The Journey Within: Part 8

Posted on June 4, 2010
Filed Under Journey | 51 Comments

I tossed and turned in my bed again, the feeling of suffocation that had become too familiar at nightfall began slowly moving its way from my stomach to my chest. I didn’t know how much longer my body could go on like this – it had been nearly eight days since I slept more than one hour on any given night – this had to be medically impossible. These sleepless nights were due to mostly to overwhelming feelings of self-loathing that poured over me like molten lava after realizing that I had been on a path of spiritual self destruction most of my life. Until now, that there even was a path of spiritual anything, was new to me. I pulled my cellphone from under my pillow: 12:30 a.m. I had already been in bed for three hours. It was time to accept that this was just going to be another one of those nights, so I started playing a game of golf on my phone. The one upside of insomnia was that I had the highest score in the history of cell phone golf.

After returning from India, I was at a cross roads in my life. This intense struggle of who I was, and who I wanted to become was like staring into the mouth of a giant crater: safety net, and bridge not included. Every time I tried to move toward the person I wanted to be I felt like a thousand tiny demons wrapped me in a web of jagged chains trying to drag me in the opposite direction. Sometimes it seemed easier just to surrender, but I saw in Islam something that I wanted. There was a feeling of burden-less existence that I had tasted, and I wanted to feel that all the time. My whole life I thought I was happy. I felt fulfilled, and peaceful until I was introduced to this other world. It was like I had been banging my head against a wall for years, and suddenly the banging stopped, and I saw what else life had to offer.

I rolled over for the umpteenth time, and recited the prayers I did before bed since I was a kid. I wasn’t able to beat myself at golf this particular night, so I slid the phone back under my pillow, and tried to find a way to fix this – because that’s who I’ve always been, The Fixer.

In preschool, I consoled a hysterical classmate as she cried for her mom on her first day. In elementary school, our counselor pulled me out of class for a private meeting where she asked me to use my social influence amongst my peers to deter students from making fun of a fellow classmate. In middle school, and high school, I was the one that everyone came to for advice about their parents, and relationships; I even counseled my own parents through their divorce. In college my friends and teammates dubbed me their “Life Coach,” and for as long as I can remember, even strangers have asked for my advice. Once, when I was 11, I went to visit my mom at work during her lunch break, and when she left the room for a moment, one of her co-workers asked me for help about how to deal with her in-laws. I was 11.

Just a few months ago, I was waved down at a retail store by a beautiful woman who said she wanted my advice on something personal. Turned out, she was a stripper who had a 6-year-old daughter, and I spend nearly an hour trying to help her figure out ways to peruse her art career, so she wouldn’t have to take off her clothes, and dance for money anymore.

I’ve always tried to fix things, because that’s who I am. Or at least that’s who everyone expects me to be. But now, I even couldn’t fix myself.

Close to 1 a.m, the physical and emotional pain had become unbearable, so I called my mom.

“Hello? Hello? “Sabrina? Are you okay?”

“No,” I struggled to respond, my voice muffled in a whisper.

“Are you safe?” my mom asked. I could hear the concern consume her. It was late, and I was 300 miles away.

“Yes,” I answered.

“It’s okay,” she said. “As long as you’re safe, whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

Hearing my mom say those words felt like she was rocking me back and forth over the phone, and I cried, and cried. My hands were trembling, and I held the tear-soaked phone firmly against my face.

“You will, by God’s grace, get through this,” she said. “You have to believe that God will do what is best for you, and His will is what is best for us even when we don’t understand it, okay?

I took a breath.

“Yeah.”

“I want you to get off the phone, and go make Wudu [the ritual washing before prayer] and I want you to pray. I want you to ask God for help, okay? I’m going to get off the phone now, and I want you to make good decisions, and trust in God. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Talking to my mom soothed me in a way that little else could, and just as I was starting to find a new trust in my Creator, and trying to understand how this faith was actively going to fit into my life, the biggest blow to my world was lurking just around the corner.

***

My first week on campus, I ran into one of the freshman advisers, Jordan on the way back to my building. He was a senior, and stopped to ask me how things were going thus far. As we chatted, a group of boys (all of whom were sophomores) walked by. I recognized one of them, and we exchanged hellos.

“You know Nathan?” Jordan asked.

