Hala’s Snow Day
By Gwen Brown

Many thanks to Holly for editing help.

Hala was entirely unprepared for the snowstorm that made a major change in her life.

It was so chillingly cold this morning that I decided to wear my long, dark blue skirt suit. It had been given to me by a dear college friend who was much taller than my diminutive 5’4” and after tailoring, was just beautiful on me, except the skirt was much longer than I wanted it to be. They’d made the hips just tight enough so that the skirt sexily curved in just slightly below my butt. Sheryl used to wear her skirts really long because she was from some sort of weirdo conservative family. I had planned to have the skirt shortened a lot after Sheryl went overseas, but had never gotten around to it.

So, on the way out to my car, I almost went back in to change because the skirt was too tight, but when I looked at my watch, saw that I did not have time. I felt like I looked hot wearing it with my stiletto heeled boots. The opaque panty hose made the outfit actually quite warm. The skirt mostly covered my boots but was quite hobbling. With my short blue over coat and gloves, I felt quite happy as I minced down the street to my car. I’d also worn a white scarf fastened about my head with a very pretty jeweled Hijab pin that my grandmother had given me. I knew that the wind would destroy my long summer blond hair, even with it pinned up, if I didn’t protect it.

Grandma was from Persia, as she called it, and I never questioned it. It was said that she was Muslim, but my parents did not practice, and never taught me anything about it. Gran never told me much about it, except to say that her father had given her to a man when she was 13 and she gave him only my mom. During WWII, Gran had fled to Greece, then Gibraltar. Finally after the war, she’d somehow gotten herself and Mom to the US.

Grace and I worked quite closely together. A friend from childhood, she had come to work with me when I began to feel too overwhelmed with the details and my creativity began to wane. So, even though I was the owner of my company, she effectively ran Starlight, Inc., so I could do what I did best. Much of the time she simply took care of me, though she was very careful not to interfere with or offer unsolicited opinions on my debaucheries and dating.

Work was quite busy all day, and Grace made sure that someone brought lunch to the conference room where we were working. We finally finished the project at almost 8:00PM and I got ready to go home. One of the other women said that her husband was coming to get her since the weather was so bad, but it just did not register with me. I was so focused on some of the ideas we’d had, that I putzed around in my office for almost an hour before I realized how late it was.

I’d gotten distracted thinking about the latest man I’d dated. I’ll have to admit that I liked to try new things and liked exploring new ideas. I’d danced seductively on the bars in New York in front of men at New Years Eve parties while wearing no more than a couple ounces of clothing. I’d wakened in the occasional strange bed, and found myself in the bed of my own apartment wearing only a flannel shirt whose owner I had no knowledge of.

This latest guy had crossed a boundary for me though. He’d wanted to do things to me that sounded way creepy, and by my own admission, that had to be pretty alien. I don’t mind sharing a bed with a couple other people, but I don’t want to know about it when it’s happening. Yep, he was history.

I got off the elevator in the lobby and since it was so light inside, the windows were transformed to mirrors, and I did not see what awaited me outside. As I passed the front desk, the guard, Ahmed said to me,”As Salaam Alaykum, Little Sister.” I did not know what he was on about and just smiled at him. That distracted me and I did not actually look outside until I entered the turning door exit.

Good heavens, there was a lot of snow! Where did it all come from? OMG, what was I going to do? In my own mind, I am an empowered woman and was once the kind of tomboy that caused my mother to wring her hands. Just as I came out the door, one of the city snowplows passed and piled the snow in the street up as high as my hips. My car was sitting in a snowy parking lot across the street, almost invisible in near whiteout conditions. The snow was deep enough to leave just a little space under my car. I knew that I could go over there, use my little shovel to clear around the car a little, put my chains on and drive out.

The problem was the stiletto heels and restrictive clothing I was wearing. Had I known what was afoot, I would have worn my ski clothing, or at least brought it with me. I stood there feeling lost. What was I going to do? Well, I knew that I had to get over that pile of dirty looking snow to get to my little car, and I knew that the only thing I could do was get there as I was dressed. It never occurred to me to ask for help. ‘Geez, I was on the ski patrol a few times a month in the winter, I don’t need help!’ I reasoned.

