Heat of Entice — Part One

I knew you were laying in wait for me again that day, watching from a distance, analysing my every move. I can only imagine your glee as I drove past him - you were probably excited at the prospect of me being knocked to my knees again, slipping as I naïvely slithered towards the invisibly marked danger zone.

You knew that day was like the others as I drove the 30-minute journey to Grandma’s home. I slowed down at the narrow junction that branched onto a one-way street, proceeding cautiously over the speed bumps. It was a 20-miles-per-hour driving zone, but I slowed further to 15. The orange bricked terraced houses that lined the streets boasted their vigour despite their age. Pristine evergreen foliage decorated the outskirts of each block, adding a hint of spring even during the harshest winter months. I made a mental note of the alleys that separated each five-house block. They were oddly placed, probably for the convenience of the architect, but at the peril of the residents who were left with no choice but to endure the sight of another block only a few metres from their front door.

‘Block one, block two,’ I muttered just above a whisper as I passed the blocks before Saleem’s, paying particular attention to the road ahead. I stole a rushed glance in the direction of his house, taking care to keep my head still - not the slightest indication of where my eyes strayed.

It would be unacceptable to be seen looking at him if he were to be watching out of his window the moment I drove by. His was the one at the very top of the three-floored house, the one facing the street. The lace curtains that skirted the windows were those his mother had picked from Clapham’s bustling market. Laced flowers danced in an elegant pattern, with a fine stitch of leaves above. I’d skimmed my fingers over the edges once, intertwining them between my fingers in a smooth drawn out motion. Then, I wondered what had made his mother choose such an elaborate design for someone she knew would pay no attention to it. Saleem had no care for such, but she had bought it all the same.

When I had passed his house there were no obvious signs of him. I continued to scan the almost deserted street in the hope that he would be strolling along it lazily, so that I may catch a glimpse of him. Every tall man with even a hint of his airbrushed brown skin caused my heart to thump. My hands would develop pinpricked beads of sweat as I gripped the steering wheel tighter, pretending not to look.

***

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Heat of Entice

I knew you were laying in wait for me again that day, watching from a distance, analysing my every move. I can only imagine your glee as I drove past him - you were probably excited at the prospect of me being knocked to my knees again, slipping as I naïvely slithered towards the invisibly marked danger zone.

You knew that day was like the others as I drove the 30-minute journey to Grandma’s home. I slowed down at the narrow junction that branched onto a one-way street, proceeding cautiously over the speed bumps. It was a 20-miles-per-hour driving zone, but I slowed further to 15. The orange bricked terraced houses that lined the streets boasted their vigour despite their age. Pristine evergreen foliage decorated the outskirts of each block, adding a hint of spring even during the harshest winter months. I made a mental note of the alleys that separated each five-house block. They were oddly placed, probably for the convenience of the architect, but at the peril of the residents who were left with no choice but to endure the sight of another block only a few metres from their front door.

‘Block one, block two,’ I muttered just above a whisper as I passed the blocks before Saleem’s, paying particular attention to the road ahead. I stole a rushed glance in the direction of his house, taking care to keep my head still - not the slightest indication of where my eyes strayed.

It would be unacceptable to be seen looking at him if he were to be watching out of his window the moment I drove by. His was the one at the very top of the three-floored house, the one facing the street. The lace curtains that skirted the windows were those his mother had picked from Clapham’s bustling market. Laced flowers danced in an elegant pattern, with a fine stitch of leaves above. I’d skimmed my fingers over the edges once, intertwining them between my fingers in a smooth drawn out motion. Then, I wondered what had made his mother choose such an elaborate design for someone she knew would pay no attention to it. Saleem had no care for such, but she had bought it all the same.

When I had passed his house there were no obvious signs of him. I continued to scan the almost deserted street in the hope that he would be strolling along it lazily, so that I may catch a glimpse of him. Every tall man with even a hint of his airbrushed brown skin caused my heart to thump. My hands would develop pinpricked beads of sweat as I gripped the steering wheel tighter, pretending not to look.

***

© Umm Junayd, April 2009.

This is an excerpt of my story published in an anthology this year. Read the rest in this book –> Many Voices, One Faith II - Islamic Fiction Stories

Anticipation (short fiction)

How unrestrained can glances be? Does the flutter of an eyelid make the mark? Or does slipping a peek from the corner of my eye qualify?

With a heart failing to keep up with the racing thoughts in my head just at the mention of his name, how am I meant to restrain the wish that can be read through my eyes?

If I were in my giggly teen years, the rose mosaic scattered on my cheeks would be more befitting. But alas, he is not the hunk I once used to dream of, and I am not the young girl I once used to be.

Questions make me feel smaller than I am. They tower over me, and grow still when I am unable to find an answer. Looking up at them piled so high leaves me dizzy with delight, as I anticipate his visit to our family home for dinner tonight.

© Umm Junayd, February 2009