“Yeah, I went to high school with him.”

“Do you know any of the other guys he was with?”

“Nope.”

“Good, keep it that way,” he said. “They’re baseball players, and they’re no good. Stay away from them.”

“Okay…thanks?” I said.

I thought that was a little forward, but also well-intended, and suddenly I thought of my dad.
Before I left for school. Mr. Research himself gathered the entire history of my college, the seven cities in the Hampton Roads area, and learned that the world’s largest naval station was a few miles away from campus. One afternoon, sometime after breakfast, my dad called me back down to the dining area to have a father-daughter meeting.

“There are a lot of military men in the Norfolk, Virginia Beach area where you’ll be going to school,” he started. “I’m not trying to stereotype, or judge anyone, but these boys in the Navy, they’re like piranhas. And you, well, you’re a woman, and you’re not too bad looking, and if any of them come near you, I don’t want you to make friends with any of them. Just mind your own business, and if you feel uncomfortable, you tell them, ‘Hey, Buddy, you’re getting too close!’”

Really? Hey, Buddy?

“These men are out on these ships for months at a time, and when they see young girls, they only have one thing on their minds.”

“DAD!” I shouted. “Oh my God! Okay! I get it!”

“No, you don’t get it, Beta,” he persisted. “I’m a man, and I know how men think. I just want you to be safe, and remember what I said, piranhas.”

“Flesh-eating fish. I got it, Dad.”

***

I walked into my room, and Jen was working on her computer.

“Hey, how was class?” she asked.

“Good” I said, walking to my desk.

There was an IM on my computer from someone I didn’t know.

“Hey, who’s Hardball88?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Jen replied.

I scrolled down in the dialogue box.

Hey, it’s Jeff.  Just wanted to say hi.

“It’s Jeff,” I said to Jen.

“Jeff? Like baseball Jeff?”

“Yeah, I think that’s him,” I said. “Hardball, baseball? Has to be right?”

“Sounds right,” she said.

“How did he get my screen name, and why would he IM me?”

“I don’t know, that’s kind of weird,” she said.

I Xed out the box, and immediately, got another IM.

Hardball88: Hey

“Oh my God! He IMed me again!”

“Who Jeff?” Jen turned around from her computer.

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t put up an away message now – that would be too obvious. Besides, there were too many politics around Instant Messenger. There was no room for error. I set my books down, and responded.

“Hi.”

We ended up talking for a few minutes, but it was that sort of awkward, I-got-your-screen-name-from-someone-but-I’m-not-going-to-tell-you-who kind of conversation. After that, every time I got back to my room from class, or the cafeteria, or wherever, I’d have IMs from Jeff about random things like, I have a history test today, or Coach Booth’s hair plugs looked awesome at practice. Sometimes his messages seemed pointless, and other times they made me laugh. His persistence seemed to pay off though because eventually, we started to become friends. He was nice enough, and easy to talk to, and obviously unafraid to peruse what he wanted even if that meant tip-toeing on the edge of life’s Pathetic Threshold. One night, in a seemingly romantic, yet unexpected gesture, he climbed through the thick brush outside our window, and stuck a yellow post-it note to the glass.

Hi. I was thinking about you.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I can’t take it anymore,” Jen said, rolling her chair away from her computer, and toward me. “Sabrina, this guy is pressed.”

Just then we heard a light knock on our door, and turned around to find Jeff standing at the edge of our room.

“Hey! Did you get my note?”

Uh, the one you just left like, zero seconds ago, and now you’re in our room? Yeah, we got that note.

Jen raised her eyebrows at me, and gave me a look that screamed Mmm Hmmm, and turned back to her computer.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Wanna go down to the beach?”

“Now?” I said.

“Yeah, it’s really nice out.”

I had been working on a paper, but the ocean front was just a few miles away. It was tempting. I did a quick CTRL S to save my Word document, and got up.

“I’ll be back, Jen,” I said, stuffing my key card in my back pocket, as I headed out the door.

Jeff and I sat just a few feet from the water, under the night sky talking. We’d gotten to know each other a little over the last few weeks, but this night, we talked about our families, and where we came from. He was from a small town in the southern part of Virginia, and he had an older sister. He was funny, and kind, and when he laughed, his icy blue eyes sparkled.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he said. “I thought you were so beautiful.”