I started over the barrier, my stilettos upsetting my balance because I did not know how far they would sink, and a passing truck startled me, causing me to lose my balance. I was on top of the pile now and started to fall forward into traffic, so I did a desperate pirouette to avoid that, but instead of helping, it only threw me more off balance. Just then the wind blew up a chilling cloud of snow and my scarf went down over my eyes. I suddenly fell, and my head must have hit the street or sidewalk.

As I slowly wakened, I realized that I was almost helplessly upside down with my feet sticking up in the air. My head was lying on the pavement, and looking to my right, all I could see was a wall in front of me. I just lay there dazed, too weak to move. I finally became aware that I was looking at the plow of a snowplow and the truck had stopped just short of hitting me. It had half buried me first, though. It all seemed so surreal in my stunned condition.

I heard crunching in the snow, and turned to see two feet stop at my side. I looked at them for a moment and then let my eyes move up to see what their owner looked like. He wore a black canvas coat which covered the top of his boots and it had a rain cape attached to the back. He wore a worn out looking cowboy hat with a wool cap under it. His face was lost in shadow, but I could see his long mustache.

His rugged appearance immediately made my sensual side respond. With purpose, he bent over and reached down to my side. He quickly picked me up in his arms like I was a day old lamb.

“Lady, how did ye find yourself there?” His drawl provoked images of an old time cowboy.

I just lay there in his arms, completely mesmerized by his appearance; my head still ringing from the fall. He cleared his throat as if prompting me for an answer.

“I … I, my car … I was going to my car.” I was still dazed.

“Well here, let’s get you inside until yer eggs is unscrambled.”

He effortlessly carried me back into the brilliantly illuminated lobby and set me on one of the leather couches there.

Ahmed, the elderly night guard, came over with a towel he’d gotten from who knows where.

“Here is a towel for the Little Sister.” His accent made him seem so dignified to me.

I felt like both men stood there looking at me like I was an oddity. Somehow, the errant scarf had gone the other way and was now around my neck. The tall stranger used the towel to dust the snow off me before it melted, and after a while my head began to clear. I did not feel like I had a concussion and it was not likely that the medical people were going to check me in this storm.

I tried to stand, fell back and tried once again, this time making it to my feet. Like any normal woman, I turned to use the building windows as a mirror and my disheveled look astonished me. I quickly got the scarf back in place and straightened my clothing. He finished dusting me off starting at the top of my shoulders and going clear down over my rear; the last making me tingle pleasantly. As I looked out the window the flashing lights of a parking enforcement scooter thing made the scene outside look surreal.

“Oh, my gosh, you are getting a ticket”

He quickly stepped outside to deal with the parking ticket and came back a moment later.
“Look, little girl, I don’t get a ticket if I can prove I was picking you up. Let’s go get dinner, that way I will be with you until we know you ain’t gonna be passing out or anything.”

If I had an ounce of sense, I would not have gone with him, but I was so taken by his looks, and the air of command surrounding him, and his adorable magnetic scent, that I followed meekly. Outside, he opened the door to the high truck and picking me up, depositing me inside. The easy way he handled me left me feeling so breathless. If the fall hadn’t left me senseless, the second time he picked me up left me thoroughly muddled. Gawd, he was strong and smelled mmmm good.

He was new to town, I thought, and I timidly directed him to a family restaurant down the street. I sat in his truck as it rumbled along. The engine was really noisy and the ride bumpy, but it felt like it could go anywhere he pointed it. When we got to the restaurant, he carried me inside, leaving me as giddy as a brand new bride.

“I can walk, you know!” I said, trying to sound very cross with him.

“Heh heh, you’re not doing really well so far tonight. Look, the truck is too tall for you to get in and out of, and the snow is too deep for the way you are dressed. Now behave, and let a man take care of you.”

