Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 1 - I Guess We Better Go Live With the Polar Bears

Authors Note: So you ventured bravely through the author's note at the beginning and clicked the "Chapter 1" button, huh? Good for you (and for me)! This is chapter one (alter ego: no it isn't, captain obvious. it's the epilogue).

"A girl should be two things - classy and fabulous" - Coco Chanel

Chapter 1

I Guess We Better Go Live With the Polar Bears

☻ Noha Ali ☻

            My heart skipped a beat when I saw them; they were perfect in all their glory. Calm down, Noha. Islam doesn’t promote a love for material things. That’s the rational part of my brain talking. I force myself to calm down at the site of earthly perfection.

            They’re just shoes. Downright amazing shoes, but just shoes. I tug at my best friend Maysa’s arm. “Me. You. Charlotte Russe. Those shoes. NOW.” I demand. Their beauty has taken away my ability to form coherent sentences.

            Maysa gives me a look but complies. Charlotte Russe is semi-crowded, as usual. I frankly could care less about what fifty percent off sale is going on. My gaze is fixed on the shoe display in the back of the story, namely on a pair of three-inch heels that have a tan platform, and are pale pink with tiny roses on them. With pearls they would be gorgeous.

            Maysa obediently sits down on a chair, knowing that when me and shoes are together, it’s going to be a while. I have three loves in life, all of them halal. One, cheesecake. Two, McDonalds’s McFlurries. And three, shoes.

            I look for a pair of those heels in my size, and slipping off my flats, slip the heels on with ease. I look in the mirror. Oh Mamma Mia. Please let the price tag be as beautiful as the shoes themselves, Allah. I peek at the price tag. A red $24.99 stares back at me boldly. Well, are you going to buy them, Noha?

            I debate my options. One, buy the shoes, thus spending the rest of my money. Two, don’t buy the shoes and leave with my heart in two pieces. When will I wear these anyway? Not much. You already have a bunch of shoes, Noha. You don’t need these.

            Sighing and nodding, I put the shoes back. Maysa is looking at me with raised eyebrows. “Not going to buy them, Noh?”

            I shake my head. “Nah. I already have a lot of shoes, allhamdulillah. Besides, I don’t want to get too excessive. Shoes are my one material weakness.” She grins; she knows me too well. That’s what you get when you’ve been best friends with a person for years, especially six years.

            Since the heels are pretty high, I bend over and then just decide to sit down to take them off. When I go to do that, I bump into someone. “Oh my God!” I hear a girl all but shout.

            My eyes widen as Maysa cracks up at my luck. Another thing about best friends: when you land yourself in the most awkward of situations, they’re the ones to laugh first.

            “Oh my God are you ok?” I turn to see a girl around my age sprawled across the floor, wearing the same shoes that I was just trying on.

            “Do I look ok?” She hisses. Her friend catches site of this and hurries over.

            “Crap, Adriana! Are you ok? Please don’t tell me you hurt your ankle?” The pretty Asian girl fusses over the blonde girl – Adriana – as I offer her my hand. She glares at it and sits up.