A Good Muslim

A/N: Hey guys and gals! Well the idea for this story has been simmering in my disorganized head for quite sometime. It is really a tribute of sorts for a very good friend of mine and well... I thought it was finally time to put this to “paper.” I hope you enjoy it and as always all constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Hate it, love it, please let me know.Thank you.

Translations:
Warda- Flower
Mashy- Okay/Alright
Is’haa- Wake up/Get up
Baba- Daddy
Mama- Mommy
Ha’raman- Good prayer
Gamee’an- May God accept it
Al-hamdu’li’llah- Thank God
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It was a chilly September morning. The sun had just begun its steady ascent over Cosmos; a sleepy mid-Western town. All was still, not even a chirping bird could be heard yet, probably due to the fact that no one in their right mind would be up at this godless hour.

Today would mark the first day of school for Rasheed Mansoor. It was a new town and a new beginning, as his father would often say. In a few hours he would have the pleasure of meeting all of the other occupants of Cosmos.

But for now Rasheed slept like a babe.

The curtains of the room’s only window were not fully drawn. Thus allowing the sun to creep across the room and fall upon his steadily slumbering figure.

Rasheed gave a small moan of displeasure. He turned his lengthy body over in the hopes of escaping the ever persistent sunlight.

He released a sigh of aggravation, and nuzzled further into the thick comforter. Smiling in jubilation at the warmth and security it provided.

The soft pitter patter of approaching footsteps and their owner’s dead-stop in front of his door urged another mournful groan out of Rasheed.

“Rasheeeed,” squealed the six year old boy from the other side of the door, “Mama told me to tell you that it’s time to wake up!”

Rasheed yanked a pillow from under his head and placed it over his face. It was a feeble attempt at blocking out his younger brother’s incessant prater. The six year old could talk the ears off a dead man.

Silence greeted the impatient boy and it annoyed him to great lengths. He would not be ignored; especially by his only brother.

“Rasheeeeeeeed! Wake up, you have to go to school and Baba is waiting to pray with you!”

“Nnng- Mashy ‘m comin’ Mouneer...” Mumbled Rasheed in a thick, sleep muddled voice.

“Fine! I’m gonna' tell Mama--”

The sound of retreating footsteps faded into the distance- Only to soon be replaced by a pair of heavier and more pronounced footsteps.

Without knocking a livid, short and plump woman burst into Rasheed’s room. “Rasheed, Is’haa,” his mother bellowed in a heavy Eastern accent.

“M-Mama?” Stuttered a startled Rasheed, as he quickly crossed his legs to conceal his early morning companion.

“Don’t you “Mama” me! You’re cute... But you’re not that cute.” She smiled as she saw her son’s spreading blush.

But her visage quickly took on a more serious overtone,“Besides...Your going to be late-“

“But Mama it’s too early for school-”

“Yes... But it is never too early for prayers.” She said in a matter of fact tone.

Sighing in defeat Rasheed resigned himself to his fate.

Wide awake, he sat up in bed, gently wiping away the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

“How can you be a good Muslim if you cannot keep your appointments?” His mother continued, “The Koran tells us that you must be fair and just with your time and divide it fairly-”

“Yes I know Mama-”

“You know? Do you really?” His mother asked skeptically.

“Yea-“

“You could have fooled me with the way you are dilly dallying and lying in bed. While you are supposed to be preparing for school and- Oh! That poor man, your father. You have him waiting for you all this time. He wants to pray. He wants to eat. He wants to take you to school. He still has to go to work.”

“I’m sorry Mama-“

“Sorry is not going to cut it---”

“Nahseema?!” A gentle voice echoed from a far.

“Oh my- There he is. Yes my love?!” Nahseema quickly piped back.

“Where are you my dear?!”

“I am trying to wake Rasheed-”

“Is he up yet?” The voice was getting closer.

“Yes, but he is such a stubborn boy... Just like his father,” She huffed as she crossed her arms over her voluptuous breasts.

Rasheed’s father sauntered through the corridor and approached Nahseema. He was a tall, dark, bespectacled man; with broad shoulders and thinning black hair.

“Me,” He said pointing to his chest, “I’m stubborn?” Rasheed’s father asked in mock affront, in the same heavy Eastern accent.

“Yes, my love... but I would have you no other way-”

Nahseema quickly closed the gap between herself and her husband. She uncrossed her arms and embraced him. Tip toeing on her diminutive frame as best she could. She gave him an awkward peck on the cheek.

Rasheed’s father returned the embrace, leaning down to give his wife a chaste peck on her cheek in return.

Rasheed felt a little awkward, due to the open display of affection. He broke the silence with a soft cough in order to make his presence known.