I must have looked like a fish with my mouth gaping, because he just laughed again in that hypnotizing rumble and led me as he followed the waiter who seated us. On the outside, I was doing my best indignant act. But on the inside my tummy was doing flips. I could feel other parts of my body that I am not talking about here, similarly misbehaving.

He had chicken fried steak and I had turkey, mashed potatoes, and gravy. I had not eaten like that in like forever, but something about the atmosphere made it OK. Something about the way he talked to me made me feel like he respected me. I found out that he had been just plowing himself a parking spot in front of the building, so he could drop off a package for his sister inside.

“OMG, you forgot to leave the package for her!”

“Oh, that’ll wait until tomorrow. Look what I plowed up instead.” He looked down at me with those big blue eyes and subtle grin that could charm the pants off a school marm. My body tingled pleasantly and I could feel my face coloring hotly. I could not look him in the eyes for long.

We talked until very late that night. The restaurant shift had changed. I was going to order wine, but when he asked for coffee, I did too. I was so lost in his eyes as I listened to him talk. I had never felt that way with anyone. We even talked about children, and for once, I just said that I could not bear them; that there had been a problem when I was little.

“Don’t see a problem there; I’ve put more than one calf on a tit that wasn’t his mom’s.” With that, I vowed never to say anything.

Like a knight in shining armor, he took me back to get my car, and dropped off his brightly decorated Christmas package.

“Me and my Sister don’t talk, but I drop a package for her every Christmas. Maybe someday she’ll cool off.”

I didn’t feel right in asking him about it. He seemed really private about whatever had happened. It was just a feeling that I had.

He efficiently cleared a path to my little buried Camry and even put on the cable chains. I told him that I could get home but when he asked for my address, I gave it to him and watched him put it in his GPS.

“Now, Little Miss, follow me and I’ll make sure you get there alright.”

I knew that I was quite capable of doing it myself. I had for a while, but he just seemed so much in charge that I obeyed him. He was standing at the entrance of the garage after I pulled in and got out of my car. I felt like a giddy little school girl as I walked up to him. I wanted him to lead me to my bedroom. I’d done it many times.

He told me to “Take care now!” and turned to walk toward his truck. I stood there breathless, waiting. How could he simply walk away from me when my body was urgently screaming out its need! His feet noisily crunched the snow as he walked.

When I was about to faint from not breathing, he turned. “Hey, I’m in town for a few days. You want to go to dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Yes.” What he said had been phrased as a question, but my body took it as an order from my Master. I raptly stood in the open garage door until his lights were out of sight. As I turned to walk into my house, my body quivered happily a couple times. God, what a man, sigh!

Amazingly, I fell into bed and slept soundly. My six o’clock alarm jarred me back to life. This time, I wore my ski clothing to work; changing to a simple skirt and top when I got there. Somehow, one of my Gran’s flowered scarves found its way around my head; fastened there by another of her pretty pins. The scarf fell down my back and across my little shoulders like a cape. I did not even think about why I did not wear my normal winter hat. The scarf felt nice.

It was warmer, and raining when I got off work, so rather than put my ski gear on, I just put my coat and the scarf on.

On the way out Ahmed once again said, “As Salaam Alaykum, Little Sister.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Ahmed, what are you saying to me?”

“It means, ‘Peace be with you,’” he told me.

“Why are you saying that to me?” I was confused.

“You are Persian, and when I saw you with your head properly covered, I just knew that Allah Subhanna Wala T Allah, was speaking to you.”

With a flash, I remembered that Gran had said that she was Persian. It was she who had given me dozens of those very pretty scarves along with the pins and some other very pretty jewelry.

“Ahmed, I don’t know what you are talking about.” The confusion I felt swept across my face.

“You were from a powerful tribe in Persia. I can see it in your face,” he said confidently.

Ahmed knew Gran somehow, but no one ever said much about it. Mom had always scoffed at Gran when she was told that I needed to be properly educated, and I had only heard it said once or twice. Being a teen, caught up in boys and cheerleading, those concerns seemed so distant to me.

Later, when he applied for the job with my company as a security guard, I never suspected how seriously he took his position. Now I wondered if he was guarding me personally.