“Ew,” I said. “You do not remember, and you did not think that.”

“I did!” he contested. “I even remember what you had on.”

I was quiet.

“You don’t think I remember? Okay. You had on a pair of dark washed jeans with a green and beige striped shirt, and you were sitting with Jordan, and your feet were dangling off the edge of the table.”

Suddenly, it struck me that Jeff was amongst the group of guys that walked by with Nathan my first week of school.

“Were you with Nathan?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “And when I saw him talk to you, I asked who you were. I knew at some point I was going to talk to you.”

We talked about other things, and then during a short pause in our conversation, Jeff turned his head toward me, and said, “Do you wanna go out with me?”

“Out where?” I asked.

“I mean, out, like, be my girlfriend.”

“What are you, like, 12?” I laughed.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to ask you,” he said. “Is that not how they do it in ‘NOVA’?” he crossed his eyes, and threw up his hands mocking a stereotypical rich-person laugh, which was somewhat of a testimony to much of the D.C. Metro area, the place I grew up.

He made me laugh – both with him, and at him. And even under the dim light of the moon, I could see his pale skin catch a pink blush.

“What about Alli?” I asked. “You just got out of a five-year relationship. That’s a long time. I think you’re just clouded by the fact that I’m so awesome, and you haven’t given yourself time to figure out where to go after such a long of a relationship.”

“Well you are awesome,” he said, putting his arm around me, and giving me a playful squeeze. “But you’re also really smart, and pretty, and people like you. Trust me, I was with a girl for five years, and I know those are really hard qualities to find in one person.”

I was a little taken by the sudden fire of compliments, and lowered my head slightly embarrassed.

“Look,” he said, scooting back, and turning his whole body toward me. “I get that you have rules and stuff with your family, and what you believe in your religion, but I’m really into you, and I think that this could go somewhere if you give me a chance. Forget about Alli, she’s not a part of my life anymore.”

“I’ll consider you’re flattery,” I said, standing up, and dusting the sand off my jeans. “And the next time I see you in the hall, I’ll pass you a note with my answer circled.”

“Ladies and gentleman, she’s funny too!” he said, grabbing my hand, and running with me through the sand, and back to his car to return to campus.

***

By September of the following school year, Jeff and I had been spending time together consistently for about  seven months. We saw each other over the summer – I met his family, and he even came up to roll-your-eyes-and-laugh-like-you’re-rich NOVA, and stayed at my dad’s house. He met my parents, and my sister, and my best friend, Tina –  four of the most important people in my life. Everyone enjoyed his company – he had a soft Southern twang, and country boy manners, which were hard not to find charming. When Jeff and I were alone, he talked to me seriously about planning a future together, but I was only a sophomore in college, and marriage was something that I had never really thought about. I figured I would get married at some point during my life, but my parents had always been so vocal about their desire for my sister and me to wait to settle down. They said college was a milestone that had to be finished, and my dad wanted his girls to get jobs, and live on our own for a few years after graduation. His constant reminders of the importance of women being independent guided my focus, and fueled my personal ambitions. My outlook on life was inspired by my parents’ vision of what they felt made women strong, and that was something that made stand out amongst my peers even from a young age. I had never dreamed about having a  fairytale wedding, or cried over a boy, and I liked that about myself.

Besides, Jeff was a Baptist. And despite the large mass of self-inflicted stupidity (caused by my own bad decision-making) that swirled through my conscious like The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, I always knew that I would never marry a man who wasn’t Muslim. Not just for me, but for my future children who I wanted to be born into this faith. I never said any of that to Jeff though – I didn’t ever want to sound like my personal feelings were an ultimatum for him. But over the course of our togetherness, he started to show a great deal of interest in Islam on his own  – something that actually worried me. There came a time when Jeff started to learn about Islam secretly, and that secret he was trying to keep was from no one but me. Often, he’d ask me questions about the Qur’an, why I ate halal meat, and what I learned while I was away during Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. I tried to avoid conversations like those because I was afraid that I’d sway his opinions. If he was serious about becoming a Muslim then this was something he’d have to find on his own.

One night, we met up in one of the quiet rooms on campus to study.

“I want to tell you something,” he said, lowering his book into his lap. “I’ve been reading the Qur’an, and studying Islam. I know you don’t really want me to do this, but everything just makes sense. This is what I want.”

