Standing Up When Nobody Else Would [OPEN]
May 3, 2013 14:10:02 GMT -5
Post by Amna Aman on May 3, 2013 14:10:02 GMT -5
Amna woke up to humming. Taking a deep, relaxed breath, she opened her eyes to witness Malala contentedly rooting through her little Disney suitcase in the corner of their hotel room. Malala’s back was to her, and the toddler was naked save her car-themed Pull-ups. Automobiles were a recent interest for Malala. The little girl tossed her clothes into piles surrounding her until finally she stood up, triumphant, with a tulle skirt in her hands. Still humming tunelessly, she pulled the teal tutu on over her Pull-up and went back to searching her belongings for something else to wear. Smiling at the sight, Amna decided not to disturb Malala’s creative processes and watched quietly.
Though finding her clothes was a messy business, Malala eventually picked out a pair of green-striped tights (but did not attempt to put them on) and a purple tunic shirt with embroidery that Amna had made for her. Then she unceremoniously stuffed everything else hodgepodge back into the suitcase. The tunic was pulled over her head and then everything came BACK out of the suitcase. She had forgotten something. After several minutes of fussing, Malala found a green child-sized wrap and added it to her tights. Then she ‘cleaned’ back up again. At no point were shoes a consideration.
Amna finally had to laugh. Malala was nothing if not goofy. ”Is that what you want to wear?” she asked in Arabic. Malala turned at her mother’s voice and beamed in excitement. She brought her tights and wrap over, tutu bouncing as she skipped, and held them out in silent request for help. Malala was not much of a chatterer. Amna sat up and sorted out the tights first, getting down onto the floor so that she could help her daughter step into each leg and then allowed Malala to pull them up herself. She had to get up and retrieve a pin from her own suitcase in order to loosely wrap the green cloth around Malala’s head and pin it to her shirt so it could not be lost. Once everything was in place, Malala sang to herself and pranced about the room in her tutu.
It gave Amna time to get dressed as well. She decided to match Malala’s color scheme, but did not have a tutu. Tying her wrap loosely as well, forgoing the more formal hijab, Amna wrestled Malala into some shoes and prepared to leave the hotel room. Today, they would explore. Once everything was ready, mother and child struck out onto the streets of Metropolis in search of breakfast. They found a small diner that catered to children not far down the road and enjoyed a quiet meal. Malala played with her food, making fruit faces, and told stories using her imaginary fruit friends. The waitress was nice, and twice as kind once she realized Amna could speak English, and ‘snuck’ Malala a few extra berries for her project.
Following breakfast, Amna and Malala headed towards the shopping districts to look around. Amna really didn’t plan on buying anything, but getting the opportunity to look at the work in Metropolis would give her ideas for her work back home. Presently, she was sketching out ideas for a Western, but modest, wedding gown. The shop she worked for was planning a benefit for the community and participating in a silent auction. Amna intended to put up several sketches for bid, promising a custom piece for the lot’s highest bidder. She was already known for her embroidery. Promising something new and tailored to the wearer’s suggestions would certainly bring in interest. She just needed to show that she could do more than her most popular pieces: tunics. The shop sold more tunics than anything else, mostly because Amna had created different fashions and lengths that took up an entire wall of options. If a tourist requested embroidery, Amna shipped it to them after completion. Nonni, the shop owner, loved the care that Amna put into her work and because of it allowed her to leniency about deadlines and materials.
While passing a store that sold sports uniforms and equipment, a shriek pulled Amna up short. Across the street, a large man was tugging on a woman’s purse. He hit her hard across the face when she made a fuss and then kicked her. Amna grabbed Malala and pushed her into the shadows of the shops doorway. ”Stay right here. Where I can see you. Do you understand?” Amna ordered. Malala nodded, frightened by the commotion across the street, and wrapped her hands around the display of equipment settled outside to entire customers. Amna took a cricket bat and ran across the street. There was no time to think this through. That man was hurting an innocent person for no reason. The mugger had pulled out a gun- in broad daylight!- and pointed it at the screaming woman. Because it was early, the street was mostly deserted, but those who were out watched in horror or urgently phoned the police. Amna, however, came up on the mugger’s right side and brought the bat down as hard as she could on the man’s gun hand.
Cursing violently, he dropped the weapon and moved away from Amna, but froze when he saw that his assailant was literally half his size. Amna placed herself between him and the woman and held up the bat. Terrified of what he could do to her, she prayed that she could hold him off long enough for the police to come. “Run!” she shouted to the woman in English. Sobbing, the woman lurched to her feet, fell, but got back up and ran for the small gathered crowd. Amna took a step back. “You don’t have to do this,” she said to the mugger, trying to keep her voice level.