As we talked, I knew that he believed what he was telling me with a fervor that he would take to his grave. No human being could shake it. I felt the rightness of his words in my inner being.

“You know nothing of your heritage, do you, Little Sister?”

“Ahmed, my Gran told me things, but my mom and dad just smiled at her. She had given up on them. It had been so long ago I had forgotten entirely.”

“Never mind, my Little Sister, Allah will guide you. The correct response is Alaykum Salaam.”

“Oh, it is sort of like Spanish, where you just repeat what was said, huh?” I must have sounded like a ditz.

Ahmed laughed softly to himself. “It is good enough for now, Little Sister. You must be going; your man will be waiting for you.”

“Ahmed, how did you …” I looked down at my watch and a little shriek left my lips. “Oh my gosh, I’m late, Good Night, Ahmed.” I ran for the door as fast as I could. The drive home left me really rattled. I only had 20 minutes until he was going to pick me up!

That night was as late as the previous one. Fortunately the next day was Saturday. I normally worked then, but at least I could sleep in. Frank dropped me at the front door, but did not ask to come in and I was somehow, inexplicably afraid to ask him. ‘What the hell is wrong with you, you happy little slut who has slept with so many men and women that she does not know how many there were?’

The next night I invited him to my home for dinner. We ate steak that he brought, and salad that I’d made. We talked for hours. He kept me enraptured with his stories about the cattle; the mountains; the snow and of his huge cabin.

His wife had died in childbirth; both she and the perfectly formed, glorious little boy that they were going to name Thomas were gone. He talked about it all quietly and calmly, but I could tell the pain it caused him was a lot to bear, so I began talking about my University parents, and my Persian Grandmother. She is a mystical yet simple woman. “She frequently called me Habiti,” I told him with a pleasant smile on my face.

He seemed really interested in her, and where she came from. He wanted to know her last name.

“Maksoud,” I told him.

Later, after midnight, we sat on the back deck for a while. We were having one of those Chinook winds. For a short while it felt like spring out there sitting in the snow among the twinkling stars and the bright crescent moon.

He told me that his mom’s maiden name had been Taweed. He said he had a sister living in Minnesota, some of whom were Muslims. His folks had both died 5 years ago in the crash of their small plane.

That night as he left, Frank said he was leaving in the morning. He’d come back when he could. I stood there not breathing; suddenly too shocked to speak. The realization that he was leaving threatened to strike me down.

Just as I shut the door, he said, “Would you think about coming to live with me sometime?”

I opened my mouth and nothing came out at first. “I … I … Oh my, I don’t know, I…”

He smiled back at me, and reached in to pull the door shut.

“Wait!” I pleaded to the shut door. I wanted him in bed with me. I wanted to lie on his chest listen to his heart beat. ‘I let him go. Why?’

I sat up the rest of the night; watched the sun come up; the deer disappear into the underbrush. I’d wrapped a sleeping bag around myself and gone back onto the deck; vainly hoping that his truck was still in sight. Wistfully, I thought that maybe I could still hear the powerful engine.

I was feeling his absence so strongly and deeply that I couldn’t think. The weight of his separation from me felt crushing to my carefree spirit. ‘He’d not taken me to bed, and I felt too shy before him to ask. I began to wonder why I had been so promiscuous, but not with him. Perhaps my past left me feeling insecure about my own femininity? Maybe he was the proof’.

Mid morning found me in my office at work. I could not think seriously about anything. I’d taken my ideas and built them into a multi million dollar a year business housed in a squat 5 story building with 61 employees. The concentration I was used to eluded me. The sound of the elevator opening brought me out of my dream state. I was standing in front of the window looking in the direction of the mountains where he lived.

Grace, my assistant came strolling through. “I thought you’d be here,” she said.

I felt detached; as though I were in another dimension from her. My ordered world suddenly lacked attraction for me. I’d not returned the calls of men I’d often partied with.

“Grace, I need to talk to you.”

“I know.” she said.

“Can you manage without me?”

