Are you Muslim too?
StanleyP
Anony-Ana, if I answer that question, will you answer some of mine?
AnaBGR
Nope. Withdrawn.
StanleyP
Until next time.
Chapter Four
Radio Toronto was a popular indie station that aired a little of everything. We played local artists as well as Top 40 hits, reported on serious news as well as Toronto street culture. I had beaten hundreds of other applicants to secure my internship position, alongside fellow intern Thomas Matthews. Now that I had lost out on the only other job I really wanted, I was determined to get hired on permanently at the station once my internship ended. To do that, I needed to become indispensable to the station’s general manager. Marisa Lake was a sophisticated white woman in her late thirties, tall and willowy, with sleek honey-brown hair pulled into a chignon and a silk scarf draped just so around her neck. Thomas, my fellow intern, thought she was sensitive about her neck.
“You’re lucky, you cover all the time,” he said now, gesturing at my hijab. We were sitting in our small office, surrounded by boxes of archives that hadn’t been touched in decades. Our task was to sort and catalogue, and after two hours, we were both bored.
Thomas’s family were Orthodox Christians from south India. He assumed that, as fellow desis, we shared a special connection. He alsothought he should be the one offered the permanent job at Radio Toronto at the end of our internship. He was wrong on both counts.
“My neck is fine, thanks,” I said.
“Women have all these hang-ups. If it’s not their necks or toes, it’s their eyebrows.”
I peered inside a filing box and tried to tune him out.
“I know what your hang-up is,” he said, voice sly. Thomas had dark brown skin and enormous eyes hidden behind circular wire-frame glasses. He favoured slim-fit cardigans and sweater vests, which he thought made him look like a Brown hipster. I knew better; desi Harry Potter would only ever look out for his own interests.
I also knew he wasn’t going to let up until I reacted. Next to coming up with strange theories about the people in our office, Thomas loved to tease me.
“Okay, fine. What’s my hang-up?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Your hair. That’s why you wear that thing on your head.”
“Hijab. Say it with me:he-jab.”
“The fact that you’re so sensitive only proves me right. Tell me the truth. Are you one of those weirdos who can’t stop chewing their hair?”
I slammed a file folder onto the desk. “I’m shocked you’re still single. What’s wrong, Mommy hasn’t found you a wife yet?”
“Nobody does the arranged marriage thing anymore, Hana,” Thomas said placidly, and I instantly regretted my bout of temper. “Except for crazy conservatives.” His eyes lingered on my hijab. “Besides, I have a girlfriend,” he said, pulling another folder towards him.
“Virtual girlfriends don’t count.”
“You would know all about virtual friends,” he shot back, gaze resting on the phone in my hand.
I flushed and closed my messaging app. I hadn’t been texting StanleyP at work, only checking whether he had texted me. He hadn’t.
“What are you two talking about?” Marisa had wandered into the storage room. She grabbed a file at random, flicked through it, and put it down on the wrong pile. Today she was wearing light pink lipstick that matched her pale pink scarf, a shade I could never pull off. Marisa dressed more elegantly than her current job demanded. Thomas said it was because she was a woman on the climb.
I wanted to move up too, like Marisa. I even had a scarf collection, though I wore mine on my head instead of around my neck. We weren’t so different.
“I’m making great progress with the files, Marisa,” Thomas said. “I’ve got plenty of ideas to keep them organized from now on. I’d love to share them with you later.”
I rolled my eyes, but Marisa only smiled faintly in our direction. She was no dummy.
“Thomas was just telling me about his girlfriend,” I said, answering her question.
