Prayers

A Story by Deyan

I muttered under my breath in rhythmic, clumsily-pronounced Arabic as I fumbled with the key to the meditation room in the library. Whose brilliant idea was it to keep the meditation room locked, anyways? I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone once I finally gained entry. I spun slowly until the compass on the screen told me I was facing Mecca, then tucked my phone in the pocket of my silky athletic pants and stood straight, my arms hanging at my sides. I felt strangely naked with my short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt and my uncovered head.

I took another breath, trying to focus my mind, then raised my hands and placed my thumbs behind my ears, “Allahu akbar.” I lowered my hands to rest them loosely on my abdomen, reciting what I could remember of al-Fatiha before bending over and placing my hands on my knees. I couldn’t remember what words came next, so I simply paused in that position for a few seconds before rising again.

At that point, I felt my breath catch in my throat and I dropped unceremoniously to the floor and fell on my hands and forehead, tears welling in my eyes, “Allah, I haven’t talked to you in a long time, but I know you are a God who doesn’t make mistakes. There is such a beautiful order in everything you create. I mean… just look at evolution. That couldn’t have just been a random accident. What a beautiful, ordered system you’ve created. What a beautiful universe you’ve set into motion.”

I murmured another “allahu akbar” and sat up into a kneel, tears staining my face, “Allah, you don’t make mistakes. My existence can’t be a mistake.” I dropped to a bow again, my torso shaking with silent sobs, “My… my gender couldn’t be a mistake. You don’t make mistakes, Allah. You don’t make mistakes.” I stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity, crying silently and snorting intermittently to keep any snot from leaking onto the carpet. I tried to wrap Allah’s presence around me like a soft, wordless blanket.

Finally, my tears calmed and I whispered “allahu akbar” again, standing up slowly and folding my hands back over my belly. “Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Raheem,” I recited, “Al hamdu lillaahi rabbil ‘alameen. Ar-Rahman ar-Raheem Maaliki yaumid Deen.” I couldn’t recall the rest of the prayer, so I repeated those three lines a few times instead, letting the words fill every corner of my mind. I tried to think about their meaning as I said them, “In the name of God, the infinitely Compassionate and Merciful. Praise be to God, Lord of all the worlds. The Compassionate, the Merciful. Ruler on the Day of Reckoning.”

When I stooped over to place my hands on my knees, a chuckle escaped my throat, “It’s a good thing this prayer is just between You and me, Allah, because it’s a pretty crappy attempt at a prayer.” I straightened my back and then fell into a bow once more. I felt my emotions flood back almost instantly as the blood rushed to my head. “Oh Allah!” tears brimmed in my eyes again, “Please, if it is Your will, give me some sign that this was your plan for me. Give me some sign that this is who you meant me to be, not just some trial to tempt me.”

Tranquilly, I returned to a kneel and cupped my hands in front of me, “Please accept my apology and my servitude. It has been too long since the last time I spent time with you.” I was improvising. I hadn’t stepped foot in a mosque since fifth grade, and I could count on one hand the number of times I had prayed in private since my family stopped spending holidays at our local mosque. I sat for a few more minutes, enjoying the quiet peace of Allah’s company. Finally, I whispered “As-salamu akaikum wa ramatullah” over each shoulder before slowly rising.

My head felt pleasantly clear as I made my way back to the circulation desk to return the keys to the meditation room. After I returned the keys, I turned around and almost ran into the person standing behind me. I flinched, “Whoa!”

“Oh, hey!” the person said, recognition in their eyes, “Weren’t you just at the Spirituality and Religion Safe Zone?”

Upon closer inspection, I recognized them too. I was embarrassed not to have recognized their blue hair and floor-length green skirt immediately, “Oh, uh… yeah. Raoul, right?”

“Yeah, Raoul,” they said, their voice soft and resinous, “Sorry, I forgot yours.”

“Uh… it’s Wade I guess,” I said, self-conscious.

“It’s not really Wade, is it?” they pried gently.

“Well, it’s not anything else!” I said, a bit more snappish than I had intended.