“You have it that bad, do you? You’ve known him, what, two weeks?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with him if he will have me.”

“Does he know?”

‘It was one of the first things Grace and I had talked of when we first played together as toddlers. Mom said that I was young enough. No one would ever know if I did not tell them.’ “He knows that I can not bear children,” I said.

“Yes, we were very young. We were playing on the floor with me when you told me. I was 6, you were 5. The new protocol worked, didn’t it. Yes, now they are growing wombs in the littlest ones.”

~~ § §~~

Ahmed’s wife, Sirah began visiting me; teaching me of the old ways back in Persia. She told me that her family had been Muslims and it had been a beautiful life, not like the horror that some practiced now. She and Ahmad had been married in Syria, but they were both from Persia. She told me that it was better for the Sunni in Syria. As we talked of my wedding, and the romance of hers, I wanted one just like it.

Frank came back as often as he could. We spent much time together, and I began to understand that his not sleeping in my bed was a sign of respect from him. Sirah taught me so much about her country’s ways and I began to really appreciate my heritage.

“One day, Habiti, you will want to learn to pray five times a day”, she said sincerely.

I smiled at her, secretly laughing inside, but made no sound at all, out of respect and love for her. I did not intend to actually become religious.

“You laugh now, my joyful little ring around the Moon, but we will see one day.”

Ahmad and Frank secretively started spending time alone at his house. When I’d asked him what they were doing, Frank just told me it was men’s business. I felt left out and told him so, but he just told me that Ahmad was teaching him the Way of the Husband. Frank started getting some ideas that seemed really strange to me. It turned out that Frank’s Mom had just lots of relatives in the Midwest, and it seemed that they all wanted to come to his wedding.

One night at dinner at Sirah and Ahmed’s house, Frank asked me, “Hala, are you sure that you are ready to marry me?”

“Darling, looking back, I knew the first time we met, when you picked me up from the snow bank.”

Both Ahmad and Sirah were looking on with interest, as if to see what Frank was going to tell me.

“Ya know, old Ahmad has been talkin’ to me, and things may be a little different for you after we are married.”

“Yes Frank, I will be so happy!”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that and so will I, but there are a couple things we need to agree to, according to Ahmad here.

“In what way, Frank Darling?”

“Well, according to your heritage, you and I are equal but I am just a little degree higher, because I have to protect you, you know like diggin’ you outta the snow, coyotes, robbers and all?”

“I’ll have you know, Frank, that I was doing just fine until you tried to bury me with your plow!” I said as indignantly as I could. I looked at Ahmad and Sirah, who were both maintaining conspicuous silence, and trying to look very serious.

Frank was trying to stifle an out and out roar of laughter.

“By slightly higher, that means you have to help me when I want it? I like that a lot.” I chortled happily.

“Yeah, and it also means that if I tell you that you should not even go out in some of these storms, you need to stay home.”

“And if I choose to go anyhow?” I was beginning to smell a rat here.

“Well, then, Missy, I’ll just have to discipline you?”

I could feel the blood rising in my neck and head. “And just how do you intend to do that, Mr. Johnson?”

He gave me this unsettling predatory look. “Well, I guess you’ll just get a spanking.”

I wanted to be angry but his words made my mind and body give off a little tremor. “Oh, no you won’t!” I said, trying to sound confident and empowered. I would never admit it to any of those in the room but I was of two minds on the matter. One part was screaming for empowerment, and the other was, oh, I hate to face it, even now … a tiny part of it wanted it. There I said it, Hmph!

Sirah quietly told me that he could only use a tooth pick. With a gleam of mirth in his eye, Ahmad said that it was the switch off of the bush that makes the tooth pick before it is cut up.

With that, the men laughed evilly while Sirah and I crossed our arms in front of us; feeling extremely indignant.

~~ § §~~

The next morning, I called Mom and Dad to tell them my news. I had Mom on the kitchen phone and Dad on the study phone. They were both overjoyed, eventually, but Dad asked me if the guy was nice to me and told me that if there was ever a problem, he knew people. I told them both how we met and then informed Mom in girltalk code about the other stuff. The code went right over Dad’s head. He didn’t want to talk about it or think about it. He just wanted his daughter to be happy.

