Crossed Lines ...Part 2 ...Storm After Storm

Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences,
penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.
– Maya Angelou.

Gloomy Weekend

I met a muslim girl and fell in love with her, but Carolyness, my colleague at the university, persuaded me to tread carefully—there were so many cultural barriers between us.

Apparently Yasmin Saleh, the girl I desired, was not just a Muslim, but an Islamic feminist who lately had been associating with Hillary Notely—a leader of campus protests against gender inequality.

Carolyness argued I might have no problem accepting Yasmin as an equal, but would she be willing to surrender her views for love?

The moment she said that I felt a complete fool. How naïve and simple of me to thin love conquered all.

I went home that day feeling desolate.

The weekend was gloomy and rainy—it suited my mood.

I spent Saturday at the Art Gallery hoping that staring at paintings would lift my spirits, but unfortunately it did not.

Sunday, I went to mass at St. Patrick’s on McCaul St and ran into Carolynes. We decided to have lunch at a nearby restaurant bar appropriately named Sin & Redemption.

Seeing Carolynes cheered me up, and soon we were laughing and enjoying a rainy Sunday afternoon together.

Ironically, we were in the midst of an intense conversation when Yasmin and Hillary entered. Apparently they had been at the Art Gallery and were stopping by for lunch.

Carolynes, gracious as always, invited the two women to join us. Hillary was about to decline when Yasmin suddenly interrupted, “Of course, we’d be delighted to join you.”

I watched in amused fascination as Hillary, obviously uncomfortable with socializing with us, reluctantly acceded to Yasmin’s wishes.

By way of conversation Carolynes asked, “Did you find anything particularly interesting at the gallery?”

Hillary immediately piped up, “We were impressed by the work of Frida Kahlo, a great feminist painter.”

Carolynes frowned, “That’s strange—I’m from South America and I can honestly say I never heard of Frida Kahlo being considered a feminist—I doubt she’d even consider herself that way.”

“Oh well,” Hillary retorted, “ she may not have described herself in those terms but certainly by her acts she could be considered such.”

“You mean her monobrow, wearing men’s clothes and bisexual love affairs?” Carolynes asked softly.

Hillary’s face went red. “She demonstrated a spirit of rebellion.”

I glanced over at Yasmin and as our eyes met I once again experienced the same frisson I felt that day in Hart House.

Hillary sought an ally. “What’s your opinion on the matter, Yasmin?”

Yasmin glanced at me, hesitated a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. “I agree with what Hillary said about feminism having an element of rebellion. I don’t want to be some man’s fantasy.”

She said the latter staring at me, her eyes flashing defiantly.

Carolynes dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Can’t you simply assert your femininity without defiance showing by your dignity that you’re an equal of a man?”

Yasmin wavered, and then recovered and grew even more strident.

“I must assert my dignity. I’ve studied the Quran and Sharia. I’m as equal, as educated, and as competent as any man– If I didn’t rebel I’d probably be miserable and submissive, living in slavery in an arranged marriage to an oppressive husband.”

“But you’re in North America now—you’re free.”

“Easy for you to say,” Yasmin retorted, “but I’ve seen you at Mass—your head covered beneath a veil of submission. You’re no different from us with your patriarchal religion—just more subtly manipulated.”

Hillary stood up and pulled at Yasmin’s arm. “C’mon, Yasmin—you’re wasting your time trying to reason with blind agents of oppression.”

Yasmin glanced at me—her eyes helpless and filled with anguish. Hillary guided her out the door.

Carolynes looked grieved.

“I’m sorry, Callum—I should have realized it was futile debating Hillary—she’s not open to any real dialogue. As for Yasmin, I’m not sure she’s approachable either as long as she’s under Hillary’s influence.”

I knew Carolyness was right, but it didn't make me feel better.

I felt an innocent bystander indicted by association in the crimes of my sex.

To be continued...

© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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