You peer out at the bleak gray sky from your bedside window, pressing your fingertips against the glass to feel the coolness of the air. It’s that day again. September 11th. The ninth anniversary. Why does it have to fall on a weekday? You wish you could take the day off from school. You feel a little uneasy on this day every year, but this year, though still strange, is bound to be different. After all, you now wear a hijab everywhere you go. You wonder what people’s first thought might be as they catch a glimpse of you today.
You walk into your ninth grade homeroom, where your teacher is preparing to show a tribute video. Before he dims the lights and presses play, he says a few words. During his brief speech, his eyes dart over you, as if he is desperate to look at anything and anyone else. You watch the video and hear the words, “The Islamic terrorist group…” Hot anger flashes through you. Your muscles feel a little tighter. Every part of you just wants to scream that nothing about this was “Islamic.” At the same time, you are thankful to be sitting in the back of the room because at least this way, you don’t feel eyes boring into your back. At least nobody will turn around to blatantly stare at you, no matter how many subtle glances they sneak your way. At least you can pretend to slide back and disappear into the wall behind you, feeling guilty even though you did nothing wrong.
* * *
You trudge down the hallway to your AP Government class. As you take your seat, you let out a sigh of relief as you remember that this is your last class of the day. When the bell rings, your teacher asks about current events. Almost everyone, including you, says something about yesterday’s bombing at the Boston Marathon. You also mention that, on the same day, many people were killed in Iraq due to a wave of bombings and shootings. Next to you, the only girl you even came close to considering a “friend” in that class, laughs and says, “So what? People die there all the time. That’s not news!” You just stare at her, speechless. Her blue eyes still shine. Her perfect teeth are still being showcased to the room. You now know that you could never call her a “friend.” If this was not enough, your teacher runs a hand through his white hair and joins her in her laughter and mockery of human lives. The brunette who is always whining about abortion because she is apparently “pro-life” just sits there with a calm smile on her face. The kid who always talks about nuking every country that is not on good terms with the United States nods his head and chuckles in agreement. You wonder how people can be so heartless. Your own heart sinks as you think about how these “people” will be released into the real world in just one month.
***
You and your mom step out of the mall with two bags in each hand, wearing satisfied smiles after a much needed shopping trip. It is a surprisingly cool summer evening. A light breeze rustles the leaves on the clusters of trees that line the parking lot. On your way home, rather than turn on the air conditioner, as has become second nature over this summer, you decide to roll down your windows and enjoy the breeze. You glance over at your mom, who is now resting her head back on the passenger’s seat. Neither of you say much, just wanting to soak in the peace of twilight.
As the light turns green and you take a left turn, you hear a woman shout, “Go home, you fucking terrorist!” The peace you felt moments ago is now shattered. The woman’s voice startles your mother awake. She had dozed off but now opens her eyes and comments on how rude and unnecessary that was. You don’t turn your attention in the direction of the woman’s voice, perhaps because you don’t want her face embedded in your memory. You don’t visibly acknowledge the hateful remark, but your throat now feels tight and your heart is now beating faster. You don’t even roll your windows up. You will not let her and others like her get to you. Yet, a few tears still blur your vision. Your hands shake in anger. You didn’t do anything wrong. This is your home, too.
***
You grab your coat and rush out to your car. You set out for the nearest Target in order to buy supplies for tonight’s dinner. Five minutes into the fifteen minute drive, you notice that a red truck is tailing your car. You roll your eyes but don’t think much of it, just write it off as another impatient driver. As you turn in to the nearly packed Target parking lot, the truck follows. You find an empty space, park, and cut the engine. Your hand freezes on the door handle when you see that the truck has not moved on to look for another parking space but has instead stopped right behind your car, blocking it in. The driver’s side door opens, and a heavyset white man gets out and starts walking towards your window. You don’t dare roll it down. You can feel the goosebumps rise all over your body. You are certain that your blood is even icier than the air outside.
Suddenly, you are very aware of your brown skin, the scarf on your head, and the fact that you are completely alone. His car blocks you in from the back, and other cars block you in from the front, right, and left. You are trapped from all sides. The man reaches your window, his face red-hot and contorted in anger. As he spits slurs at you–calling you a terrorist, a towel head, telling you to go back to your country, so he can go bomb it and give you a taste of your own medicine–he raises his hand to reveal a gun, which he now points at you. You can’t breathe. You can’t move. You are frozen with sheer terror. You hope that if you stay still enough, you’ll just disappear. Your nails dig into your palms. The man stops yelling but keeps the gun pointed at your head. You imagine the glass shattering as he presses the trigger. You want to scream, but you can’t. Suddenly, he drops his arm, gets back into his truck, and rushes away. You stay still even after he leaves, until you realize that you can see your breath. Then, your body starts writhing uncontrollably from the cold and from your sobs. You just wanted groceries.
***
As you walk through the square, you take extra care to stay as far away from the curb as possible because you remember that, just earlier this week, a Muslim teenager was hit by a car as he was walking along a curb in Kansas City. The car didn’t even stop. The boy died.
You have been afraid to go anywhere by yourself all week. You have been afraid to step outside with other hijabis. Some hijabis have been so scared that they have taken off their hijabs. You and your friends sat together, crying for a good hour or two because you are all afraid of losing each other simply because you have all made the decision to continue wearing the hijab, to continue being a walking symbol of Islam. You refuse to let the fear completely take you over.
However, you have personally made a few temporary adjustments. You make sure that if you’re going somewhere, there are at least two other people with you, but they can’t “look Muslim,” or at least not as Muslim as you do. You walk a little faster than they do. Your heart is beating rapidly, but it’s not because of the walking. You don’t tell them what’s wrong because they haven’t felt what you’ve felt in the last week.
Every few minutes, you scan the area around you, just in case. These days, you find it hard to smile at strangers who pass you by. Normally, it feels like a reflex. Or maybe you just do it so that they don’t see a terrorist when they look at you. So that they don’t see a miserable oppressed girl. You’re not sure anymore.
However, you are sure that, earlier this week, three American Muslims were shot dead in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. As images of Deah, Yusor, and Razan’s smiling faces flash through your mind, you are sure that they did not deserve to die. You are sure that it could have been you.
Mahnoor Khan is from Marietta, Georgia and is currently learning how to change the world at Agnes Scott College. If you ever need to borrow a scarf, she has one in almost every shade. She is a pro at pulling all-nighters–no coffee necessary. She loves dark chocolate, chilly weather, and spending quality time with family and friends.