“I don’t not want you to to want this, Jeff,” I said. “I just want you to want it for you. If things don’t work out with us, you have to believe in this faith enough to want to continue to practice it no matter where you are, and no matter where I am.”

“I know that,” he said. “This isn’t for you. I want to become Muslim for myself. I want to take my Shahadah [the testification of faith, which you say in order to become Muslim].”

He looked at me, waiting. I knew what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to tell him that if this was something that he wanted for himself, then I supported him. I was supposed to recite the Shahadah in Arabic, so he could recite it after me. I was supposed to help him.

But I didn’t do any of that.

“Think about it,” I said. “If this is really what you want after a little while, maybe you can go to the mosque, and talk to an Imam there.”

I could sense the disappointment that came from him as those words left my lips, and moments later, I felt that same disappointment in myself. This was an opportunity for me to be the means that would allow another human being to feel the happiness that I felt in my heart with my new found love for this religion. I didn’t intend to be selfish, but in my misguided efforts to ensure that his thought process was independent, and self-driven, I was actually hindering his personal growth. I cowered under a blanket of my own insecurities, and months went by and Jeff didn’t revisit the topic again.

***

The following year, Maddie and I were living together, and I spent a lot of time reading the English translation of the Qur’an that my mom had gifted me. I found everything in it so fascinating. My hand-written notes, color-coded highlighter markings, and Post-its swarmed busily through the book like worker bees in a hive. One evening, while just lounging around our room, the phone rang. I looked up, but it wasn’t on the cradle.

“I got it,” Maddie said, pulling it out from under her pillow.

Okay, yeah, alright, bye.

“That was Jeff,” she said. “He’s coming over.”

When Jeff arrived, he stood at the door, looking down at his feet, his hands glued in his pockets.

“Hey, can you come outside,” he said to me. “I want to talk to you.”

We walked outside, and sat on a couch in a quiet area of our building.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I need to tell you something. Can you sit down?”

“Okay…” I felt something in my chest that I had never felt before, and I sat frozen on the edge of the sofa cushion.

“Is your grandmother okay?” I asked.

She was living with Jeff’s parents and had been really sick. Maybe she died, and that’s what he was about to tell me.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” he said.

His face went red, then pale, and I noticed that he wasn’t looking at me.

“I was with Derrick the other night,” he started. “And we were drinking. And I had a few drinks, and then a few more, and then I got really drunk, and…”

My heart was pounding furiously in my chest, and I didn’t know where this was going.

“And…I saw Alli, and…something happened.”

I didn’t want to hear anymore. I could feel my dinner gurgling inside my stomach, ready to rocket launch up my esophagus, and all over his shirt. I got that feeling when a plane changes elevation suddenly. My ears plugged, but I could hear the echo of the quiet room like the noise was coming from inside my head. I heard what he said, but I didn’t understand what it meant.

“The whole thing is a blur,” he continued. “I can hardly remember any of it…and I don’t know what I was doing. I don’t even know how it happened. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

I tried to digest what was happening, but it was like someone sucked the life right out of my body. Jeff sat quietly,  presumably waiting for me to react.

“I can’t talk to you right now,” I said, standing up, hoping my legs wouldn’t give way as I tried to walk back to my room. “I feel sick.”

Maybe this was karma. It had to be. For all the awful things I’d done in my life. For all the people I hurt, knowingly and unknowingly. Maybe God was punishing me because I didn’t let Jeff take his Shahadah when he asked for it. How could this happen? I was trying to be better. Better for God, and now this? I walked back to my room, closed the door, and reached for the first thing I saw. A moment later, I heard my keyboard crash against the window, knocking off a slew of picture frames that were lining the sill.

“Did that make you feel better?” Maddie asked from a reclined position on the top bunk.

“No,” I said, taking a seat on the couch in our room.

“Did you know?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Did you know?” I suddenly heard myself shouting, as I stood up staring Maddie square in the eyes.

“You knew! You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“He just told me,” she said, sitting up. Her voice was panic-stricken with the realization of how something of this magnitude could effect our friendship. “He told me this morning, and said he didn’t know what to do. I told him that he had to tell you, and if he didn’t do it by the end of the day, I was going to tell you myself.”