“Hi Baba,” piped up Rasheed, with a delicate smile on his face.

“Hello Rasheed,” said his father in acknowledgement, “Sleeping in today?”

“No, not at al-”

“Of course he is.” Nahseema said.

“It is okay my Warda… A boy his age needs his sleep. No?”

Nahseema pouted as her caramel complexion flushed red. Her deep hazel eyes shone with suppressed fury, “Tarek... You’ll spoil the boy-”

“Warda, he is no longer a boy. He is to be seventeen in a few more days- Please start treating him like the man that he is soon to become.”

“He is my baby boy- I don’t care how old he gets.”

Tarek let loose a hardy chuckle, “Of course my love whatever you say.”

Turning his eyes on his son, Tarek eyed his state and gave a dissatisfied shake of his head.

“Well, Rasheed have you performed ablutions yet?” He asked.

“No Baba, I’ll do it now.”

“Good... Now Nahseema come with me. I have to discuss something with you.”

With that Tarek walked out of the room with Nahseema in tow.

Nahseema was about to exit, but turned on Rasheed, “You’re a good boy Rasheed.”

Rasheed hopped off of his bed, and engulfed his mother in a tight embrace, “Thank you Mama.”

“Now hurry up your going to be late.”

“Okay...” Rasheed broke free of the embrace, with a smile firmly plastered on his face.

With a lash of her thick, waist length ebony hair, Nahseema disappeared around the corner.

Rasheed managed to over hear his father, saying something about teenagers needing time to ‘adjust’ in the mornings- which brought a furious blush over his face- and how their privacy should be respected until said ‘adjustment’ was complete.

He couldn’t help but smile as his parent’s voices steadily faded away.

Receiving all of the motivation that he needed to start his morning ritual, Rasheed walked over to the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

What stared back at him was a tall, lanky, broad shouldered boy; with jet black hair and a creamy, caramel complexion.
But to his credit, his defining feature was a pair of striking hazel eyes. There was no doubt as to whom he had inherited his rich eye color from.

He reached a hand up to ruffle his hair, slightly cocking his head to the side.

Rasheed sighed loudly. ~What a way to start the day...~ He thought.

Trudging to the washroom he began to perform his morning ablutions. He winced as the ice cold water touched his supple skin.

“Baba, the water heater is on the fritz again!” Rasheed bellowed out.

“Okay! I’ll take a look at it!” Tarek replied.

Rasheed began to vigorously wash his face, feet, hands and arms at a minimum of three times each. Taking great care too ensure that he got all of the nooks and crannies in between.

Giving a slight shiver and a rather loud sneeze, Rasheed shut off the tap immediately cutting off the flow of the glacial ice water.

Finished with his ablutions, Rasheed felt a suffocating sense of misery descend upon him. He was like a wet cat, cold and extremely uncomfortable in his skin.

~I’d give almost anything just to hop back into bed,~ Rasheed fleetingly thought as he dried himself.

But silently reprimanded his self, thinking about the long lecture he would receive from his overbearing mother for even thinking along those lines.

Rasheed bit his lower lip to stifle the groan of frustration that was begging to be released.

Sighing, he walked back into his room and began to lay out his school uniform on the twin sized mattress.

Just the other day, his father had taken great pains to explain to him the importance of looking impeccable at all times. His reasoning was that people were most likely to judge a person based on their appearance alone.

Rasheed stepped out of his bedroom clad only in his PJ bottoms and a flimsy, white V-neck that show cased his still developing pectoral muscles.

Descending the stairs, he was tackled by an energetic six year old.

As best as he tried, Rasheed could not muster up the strength to pry Mouneer from his waist.

“Get off of me Mouneer!” Rasheed barked at his younger brother. The boy was startled enough too make him loosen his vice-like embrace.

The young child tried his best to conceal the hurt in his eyes. But his trembling lower lip and quivering voice betrayed him, “Why?” Mouneer asked, “I-I just wanted a hug…”

“But it’s too early for that-”

“Fine! I don’t care!” Mouneer yelled, “I don’t need a stupid hug from you anyway.”

The boy turned on his heel to storm away but was stopped by a firm grip on his wrist.

“Let go!”

Rasheed refused to loosen his hold. He drew his brother into to a tight embrace.

“I said let go…” This time Mouneer said it with a sniffle.

“I’m sorry… Okay?” He whispered sincerely

Mouneer refused to respond.

“What if I made you waffles?” Rasheed asked hopefully.

He didn’t want to resort to bribery, but he would if he had to.

Still the child remained silent.

“Oh, come on! I said I was sorry… What else do you want?” Rasheed pleaded.

“Okay, fine. I want waffles and umm… Pop Tarts… Yea, Pop Tarts!” He said with a smile.

