Love from a to Z

That meant they were going to see something exciting next.
I addressed my team using my most energetic voice. “How would you
guys like to see an elephant?”
“YAY!” The two girls and two boys with me cheered and did dances.
Where was Hanna?
Coming my way.
With Mr. Mellon.
“Adam, Hanna has something to say to you.” He peered down at Hanna
with eyebrows knotted together, his eyes boring into hers with significance.
“Adam, I’m so sorry for taking your phone out of your pocket,” Hanna
said, holding out the device. “So really sorry.”
I accepted and pocketed it.
Mr. Mellon shook his head. “We’ll go over field trip rules once more
when we get back to school, Hanna. I’m severely disappointed.” He turned
to me and saw the stapled trip package in disarray in my hands. “Your
group is at the Beira antelopes next, Adam.”
“No, Mr. Mellon! Adam said we could go see the elephants!” announced
one of the girls.
“Oh no, no, no. You must be looking at the wrong schedule.” Mr. Mellon
undid his own package from the clipboard he carried around and flipped
through it. “See, right here. The Beira antelope in pavilion five.”
“Right,” I said. “Beira antelope.”
The kids deflated in front of me.
Hanna crossed her arms.
I led the way to pavilion five.
There was only room for exactly one rule breaker in our house.
• • •
On the bus ride back to school, I found Zayneb’s number on the volunteers’
info sheet Mr. Mellon had stapled onto our package before we left in the
morning.
Hope you had fun.

---

This is Adam.
I took in the landscape whizzing by. We were on the outskirts of Doha,
and it was mostly rocks mingled with sand mingled with short, dry shrubs.
Ha-ha I was just going to text you. I did have fun.
I looked out the window again.
Favorite animal?
At first glance, the scene appeared the same throughout, but subtle color
shifts in the rocks and sand made it interesting.
Whales.
Wide open spaces and then the sudden introduction of a tumbleweed.
You saw a whale on the field trip?
Or the jarring appearance of a house surrounded by a concrete wall, same
color as the land.
No.
Sorry I thought you meant favorite animal ever. On the trip: macaws.
Even though I kinda didn’t pay attention to them. Those butterflies distracted me.
And sometimes, if you were lucky, when your bus was stopped for a turn,
you could see a lizard of significant size moving across the rocks.
I snapped a picture of the lizard and sent it to Zayneb.
Oh wow. My group didn’t get to see THAT on the trip. Let me guess, related to dinosaurs?
I laughed.
It’s a spiny-tailed lizard. Or as we locals call them a dub dub. I literally just took this pic. Out the
window.
She didn’t reply for a while, even though her text bubble kept popping
up.
Must be something long she was composing.
The way it should be. Animals in the wild. Not caged. I don’t like zoos.
She sent me a picture of the outside through her bus window. I examined
it but couldn’t see any animals in it, just flatland. And tons of rocks.
But she was obviously into the environment, maybe even the
conservation of it.
Maybe even animal rights.
Hey, tomorrow I’m taking Hanna to a rescue shelter for salukis. Want to come?
Oops. This was the second time I was asking her to go somewhere.
She was going to think I was too much.
I glanced at the sky.
Why did I just feel an instant urge to push send on that text? I’m not
impulsive. I’m Adam.
I consider, ponder, reflect, and only then do I make a move—in any
aspect of my life.

---

I leaned my shoulder on the sill, rested my head on the window above it,
and closed my eyes.
My movement caused Hanna to jolt beside me, head lolling, eyes
flickering open.
I hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep leaning on me. I sat back up and set
her head, hair completely in disarray now, on my arm once more.
My phone buzzed.
Sure, I’d love to.
Rescue shelters are so important.
She added a lizard emoji.
I smiled and looked back at the sky. It was clear, without even a tiny wisp
of a cloud.
What was so interesting about the desert was this: It was invitingly
ponderable.
I took another photo.
• • •
Dad led us for Maghrib, Hanna and me on either side of him, our three
prayer rugs facing the direction of Mecca, Dad’s sajjada just a bit ahead of
ours.
Afterward, he turned to face us. Sitting cross-legged, he said the duas that
Hanna was learning out loud, and we, with our heads bent and palms raised,
said ameen to them.
“Your turn,” Dad said to Hanna.
She gazed up from the gold hijab she’d carefully wrapped around her
head for prayers. It was turban style, with the ends brought down and flung
around her neck like a fancy scarf. She had dark sunglasses on—something
she insisted helped her focus while praying—and the whole effect was of a
very fashionable supplicant to God.
“Thank you for everything You have given us, Allah. Like Adam being
back.” She leaned forward and peered at my face to make sure I saw her
being grateful. I returned her smile, and she settled back to continue her
prayer. “Please, Allah, forgive me for the things I did wrong today, like if I
wasn’t aware of it.”
She was repeating the words of the prophetic prayer that Dad had taught
her: Forgive us for the wrongs we did, willingly or if we were unaware.

---

I leaned forward to look at her face so she could see me touch a finger
lightly to my pocket, the one holding the phone, tapping it when I had her
attention.
“And the things I did willingly, too. Please, Allah, make Mr. Mellon
nicer. As nice as the way his name sounds. Melons are one of my all-time
favorite foods, so I thought he was going to be my favorite teacher, too.”
“Hanna,” Dad said.
Hanna sighed and took off her sunglasses. She placed them in front of her
on the rug and continued. “Please, God, forgive me for that conflict of
interest I just did. I was unaware for a moment that I shouldn’t talk about
any teachers, because Dad’s their boss.”
“Hanna, your personal prayer of want?” Dad prompted. “You can say it
out loud or in your heart.”
Hanna looked ahead, way beyond Dad, onto the walls of his study, and
paused for a long moment.
Then she announced, “I want to say it out loud.”
“We’ve been working on developing our reliance on God for wants and
needs,” Dad said to me. “She’s getting it. I’m proud of her.”
“Please, Allah, I want to see the jar with the house and backyard that
Adam and Mom made together. One year before I was born. The one I
never saw. Adam said it was lost. But You can find it because you can just
say ‘BE!’ and it is. You are the most merciful of all. Ameen.” She lifted her
palms, wiped her hands over her face like Dad always did, then quickly
stood up, picking up her sunglasses and her prayer rug to fold it and put it
away in one continuous action. She unraveled her turban on the way to the
spiral staircase, just outside the family room.
I stayed sitting, saying my own duas, reluctant to look up at Dad.
When I finally did, his head remained bent over his upturned palms, but I
could tell he was crying.