Evergreen Mills Road
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I actually don’t remember what the argument was about. It was a little past midnight on Nov. 24, 2011. I threw on an abaya over my pj’s, slipped into my shoes without socks, put on my hijab and my coat. I just wanted to take a drive and clear my head. It wasn’t supposed to be dramatic. I just wanted to cry in peace.
I made it to my car but then heard footsteps behind me. “Where do you think you are going?” he asked. “I just need to clear my head,” I responded as I opened the car door. “I don't think so. This is my car. I pay for it so you can’t take it anywhere,” he aggressively pointed out as he took the keys from me. He locked me out of the car, turned around and went back into the garage, and lowered the garage door behind him.
I had been so used to complying with his aggressive behavior and his threats but that night, I wasn’t going to let him boss me around. I turned around and started walking. I needed to get away from him and just be in silence. I made my way down Red Cedar Lane and came to Evergreen Mills Road. Do I make a left or a right? I made a right like I normally do when I would drive out of the neighborhood. In my anguish, I overlooked many things while going out for a walk at midnight.
Evergreen Mills Road is located in a part of Leesburg which is mostly farmland with some new residential developments. There are no street lights for miles, no rows of houses next to each other, and no sidewalk. There is one lane to drive southbound and one lane to drive northbound. The only light to see would be from the headlights of the cars passing by. At this time of the night, one car would pass about every 5 minutes.
I grew up in Flushing Queens, NYC. There are street lights, buildings, and people everywhere, even after midnight. Comparing my childhood to this particular night is as if I left a party and decided to go into the dark scary woods. I’m not used to being in areas where there aren't any people or lights. As I made my way onto Evergreen Mills Road, I looked at my phone thinking my husband would call or text me to see where I am and if I’m okay. I didn't see a text and no calls came in. The time was closer to 1 am and the battery on my phone was less than 50% charged. I started to panic a bit. There I was, a hijabi walking on a dark windy road in the middle of nowhere, at the oddest time of the night, all by myself.
If I fell into the ditch next to the road, no one would know. If a fox attacked me, no one would know. No one knew the anguish inside of me because no one saw me there that night. Yet, in that frightful state, I knew God was with me. So I started to speak to Him. I asked Him to give me the courage to make it to somewhere safe. I didn’t want to turn back to go to my husband's house, to his car, to his presence. That would have meant defeat.
At a certain point, I decided to call my friend who at that time had just gone through a divorce. In her worried voice, she told me to keep walking until I got to a place where there would be a busy intersection. The only intersection would be where Evergreen Mills Road meets the Dulles Greenway and it’s not a busy intersection at night. Walking at the pace of a turtle, two hours and 3.5 miles later, I reached the intersection and waited for my friend to pick me up. My feet and hands were red from the cold. I had her take me to a hotel in Sterling off of route 28. At around 3 am, I checked into a room, laid down, and cried myself to sleep. It was more like my body crashed from the emotional strain it had experienced.
At around 9 am my husband called and then texted me with threats of calling the police and reporting a missing person if I didn’t respond to him. Fearing the embarrassment that would cause my daughters, I told him where I was. He came to pick me up and the entire time he laughed as if what I had done was the most foolish thing he had ever heard of. “I didn’t even know you didn’t come back home cause I went to sleep,” he said.
There was no apology for the argument, no apology for not checking up on me, no apology for forgetting about me, no apology for pointing out his financial abuse, no apology at all. “I came to get you because the girls were asking for you,” he said. He made sure I knew where I wasn’t valued.
Last year, I wrote the poem below to remind myself of where I was and where I am today!
Remember
Past the midnight hour
As you walked along the dark isolated road
Cold, alone, and hurt
You thought he’d come to get you
But in his slumber, covered in a warm bed
You were not remembered
In the shuffling between the bushes
Critters paid you attention
Your face frozen from tears
Plastered to your face by the cold wind
Your heart shattered into shards of pain
You thought he’d come to get you
But in his slumber, covered in a warm bed
You were not remembered
Moving along because going back was too far
You asked God to help you as you looked up at the sky
That clear windy night was blinding
All you saw was darkness
In front, behind, on the sides, and above
You lost yourself that gloomy night on Evergreen Mills Road
You thought he’d come to get you
But in his slumber, covered in a warm bed
You were not remembered
You walked 3 miles that night
Deserted, scared, and defeated
On a dark road indicative of where life had placed you at that moment
He did not come to get you
And this you will always remember
Hurunnessa Fariad is Director of Outreach for Multi-Faith Neighbor’s Network. Ms. Fariad is also Head of Outreach & Interfaith at the All Dulles Area Muslim Society (ADAMS Center). Ms. Fariad is the Secretary of the Board of Directors at Virginia Interfaith Center for Public Policy, Leadership Circle for One America Movement and involved in many other organizations. Ms. Fariad is the Music Director of America's first Mosque Youth Choir, The ADAMS BEAT. Ms. Fariad is the founder and co-host of the Sister Act Podcast along with co-hosts Dr. Sabrina Dent and Rabbi Susan Shankman. Conversations centered around shame, stigma, rights and social justice issues and how our faith addresses these topics.