“Sorry,” they winced, “I didn’t mean…”

I gave a surly shrug, then took a leap of faith and said, “Well, you could call me Ruwaida I guess.”

Raoul’s eyes lit up with understanding, “That’s a pretty name. What pronouns do you use, Ruwaida?”

“Alhamdulillah,” I murmured reverently, quietly enough that Raoul couldn’t hear. In response to Raoul’s question, I gave a surly shrug and said, “Uh… would it be weird to say she?”

“Nah, that’s not weird at all,” Raoul assured me with a graceful flourish of the hand that wasn’t clutching a stack of musty-looking music history books.

“Do you also, uh…” I stumbled over my words, unsure of how to politely phrase my question.

“Oh, I don’t really care what pronouns people call me,” Raoul explained with a faint smile, “Most people just call me he, but I like when folks get adventurous.”

Before I had a chance to respond, someone came up and asked if we were in line.

I stepped aside, “Whoops. I’m not.”

Raoul glanced down at their stack of books, then back at me, “I can check these out later. Want to finish our conversation somewhere more comfortable?”

“Uh, sure,” I shrugged again, “Couches?”

Raoul agreed, and we made our way over to the nearest unoccupied couches. Once we were situated, Raoul spoke first, “So what did you think of the Safe Zone workshop?”

I scrunched up my face in distaste, “False advertising! It should have been called ‘A Christian Lesbian’s Guide to Religion and Sexuality.’”

“You got that impression, too?” Raoul replied with a pained look on their smooth, pale face.

I showed my agreement with a dramatic eye roll.

“Do you mind if I ask how you identify?” Raoul asked. I marveled at how gently and casually they could ask the question.

“Complicated!” I spat, my words once again coming out harsher than I intended.

“I know that feeling,” they related.

I searched for words, but all that came out was, “So are you, uh… y’know… uh…”

“Transgender?” they filled in the blank flawlessly, sending me further into my pit of embarrassment.

“Yes, that.”

“Yeah,” they said

I decided to plow forward with the conversation, saying the first thing that came to my mind, “But you’re not a girl?”

They shook their head, “No, not exactly. I’m kind of in between. I’m still figuring out where exactly I fall in the gender spectrum, though. It’s a process.”

I wanted to respond with something supportive, but all I could come up with was, “Oh.”

“What about you?” they asked.

“I knew I was a girl when I was like… four,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my heart felt like it was going to rip out of my chest, “I didn’t even know there was a word for that until I came to college. I guess I kind of grew up under a rock.”

“Nah, I didn’t know until college either,” Raoul assured me.

“What year are you in?” I asked, amazed that someone could have figured out so much in such a short time.

“Sophomore.”

“Holy crap,” was all I could respond with.

They chuckled, “You’ll figure it out.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I said, “I just hope I figure it out soon! I came to college to become an engineer, not to have an identity crisis.”

“That’s alright,” they said, “There’ll be plenty of time for both.”

I felt a flash of anger at their sympathetic tone, but realized my anger was misplaced and took a deep breath before I replied, “Hey, I have to get to physics, but we should get coffee sometime. I’m glad I ran into you.”

“Yeah, I’d like that!” they agreed, “And… maybe you should come to some of the groups over at the LGBTQ Center. I’d love to see more of you around there.”

“Is there a religion one?” I asked, throwing caution to the wind.

Raoul shook their head, “Not yet, but I bet we could start our own!”

“Hmm… yeah, let’s talk over coffee!” I replied, allowing a grin to grow on my face.

“Yes, let’s,” they nodded, then produced a small notepad from their purse and scrawled something on it. They handed it to me. It was their phone number.

“Awesome! I’ll text you,” I said.

We waved goodbye and I made my way towards my physics class. About halfway there, though, I stopped in my tracks and changed directions for my dorm. When I arrived at my room, I immediately exclaimed “Alhamdulillah!” and fell backwards into my bed. “Thank you for answering my prayers,” I whispered, pulling my blankets around me like a sloppy cocoon.