“She is a very pretty girl,” he commented in a thick accent with his hand on his hip and a cigar in his hands, “how old is she again?”
“16.” The very pretty girl and her mother replied. However, as usual, nobody looked at her. They only looked and spoke to her mother, even when she was in the room, even if they were speaking about her. She had no voice, only a very pretty face and a very pretty smile.
“16,” he repeated, smiling, “that is a good age to start thinking about marriage. And she seems smart, so that’ll help too.”
The very pretty girl with a very pretty smile smirked. He had managed to turn her into an object, using the intelligence that she worked everyday to prove as an asset that will help her find a suitor.
“Oh, we’re not thinking about marriage yet.” Her mother responded, looking down at her hands as she spoke.
“Well of course you are,” he said while chuckling under his breath, “why wouldn’t you, what else would you be doing?”
“I’m very involved in my studies,” the very pretty girl commented, looking at the ground while she squirmed in her seat.
“That is good, a husband will like that too,” he responded, “just don’t get too smart.”
Men don’t like girls who are smarter than they; society expects them to be subservient. Even now, as the very smart girl engaged in an argument with the man, he was uncomfortable. Appalled by her lack of respect and ability to respond when not directly questioned.
The very pretty girl walked back to the table she was sitting at. Her mother had made it clear that her job at this wedding was to socialize, and not to embarrass her in front of her friends. Instead, she played with the fork in front of her, twirling the sliver between her fingers.
“So what grade are you in?” asked the man to her right.
“Eleventh,” she responded, looking up at him then back to the fork.
“You’re almost done then. What are you going to do after?” he asked, attempting to engage in a conversation with her despite her clear lack of interest.
“College then medical school,” she had it all figured out; she had known what she wanted to do with her life when she was seven.
“That’s too many years. Education gets you nowhere in this country. It’s all about the connections, your husband can get you connections!” he claimed.
Her grip on the fork tightened, “I don’t know, I guess I still have time,” she said with her teeth clenched. He didn’t respond, instead he turned and spoke to the man next to him with out even a goodbye.
They had been invited to a wedding. As usual, her mother had expected her to go, but didn’t extend the invitation to her sister. The very pretty girl was skilled at faking a very pretty smile; a talent that was useful in making people feel comfortable around her, but also too comfortable.
The wedding was traditional. There were dancers and food from Syria and Egypt as the husband and wife had families from each country. The sat in two large chairs at the head of the ballroom, cheerfully greeting each individual that came up to congratulate them. A dance floor was at the center of the room, enveloped by people playing drums and others clapping to the beat. Men danced, laughing and spinning around with their friends, while the women sat at the tables, carefully avoiding the dance floor.
“My son is around your age,” said another man, looking down at her as he spoke.
“Oh,” the very pretty girl said, unsure as to how she should respond.
“Yes, yes, he’s quite smart too. He wants to be a doctor,” he said, pulling up a chair to sit next to her.
“So do I,” she responded, observing the way his eyes crinkled as though the thought of her having dreams was amusing.
“You know what I think,” he said as he leaned in close to her face and his hand rested on the table, “I think you two should meet,” he smiled at his brilliant idea.
The girl backed away slightly, smiling as she did. She was unsure how to respond, so she simply laughed. He laughed with her, sensing her discomfort, but then continued to speak anyways.
“You’re Aliyah’s daughter, right?” he asked.
She nodded her head.
“Good, good, I’ll talk to her about it then,” he grinned as he lifted himself up from the chair and walked away.
The walls began to close around her. There was no air coming in the room. Everyone just looked at each other, smiling, oblivious to the sexism around them. The very pretty girl was silently begging her mother, who was now talking to the man that had just left, to decide to leave. The problem wasn’t about whether or not she would get married; she already knew she wouldn’t for some time. It was the fact that she was expected to remain silent in the face of oppression. She walked over to the two of them.
“I don’t know,” her mother began, responding to something he had said.
“I was just speaking to you’re mother about your interest in my son,” said the man, looking at her.
“No.” the very pretty girl interrupted, her eyes glaring into his.
“No? Why not?” he responded, the wide grin still etched on his face.
Society teaches girls that the only set aspect of their future is marriage. There is a clock that starts ticking once you reach a particular age, it is when the conversations with adults shift from “what do you want to be when you grow up?” to “so when do you want to get married?” Marriage takes precedence over careers.
“Excuse me please,” The very pretty girl said as she walked to the exit, ignoring the sound of her mother’s voice calling her back.
It was raining outside. The raindrops fell on her head, rolling down her face, and washing away the layers of oppression society had covered her with. Her dress tangled between her heels. She walked in some direction, away from the building she had just left. Her eyes glared at her feet, marching through the puddles, ignorant of her surroundings. She planned on doing a lot, probably go to medical school, get a Ph.D., travel the world. Marriage did not fall anywhere within the plan. It wasn’t as though she didn’t want to get married, she just didn’t think about it as much as males seemed to think she did.
Lost in her own thoughts, she continued to stomp her way down the empty street, listening to the lull of people’s voices surrounding her.