I sat on my bed, in a soul-numbing blur. I felt like something inside me was on fire, but when I touched my hands, my feet, and then my chest, I couldn’t feel physical sensation. It was like all the nerve endings in my body had simultaneously died. I leaned against the wall trying to figure out a way to undo what just happened.

***
The next few weeks were filled with ups and downs. I had somewhat of a love-angry relationship with the entire Universe, and like any women would, I first looked inward, asking myself if it was my failure that brought about what happened. I wondered if I didn’t give him enough time to heal from his last relationship. Maybe this was my fault. I tried to turn to prayer on the days I felt really down. I tried to channel that inner peace I felt during the ritual prayer, Salah, but I felt dizzy with nausea so often during the day, even when I stood to pray, my mind was always wandering. Though I found peace during moments of reading God’s word, I would be suddenly jolted with bouts of anxiety so strong, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. But the toughest part of this ordeal was that I still loved Jeff, and  wanted to be with him – and I couldn’t understand why. I had always been so self-aware, and so sure of what I wanted. I had always been well-liked by my peers, independent, athletic, articulate, and popular, and it was unimaginable to me that I would be in a situation where someone would betray me with the deepest of betrayals, and I would stay. I coached my friends out of relationships like this, and suddenly, I was in their shoes. When did I become that person? Some days, I felt like I didn’t even know who I was anymore, and in the quiet of the night, I could actually hear my heart tearing.

I replayed that earth-shattering night in my head until I would get physically sick, and all I could think of was that Jeff had been drinking the night he saw Alli. But that night suddenly became a window into Jeff’s entire life. Flashes of my time with him looked like a reel of film as a rapid fire of memories raced through my head.

Jeff was a heavy drinker from the time I met him, though I always told myself that was just how college guys were. This was the culture he was from – he was a baseball player, and a frat boy. But Jeff frequented bars almost three times a week, and I’d often see him around campus in the early afternoon carrying a Deer Park water bottle that was filled to the brim with Bacardi – clear rum that could go easily undetectable around campus authorities. He was arrested at age 17 for public drunkenness, had been kicked out of frat parties for fighting while intoxicated. He often took prescription pain killers for no apparent reason, and once told me that he started drinking at a very young age because there was little else to do in his small country town. I wasn’t dealing solely with infidelity anymore, I was dealing with a drug and alcohol addict.  The feelings of confusion, and anger I had felt for weeks turned into an overwhelming sense of ownership and responsibility. I felt maternal toward him, and I needed to help him fix this.

It had been a few days since Jeff and I had a proper conversation – mostly we’d just bump into each other around campus, and drown in the awkwardness of the moment. I knew he wanted to find a way to make this work, so I mustered up the strength to meet him face-to-face.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, when he got to my room.

“What you did was inexcusable,” I blurted out. I thought I’d have a little more self-restraint, but the emotions were still so raw. “I welcomed you into my family, Jeff. You met my parents, and my sister, and my best friend, and you might not think that’s a big deal, but it is. It’s a big deal to me. I don’t just bring guys to my house. If you want this to work, you have to understand that ‘I was drunk’ isn’t an excuse because you make a sober decision to pick up a glass. You have a problem, and if you’re willing to get help, then I’m willing to be here for you if you need me. But until you get better, I don’t know what will happen with us.”

That was it. I said what I needed to say, and now I’d wait.

By the end of the week, Jeff had enrolled in Alcoholics Anonymous, and already attended one meeting. I was a little surprised at how quickly he moved. He even called his parents to let them know he was seeking help. Meanwhile, I spoke to a counselor on campus to help me better understand what I’d need to know while helping a recovering drug and alcohol addict. I’d talk to my uncle in India on line for religious support during this time, and eventually told my parents what was happening. My friendship with Jeff remained intact, but we weren’t as close as we had been. He got a job working at a local movie store in the evenings, and on the weekends, and I was so busy with school, and lacrosse, that it seemed like weeks went by before we saw each other. One afternoon, Jeff stopped by my room on his way to work, and pulled a little red disc out of his pocket.

“I got my 90-day chip,” he said tossing it to me. “Three months sober.”

“It’s been three moths?” I asked proud yet stunned at how quickly time can pass.

“Yeah,” he said, lowing his head with a smile. “Three months.”

