my other siblings heard the sound, but whether they did or didn’t, they did not show it. Then I heard Umi’s door open. Our laughing and joking stopped in a quick instant. It was as if someone pressed a button and we all stopped in our tracks. Umi stood in front of my brother’s room door, naked. When she spoke it was not the voice that I always knew. This voice sound like a man—deep, eerie, and not of Allah. She walked away, calling my older siblings. Because I was the youngest of the six, it was very rare that Umi called me to do much. My sister Aisha ran into the closet and began to cry. Miriam, Kareema and Zainab went into the kitchen. My brother Malike went out of the room with my sisters. I heard him saying something to my sisters. Umi began to cry, and Aisha was still hiding in the closest. Malike came to the room and told me to stay inside and watch television. Every time Umi would cry, I would jump. Malike closed the room door, leaving me in the room. I tried to focus on the cartoon, but Umi kept crying. Whenever my mother cried, I cried. It hurt my heart to see her hurt. I began to cry as I watched the cartoons. My vision blurred, but I tried to watch the television. Then I got up from the floor and walked to the door. As soon as my little hands reached for the doorknob, Umi yelled out a piercing scream. I opened the door. I could still hear Aisha crying in the closest. I walked into the hall of the project apartment. When I got to the corner of the wall, I peeked around in time to see Zainab bring a pot of hot water into the bathroom. About a minute later I heard Umi scream again. I covered my ears as the tears began to flow down my cheeks. I walked toward the bathroom. The door was open. Umi stood naked in the tub as Kareema and Miriam poured hot water on her. Umi was not Umi. I screamed. I felt myself being picked up in the air by my brother. My arms reached for my mother as I cried and screamed, “Umi” over and over, but my brother continued to carry me away. He put me in the room I shared with my sisters. Before he closed the door, he held me for a minute. Then when he thought I was calm enough he laid me down, and then sleep overtook me. I hiccuped and cried myself to sleep with the vision of Umi playing in my little head.