“You know you’re not allowed to have that much sugar in the morning- Mama will kill me if she finds out...”

“I won’t tell, if you won’t… I promise.” The child said reassuringly.

All Mouneer had to do was flash Rasheed a look with his big, sad, dark ebony eyes and the deal was sealed.

~Ahrrrg! Not the puppy dog eyes…~

“Fine, you lil’ monster… You win!” Rasheed conceited his defeat.

The boy broke out into a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
How had he failed at negotiating with a child was beyond him. He didn’t know whether to be upset or proud at his little brother’s cleverness.

Rasheed scooped up the boy in one fluid movement and showered the top of his head with butterfly kisses.

“You may be a monster… But you’re my little monster…” Rasheed said as he lowered his brother to the floor and ruffled his shoulder length ebony tresses.

Mouneer grabbed his brother by the hand and attempted to lead him into the kitchen, but was stopped dead in his tracks by an unmoving Rasheed.

“Let’s go Rasheed! ‘m sooo hungry, I’m gonna’ turn into a skeleton.” For added emphasis, Mouneer lifted up his shirt and sucked in his tummy as far back as it could go.

“You know I have to pray first… Babas’ been waiting-”

Mouneer loosened his grip and followed his older brother into the living room. Their father had already set out two pray mats.

“Well, it’s about time!” Tarek exclaimed, “Had you taking any longer… We would have been praying the afternoon prayer.”

“Sorry Baba, I just got caught up-” Rasheed shot a glance in Mouneer’s direction. Mouneer had the grace to blush and look away.

“Nothing… And I mean… Nothing, should come between you and prayers Rasheed-”

“I know Baba.” Rasheed bowed his head in embarrassment.

His father out stretched a hand and lifted his head up by the chin saying ,“when you pray… It is a meeting between you and Allah…” Tarek said as he first pointed to Rasheed and then to the ceiling. “In life it is always good to be punctual… Would you go late to school?”

“No, Baba.” Rasheed replied.

“Then do you not think it is wise to be punctual in meeting with Allah?” He placed a hand on each of Rasheed’s shoulders.

“Of course it is, Baba!” Rasheed immediately replied, without an inkling of hesitation.

“Good, Rasheed… Very good-“Tarek patted the adolescent’s shoulders and then allowed his arms to fall back down to his sides.

“Now my eldest… You shall lead prayer today-” Rasheed nodded his head curtly,”…and Mouneer… You shall watch-”

Mouneer pouted, “But Baba-”

“No buts- You are still too young… When you are seven, you may pray with us…” Tarek explained.

“Okay…” Mouneer huffed as he took a seat on the comfy sofa.

The child watched as his big brother moved his prayer mat ahead of the one their father would use. The prayer lasted all of five minutes. With the pair alternating between prostrating, standing and uttering weird words in their native language; words that Mouneer could not for the life of him understand.

Rising to his feet Rasheed turned towards his father saying, “Ha’raman,” with an out stretched hand. His father also rose to his feet and gently grasped his offered hand saying, “Gamee’an.”

“So,” Said Tarek with a stern expression over taking his features, “I couldn’t help but over hear that you promised to make Mouneer both waffles and Pop Tarts. Is that true?”

Both brothers exchanged a sorrowful look with each other. They knew full well that they were caught.

They hampered down for the full on lecture, that they were sure to receive.

“Well?" Pressed Tarek.

“Yes, Baba,” Rasheed confessed, “I-I know that he can’t have that much sug-”

“Well then,” Said Tarek with a smile, “what are you waiting for? You shouldn’t shirk your responsibilities.”

Both of the boys were stunned as their father nonchalantly bent down and rolled up the prayer mats.

They rushed and tackled him to the floor in glee.

“Thank you, Baba!” Mouneer burst aloud.

“Yeah, thanks,” echoed Rasheed.

Laughing Tarek said, “The two of you better hurry and go about your business, before your mother gets out of the bath.”

That was all of the incentive that Mouneer needed, as he ran towards the kitchen at break neck speed.

“Al-hamdu’li’llah,” muttered Rasheed’s father under his breath.

Rasheed’s curiosity was piqued, “Baba?”

“Hmm,” hummed Tarek.

“What was that for?”

“Well my son… We have a lot to be thankful for,” said Tarek, “but that one in particular… That one was for the beautiful family that Allah has given me.”

Rasheed broke out into a grin and marched right up to his father; enveloping him in a hug.

“You must take it easy on me Rasheed,” groaned out Tarek, “I am no longer as young as I used to be… Now hurry and feed your brother… You must get ready quickly… Or we will be late.”

“Okay, Baba,” with that said Rasheed released his hold on his father and left the living room to trail after his brother.