***

A few weeks later, Jeff called to ask me a favor.

“I know I shouldn’t be asking for your help after everything, but I have to write a paper on Islam,” he said. “I was just hoping you could come by the computer lab, and help me if you have time.”

I obliged, and met him after lunch. When I got there the lab was packed with students writing mid-term papers.  There was no place to sit, so I squeezed passed some of the other students, and stood behind Jeff’s chair.

“I need to find a picture of the Kabah,” he said, referring to God’s house in Mecca, Saudi Arabia. It was a box-like structure cloaked in a black cloth, and embroidered with gold thread, and also the holiest place on earth for Muslims.

“Google it,” I replied.

As Jeff did a Google image search, I chatted with a few of my friends in the lab, when suddenly Jeff got up to leave. His face was white, and he darted out of the computer lab telling me he’d call me later. When he did call, he asked to come over. But it was late, and I wanted to be alone. He said it was important, and he sounded distraught, so I told him to come by.

He sat down on the couch when he arrived.

“Sabrina…today…I saw the Kabah,” he said. “And I’d never even heard of it before. But I’ve seen it. That’s the exact place I saw in my dream when I was in 7th grade.”

“What?” I felt shell shocked, a feeling which was becoming too familiar during conversations with Jeff. I didn’t know what to say, it wasn’t everyday that people just dreamed about God’s house.

“That picture I saw online today,” he said. “I know it. I’ve seen it. I dreamed about it when I was a kid. This is a sign, Sabrina. Maybe it wasn’t the right time a few months ago, but it’s right now. I want to be a Muslim, and if you’re not going to help me…”

“No, I’ll help you,” I said. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I did last time. This was about him, and not about me like I originally made it.

We walked to Jeff’s room, where I recited the Shahadah in short, slow pieces in Arabic so that he could repeat after me – the translation of which is I bear witness that there is no God but [the one] God, and that Muhammad is the seal of the messengers. The whole thing took about 12 seconds, and when he was done, a peaceful Ora illuminated from his entire being.

“That’s it?” he asked, a huge smile covering his face. “I’m a Muslim?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re a Muslim.”

***

Jeff and I started to rebuild our relationship slowly. He seemed to be adjusting well to his new faith. I called my parents to tell them he converted, and my dad spoke to him privately later about what he told me were “guy things,” whatever that means. Jeff’s parents took the news well, which was a surprise to me. I would assume that no parent, no BAPTIST parent wants to hear that their kid is now a Mozelem.  But they were supportive, and even made the necessary dietary adjustments he began adhering to when he visited home. Eventually, Jeff made the decision to stop attending AA, something I had mixed feelings about, but he said he felt confident that the shield of Islam would protect him from temptation. For the next few months, Jeff dedicated most of his time to learning about the different aspects of Islam. He learned to pray on his own fairly quickly, and started attending Friday prayers at the mosque, often staying after to speak with the Imam. Overall, we seemed to be in a good place in our relationship, re-getting to know each other, and enjoying the time we’d spend together. He appeared to be strong, happy, and at peace with himself.

One afternoon, the on-campus counselor who had been helping me through the first few months of Jeff’s recovery swung by my dorm to see how I’d been doing.

“I wanted to pop in,” she said, settling down on the couch in the common area of our floor. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Things have been good, Jeff is doing really well. He’s found peace in faith, and seems to be moving in a good direction.”

“Sabrina,” she said, her body language suddenly changing. She uncrossed her legs, shifted to the edge of her seat, and leaned toward me. “Alcoholism is a disease. I’m not saying that Jeff isn’t better, but this is a life-long struggle. Sometimes recovering alcoholics find it hard to stay on track, even when they find an avenue that they feel can help them.”

“Are you saying you think he’s drinking?” I asked feeling defensive.

“No, not at all,” she said. “I’m just saying that relapses happen. I’m glad he’s found strength through his faith, but sometimes…”

“I’ll do what I can,” I said trying to end the conversation. “I’ll try to be there for him, and if he needs anything, I’ll do my best to help him.”

“Okay, then,” she said, standing up, obviously aware that I was upset. “You know where my office is, and you have my number, so don’t be a stranger if you need to talk.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you for all your help.”

