I walk into the room, looking around for a seat.
Heads turn to look at me.
Who is she?
I find a seat in the front row
just how I like it.
Taking a quick moment to look around,
I notice that no one looks
like me.
Where are all the other hijabis?
They must be late.
5 minutes.
10 minutes.
The instructor arrives.
15 minutes. Class begins.
No more students arrive.
We are discussing current events. There has been a tragic shooting
recently.
Done by a white man.
We don’t know much about him.
Probably a lone wolf. Right?
We resume the class lesson.
I sneak a glance at the clock, hoping the instructor doesn’t notice.
I’m exhausted.
After a long and dreadful 50 minutes, we are let out.
Zip. Zip.
Prepared to face the bitter winds.
I find a seat on the train beside a middle-aged Wall Street man
and a young Muslim woman. Like me.
Passengers come and go, but
I will stay until the penultimate stop because the MTA likes
to test us.