The cross-eyed looks were piling up... One after another...

 

Associates, members of management team, even some customers joined in like bystanders of a giant party happening a block away from their home. Heads turned, eyes turned and rolled, eye brows bobbed and jiggled. 

 

Barry didn't mind, though he sensed and saw some of it out of corner of his own eye. Jasmine's head was propped neatly on his shoulder. Her turban cupped by his hand. Normally none of this would happen, as Somali Muslim ladies do not let men (genetic males..?) get close to them for hug or handshake. It is not in their culture or religion. Yet, there she was, letting him hold her and run his hand up and down her left shoulder.

 

He remembered the events unfolding. She looked unusually gloomy. He approached her and asked what's bothering her. She said her mother died. He asked how old she said. She said, forty-five. He asked how. She said - horrible car accident, 4 cars involved. It was gonna be on the news. 

 

Then she took one big step toward him and placed her turban-covered head on his shoulder. He was scared to move, knowing a few preset boundaries have been broken. But withdrawing from a young, grieving girl seemed even worse. He let his hand go up to her head and accepted the embrace. 

 

They'd be frozen like this for about two minutes now. She was slient for a good twenty seconds, but now she told him in a low voice that she doesn't know how to go on without her mother waiting for her at home, greeting her, asking her day at work. She told him her ma wanted to move to US even more than she did. Her voice was soft; he barely heard her himself. He sensed she was nervous to speak or even to look up and greet the apprehensive, judging, even jealous glaces from the bobbing-jiggling bistanders. 

 

As she gave him this gift of hug, he wondered what it's like for Muslim girls to turn down hugs and push away men who get too close, while most of their female counterparts indulge in all this simple nonsense virtually every day. Do they deep-down agree, or follow the rules of the world they were born into? Only God knows (or Allah?). 

 

Well, all good things must come to an end... Jasmine slowly raised her head from his shoulder, looked up into his eyes from her own dark, tear-filled eyes, and uttered "sorry, and thank you" and looked back down at the floor, and quickly sashayed into the break room, not looking at anyone. 

 

He stood, not moving, a good seven seconds. The image of her dark black body cover waving and rippling along her beautiful figure stayed with him. Though nothing carnal went through his mind, he now couldn't help but wonder how much guilt he'd endure if her lips suddenly became within spectrum to him. 

 

He'd also turned and ushered off to his plumbing department. He expected to see her again soon, but knew everything would change.