What did she know? I thought to myself. Jeff was a Muslim now. I knew how much this faith had changed my life already, so I knew that it could do that for anybody. All the Muslims I had met in the last year bled all kinds of spectacular, and I was convinced that once you believed, really believed, you could never go wrong.

***

One night, Jeff called and told me he was going out with some baseball players. He quit the team almost a year prior, but I think he missed the closeness he shared with the guys out on the field, and when they traveled. A feeling of uneasiness shot through my veins when he said he was going to a bar, but he was an adult, and now, a Muslim! so that meant there was nothing to worry about.

That night, around 2 a.m., I heard a loud knock on the door. I was living with Jen by this year, and she had gone home for the weekend. I climbed out of bed, and opened the door to find Jeff standing there bruised and bloodied.

“Oh my God! What happened?”

“There was a fight,” he said. “And these guys, these Navy guys were saying all this stuff to Derrick…”

Oh Jesus. Anytime Derrick was breathing, bad things were bound to happen.

“And then a fight broke out, and the next thing you know, the cops were there, and…”

I sat Jeff on the couch, and brought him wet paper towels to clean off the blood, and then I smelled something that felt like a knife pierce through the core of my body.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No!” he snapped loudly. “Why would you say that to me?”

His breath reeked of alcohol, and when I turned on the light, to tend to his bloody hand, I saw that his face was flushed, his pupils dilated, and his eyes bloodshot.

“You’ve been drinking!” I said half accusing, half in denial. “I can’t believe you did this. You haven’t gone out in months, and now you go out, get drunk and get into a fight?”

“They were in the Nayyvvvy!” he said, his speech was now noticeably slurred.

“Those boys are piranhas!” I shouted.

“Sabrina, what are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, nothing” I said, squeezing his hand tightly, hoping the blood, and the pain in my chest would eventually stop.

***

A few days later, Jeff and I sat down and talked about his relapse. Maybe I should have been more prepared for this moment, especially after the counselor’s warning I received days prior. But in my naivety, I looked at Islam as a magic pill, failing to acknowledge the very real existence of human weakness. I felt like Jeff had betrayed me again, but this time, I also felt betrayed by my faith. Religion was supposed to fix people that were broken, so I wouldn’t have to. God would never be tangible, and sometimes I wondered if all this emotional heartache was worth it.

It took a long time for me to realize that I wanted Jeff to get better for me, and not for himself, or for God. And that epiphany came to me one day as I stood in front of a mirror looking at my own reflection. The day that I rid myself of that selfishness was the day that Jeff really started to get his life together. He moved off campus, got a steady job, and finished school, eventually going on to get a masters degree. Jeff and I went from being inseparable, and identical, to mere acquaintances who couldn’t find much to talk about when we met. When he painted his bedroom at his new apartment, it had been a while since we had spoken, so I was a little surprised when he called me, excited to show me his handy work. I was on campus that day, closer to his apartment than mine, and I agreed to come over. But when I got there, the painted walls weren’t the only reason I had been asked to come over. He had a diamond ring waiting for me that day with which he proposed. My memory of the next few moments are slightly blurred, though I remember walking out of his place without so much as saying a word.

By my senior year, I moved off campus into an apartment with two of my best friends. I began studying Islam obsessively, memorizing sections of the Qur’an, and listening to any religious lecture I could get my hands on. And I found that place again – where I felt content, and at peace with my life. Some people might say that the time I spent away from Jeff is what healed my heart, but I disagree. It was what I did with that time that healed my heart, and that was my devotion to studying this beautiful faith. I knew that if I let go of something I loved for God, He would replace it with something better, and because I cared still so deeply for Jeff, having to distance myself from him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I couldn’t be in a relationship with a man who had a history of volatile behavior, not only for myself but for my future children. What if he relapsed five years from now, 10 years from now?  I couldn’t take that chance. Last I knew, Jeff got married, and was living with his wife back in his hometown. It’s a rare occasion that he ever cross my mind, but if he does, I pray that he is happy, and that he has found peace in his life, in his faith, and in himself.

The story of Jeff is only one of the many challenges that I would face in the years to come. There would be another painful heartbreak, and many disappointments to follow before I would realize that the only constant source of peace in my life could come from building and maintaining a relationship with my Creator, who eventually, would reward me with the greatest gift of all.

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