Love from A to Z

I looked at my first marvel entry, at the very beginning of my Marvels and Oddities journal, which I’d uploaded onto my laptop, and it was trees.That’s when I was sketching in my journal, so there were tiny drawings of a few tree specimens found in Doha.

Every subsequent marvel entry was an observable item like sand, birds, water, potatoes, and a whole long entry on rocks when Hanna got crazy over them. Typical thoughts recorded by someone who loved cataloging things. Almost entirely nature-oriented observations.

I guess at some point it was natural I would move on to less-tangible things. That point occurred just this past year, when I noticed the things I needed to hold on to, marvels you couldn’t necessarily grasp in your hands.

Like smiles. And how instantaneously a genuine one can set you at ease.

The brilliant-blue-hijabed girl stopped tapping away on her phone and pulled out her Marvels and Oddities journal propped it on her carry-on suitcase, and began writing in it without pause, without glancing around, a frown on her face.

I was still floored that we had the same journal, so I kept stealing glances at her. And then she stopped with her pen to her lips and looked straight at me.

Luckily, I saw it coming and moved my eyes in time. I hope.

At one point I had this sudden urge to strike up conversation: Isn’t it weird we’re doing the exact same thing? Recording marvels and oddities?

Isn’t it absolutely wild?

But I let it pass, and then the flight happened.

And the smile happened.

Around midpoint in the flight, I got up to use the bathroom, and there she was-sitting in the very last row in a single seat, almost right across from the bathroom. She had the reading light turned on above her, so she was bathed in its glow, her face-big eyes not behind round glasses-lit.

When she looked up and saw my tall self advancing towards the back of the plane, I nodded at her for some reason.

Great.

Creepy guy on the plane.

I had to explain the nod.

It was basically the Muslim-to-Muslim not, but, looking at me, she probably didn’t think I was Muslim.

Without a marker like a skullcap or something, it’s sometimes hard to distinguish us Muslim guys.

So as I got right across from her seat, I said, “Assalamu alaikum,” and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Walaidum musalam,” she said when I emerged. “I hadn’t realized you were Muslim. Sorry.”

Bam.

“Yes. Since I was eleven.” There was a nice space in front of the bathroom as it was also connected to a kitchenette, so I was able to face her from where I stood.

“Like my mom,” she said, tilting her head to look up.

“Your mom’s been Muslim since she was eleven too?”

“No.” she laughed. “She converted when she married my dad. Well, right before she married him. In her twenties.”

“Aha,” I said real sagely. I crossed my arms and looked down the aisle. Someone was coming to use the bathroom.

“But wow, you at eleven years old? I’ve never heard of that.”

She tilted her head again, her eyes even wider. “A little kid converting.”

And then she smiled. Big, open, and honest.

I indicated the guy heading our way. “Maybe I’ll tell about it…on my next bathroom break?”

She laughed again.