“Why would a tiny c*** like you even bother? Muslim b-“ Amna swung the bat as he made to move forward, and he stepped back again.
“I don’t like bullies,” Amna replied.
Though finding her clothes was a messy business, Malala eventually picked out a pair of green-striped tights (but did not attempt to put them on) and a purple tunic shirt with embroidery that Amna had made for her. Then she unceremoniously stuffed everything else hodgepodge back into the suitcase. The tunic was pulled over her head and then everything came BACK out of the suitcase. She had forgotten something. After several minutes of fussing, Malala found a green child-sized wrap and added it to her tights. Then she ‘cleaned’ back up again. At no point were shoes a consideration.
Amna finally had to laugh. Malala was nothing if not goofy. ”Is that what you want to wear?” she asked in Arabic. Malala turned at her mother’s voice and beamed in excitement. She brought her tights and wrap over, tutu bouncing as she skipped, and held them out in silent request for help. Malala was not much of a chatterer. Amna sat up and sorted out the tights first, getting down onto the floor so that she could help her daughter step into each leg and then allowed Malala to pull them up herself. She had to get up and retrieve a pin from her own suitcase in order to loosely wrap the green cloth around Malala’s head and pin it to her shirt so it could not be lost. Once everything was in place, Malala sang to herself and pranced about the room in her tutu.
It gave Amna time to get dressed as well. She decided to match Malala’s color scheme, but did not have a tutu. Tying her wrap loosely as well, forgoing the more formal hijab, Amna wrestled Malala into some shoes and prepared to leave the hotel room. Today, they would explore. Once everything was ready, mother and child struck out onto the streets of Metropolis in search of breakfast. They found a small diner that catered to children not far down the road and enjoyed a quiet meal. Malala played with her food, making fruit faces, and told stories using her imaginary fruit friends. The waitress was nice, and twice as kind once she realized Amna could speak English, and ‘snuck’ Malala a few extra berries for her project.
Following breakfast, Amna and Malala headed towards the shopping districts to look around. Amna really didn’t plan on buying anything, but getting the opportunity to look at the work in Metropolis would give her ideas for her work back home. Presently, she was sketching out ideas for a Western, but modest, wedding gown. The shop she worked for was planning a benefit for the community and participating in a silent auction. Amna intended to put up several sketches for bid, promising a custom piece for the lot’s highest bidder. She was already known for her embroidery. Promising something new and tailored to the wearer’s suggestions would certainly bring in interest. She just needed to show that she could do more than her most popular pieces: tunics. The shop sold more tunics than anything else, mostly because Amna had created different fashions and lengths that took up an entire wall of options. If a tourist requested embroidery, Amna shipped it to them after completion. Nonni, the shop owner, loved the care that Amna put into her work and because of it allowed her to leniency about deadlines and materials.
While passing a store that sold sports uniforms and equipment, a shriek pulled Amna up short. Across the street, a large man was tugging on a woman’s purse. He hit her hard across the face when she made a fuss and then kicked her. Amna grabbed Malala and pushed her into the shadows of the shops doorway. ”Stay right here. Where I can see you. Do you understand?” Amna ordered. Malala nodded, frightened by the commotion across the street, and wrapped her hands around the display of equipment settled outside to entire customers. Amna took a cricket bat and ran across the street. There was no time to think this through. That man was hurting an innocent person for no reason. The mugger had pulled out a gun- in broad daylight!- and pointed it at the screaming woman. Because it was early, the street was mostly deserted, but those who were out watched in horror or urgently phoned the police. Amna, however, came up on the mugger’s right side and brought the bat down as hard as she could on the man’s gun hand.
Cursing violently, he dropped the weapon and moved away from Amna, but froze when he saw that his assailant was literally half his size. Amna placed herself between him and the woman and held up the bat. Terrified of what he could do to her, she prayed that she could hold him off long enough for the police to come. “Run!” she shouted to the woman in English. Sobbing, the woman lurched to her feet, fell, but got back up and ran for the small gathered crowd. Amna took a step back. “You don’t have to do this,” she said to the mugger, trying to keep her voice level.
“Why would a tiny c*** like you even bother? Muslim b-“ Amna swung the bat as he made to move forward, and he stepped back again.
“I don’t like bullies,” Amna replied.
