Page 55 - A Woman Is No Man

Around her people strolled down the block, pushing strollers and
carrying grocery bags, swirling in and out of shops like marbles. They
looked nothing like the Americans she had imagined: women with bright

red lipstick, men in polished black suits. Instead, many of the women
looked no different than her, plain and modestly dressed, many even
wearing a hijab. And the men looked like Adam, with olive skin and rough
beards, clothes meant for tough labor.
Isra didn’t know what to think, eyeing the familiar faces floating down
Fifth Avenue. These people were just like them, living in America and
trying to fit in. Yet they still wore their hijabs; they didn’t change who they

were. So why did Adam insist that she change who she was?
After a long time watching them, Isra was no longer thinking of her
hijab. Instead, she thought of all the people drifting under the lamplights,
people who lived in America but weren’t Americans at all, women who
were just like her, displaced from their homes, torn between two cultures
and struggling to start anew. She wondered what her new life would be like.

That night, Isra went to bed early. Adam was taking a shower, and she

thought it best that he return to find her asleep. It was her first night alone
with him, and she knew what would happen if she stayed awake. She knew
he would put himself inside her. She knew it would hurt. She also knew—
though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it—that she would come to
enjoy it. Mama had told her this. Still, Isra wasn’t ready. In bed, she closed
her eyes, tried to silence her thoughts. She felt as if she were running
frantically, spinning in circles.

In the bathroom she could hear Adam turn off the running water, pulling
the shower curtain open, then shut, fumbling for something inside the
cabinet. She pulled the blanket over her body like a shield. Lying still
beneath the cold sheets, she watched him through half-open eyes as he
entered the room. He was wearing nothing but a bath towel, and she had a
full view of his lean, golden body, the coarse black hair on his chest. For a

moment he stood there, staring at her as though willing her to look at him,
but she could not bring herself to open her eyes fully. He took off the bath
towel and approached her. She closed her eyes, breathing in and out, trying
to relax. But her body only stiffened as he neared.
He climbed onto the bed, pulled back the sheets, and reached out to
touch her. She inched away until she thought she would fall off the other