Once I told Sirah that I wanted a wedding like hers, she seemed to take over my private life. She told me to worry only about my gown and she would handle the rest. She was thrilled that Grace wanted to be in the wedding, and after that I would catch them in quiet little conversations, with a lot of giggling that stopped when I came into the room.

Sirah did teach Grace and me to dance Persian Style. She even taught us some of the so-called belly dancing, but said that it was not Persian, but the men seemed to like it. She also seemed to be working on a special dance with Grace, but would not talk to me about it.

~~ § §~~

I became Hala Johnson in June. It was going to be a simple little affair at the Holiday Inn. Then when it became larger, we were thinking of renting the High School Gym. Finally we ended up at the Fairgrounds.

Gran, as old as she had become, threw a fit until Mom and Dad brought her clear from the Midwest.

It was an odd cultural mix. In one room, one could hear a country western trio singing, and in the next were strange sounding flutes, stringed instruments and Middle Eastern drums.

My wedding gown was a strapless sheath with a head to toe covering of ornate lace. There was a little gauze flap that revealed my face. It was for Frank to raise so he could kiss me. According to custom, I was not to touch it until he raised it; in fact I could not even get to it with out nearly raising the hem of the lace outer covering up to my face.

The ceremony was relatively simple, and then afterward at the cutting of our wedding cake, Grace did the Persian Knife Dance, nearly handing the knife to Frank and then it away. Everyone had a great time with the whole dance and surrounding comedy.

Frank and I went to separate tents to change to less formal clothing. Frank came out wearing western jeans, while I wore a modest dancing outfit. The women who could, including Gran for a short time, entertained the men. I was so surprised to see Mom doff her shoes and get out there too. It was just so much fun. Frank was openly leering at me, so I danced over there so I could really entice him.

“Keep that up, Little Girl, and yer gonna be in trouble”

“And if I get in trouble, Husband, what will you do?” I said, openly enticing him.

I had turned away from him and suddenly found myself picked off my feet and across his knee. He paddled me just enough to make a lot of noise, and make my bottom burn slightly and then set me on my feet in front of him.

We both laughed and I slipped away from him, to force him to chase me.

There were several large tents set up and then there was a tiny tent set up inside one of the large tents. Then one of my mom’s cousins started the rumor around that the bride and groom were to spend their night in the little tent with all the guests sleeping in the tent around it.

When I found out, I protested, and several of my male relatives picked me up, carrying me toward the door of the small tent. I did not understand this custom, and Sirah, who was not in sight at the time, had told me nothing about it! Completely scandalized, I began to scream at the top of my lungs; and fighting them as hard as I could.

Frank was separated from me by the crowd and had a strange leer on his face. The next thing I knew the western players and the Persian players had teamed up and were playing this licentious sounding song to the sound of heavy Middle Eastern drum beating.

“Frank, help me!” I screamed, but he did nothing. That was when I became completely hysterical; my words became incoherent and everyone could tell that I had panicked.

The next thing I knew Sirah was there beating the men off with a pan, and holding me tightly. “There, there, child, these men were just acting like fools and playing a joke on you.

Frank was suddenly there, and she whacked him one on the shoulder. “You tend to your precious wife now! How do you expect her to obey you if you don’t?”

He swept me up in those powerful arms, something he’d not done since the snow storm. I knew I was safe then. The men were still laughing and joking, still acting like fools.

“Frank, could we please go now? I want to sleep on your chest and listen to your heart beat.”

~~ § §~~
~~ § §~~

As of 5/24/09 I am now working on "Cowgirl Hala".

"Cowgirl Hala" has been published and it is somewhere in this mess. I have not been successful in setting up a 'menu system'.

In this tale I try to accurately portray other cultures, both on Earth and other planets as the story develops. As it looks now there will be about 8 more chapters, if not more.

This story depicts, Americans, British, and some Middle Easterners. It is NOT about Islam

"Cowgirl Hala" Follows.