The wrong end of the tab.., p.24
The Wrong End of the Table, page 24
What if?
Well, what if not … ?
Earlier tonight, I stood in the outdoor quad of the Walt Disney Concert Hall, where I was meeting Michael for an orchestra performance. I watched as he emerged from the elevator. Before he saw me, he raked his hand through his hair in a gesture of part-confidence, part-uncertainty, and I was struck by how sexy that was. Had he really become cuter over the years? Or was he more attractive simply because I saw him as a human who was comfortable in his own skin after he’d sloughed off years of built-up baggage?
Michael told me he often felt like he was at the wrong end of the table, too. Whether an Iraq-born, Kentucky-raised Muslim Arab woman or a half-Mexican man from Northern California or someone else, I’ve realized that we’re all unified in our differences. We’ve all felt like an outsider at some point or other, and we have always worked to fit in. As I mulled this over, I thought, This is what it feels to be at the right end of the table.
I’ve probably always known this deep down, but I’ve had to travel a lifetime to let it emerge.
_______________
1 Old habits die hard.
Epilogue
It Takes a Village
How did I get here? I owe it to a multitude of people, in both personal and professional spheres of my life. This chapter is a shout-out to everyone who mentored me, was in my corner, and helped me get this book out into the world.
Beginning with Lowell Mate. This book is your doing, sir. The minute we sat down to dinner at Ca’ Del Sol restaurant a few Decembers ago and you asked, “Ever thought of putting your vignettes into a book of essays?” I had, but it was way down on my list, so I reprioritized. I’m pretty sure my life changed at that moment. Thank you also for connecting me with Amy Schiffman.
Amy, I remember sitting in your office having just begun writing the book, and you declaring that this would be the year. Literally an hour later, you found me my book agent. Thank you!
To said book agent, Murray Weiss at Catalyst, who has been a tireless advocate not just of this book, but of me in general: you are a genius, a gentleman, and a true mensch. Side note, my sister loves your name and gets a kick out of saying it often …
To my brilliant editor at Skyhorse Publishing, Kim Lim: you took my words and made them better than I could have imagined. It’s been a dream collaborating with you. I never knew this part of the process would be so fun!
And to the other individuals I’m grateful to consider part of my team:
To Ann-Marie Nieves, who might be the reason you’re reading this book right now. Jamie Mandelbaum: you’ve been with me since I was a teeny fish. Thanks for sticking with me and introducing me to the newest member of my team, Shadi Bakhtiari, who is awesome beyond words. And to Jeff Portnoy, thank you for believing in me. You are a tireless rock star, and I look forward to our future creative journey together.
To Reza Aslan for inspiring me by being a “relaxed and hip” Muslim back in a time when there were no such role models out there: thank you for your grace and generosity to me through the process of writing this book. And especially for connecting me with Safa Samiezadé-Yazd, who has become a great friend.
To Safa, your own story inspires me so much, and I can’t wait to see it in book form. You’ve helped me come out of my shell and “own my Islam,” and you’ve emphasized that no one can tell me how to practice my faith, which is why it’s called faith.
To my other Muslim sisters who helped pave my way and supported me, telling me to write whatever I want—and if it offends people then all the better, since that gets people talking, and dialogue is always good: Edina Lekovic, Marium Mohiuddin, Sue Obeidi. You are my heroes!
To Lydia Wahlke, who is the kind of friend who you know always has your back even when you don’t speak for years. Thank you for your support throughout the writing of this book and beyond, especially that time you were sick with a hundred-degree fever.
To Lance Still for putting me in touch with Judy McGuire, who helped me navigate the choppy waters of first-time publishing, tirelessly answering my endless questions and putting me in touch with the awesome Binders community of writers on Facebook.
To Debra Rogers for also helping me navigate these waters and who’s number one in the “I got your back, babe” category.
To Jude Roth, my friend for over a decade and sister from another mister who’s read and heard the stories in this book so many times. You pushed me to keep going when time and time again I faced rejection or crisis of faith. You have figuratively saved my life on so many occasions during our friendship—though I would not doubt that I could add the word literally in there should it one day come to that.
To Mike Daley, the perennial Will to my Grace. You are the best Irish Catholic brother I could ever ask for—and yes, fine, at times you can be a real “ONE.”
To my tribe who’s had my back for years: Nancy Cox, Nicole DeMasi, Suzanne Farmer, Matt Hamill, Lisa Kors, Camile O’Briant, Michelle Friedman, Chris Kanchananon, Shea Sinclair, and Gavyn Michaels—all of whom I’d happily move to a desert island with.
To the magical fairies in my life: Sara Jane Colgin, Femi Corazon, Julie DeSavia, Karen Evans, Emily Barclay Ford, Lisa Gould (Gouldie), Hansy, Corina Maritescu, Julie Harris Walker, and Cindy Yantis. You have performed miracles for my soul so many times just by being your lovely selves. And especially Lisa Davidson, who has an amazing talent for being down-to-earth and not of this world, all at the same time.
To Andrea Quinn for not only teaching me to receive and then let go, but also for your support over the past decade. I’m lucky to call you my friend—and “Fairy Godmother” seems more fitting than mentor.
To my mentors and teachers: Scoobie Ryan, Raymond Betts, Mrs. Roser (my third grade teacher), Marilyn Beker, and mostly Jeffrey Davis for teaching me that, when writing, always “come from character” and write from the inside out. I hope I’ve done you proud.
To my gals from Riyadh: Nuha Amara, Shahira Ahmed, Kindah Atassi, Dima Fares, Amina Khan, Rehana Khan, Rasha Mukhtar, Rula Omar, Sara Rahman, Howayda Sharabash, and Naushin Zulqarnain—I miss you girls and those surreal, formative years.
To everyone who opened the doors that led me to write this book: Karyn Benkendorfer, Deb Calla, Jen Grisanti, Alan Kirschenbaum (RIP), Charles Howard, Cathy Ladman, George Sunga, Ron Taylor, and Cathleen Young.
To Pilar Alesandra, who’s been a champion from day one, in spite of the fact that I tanked her ladies’ writing group with the “Great Ralph’s Sanitary Napkin Debacle of ’09” or that I later ruined both of her white couches by sitting down on an uncapped ink pen (not once, but twice). Thank you for smiling through both those incidents with your inherent grace and poise—and that lipstick! It never smears! And for continuing to be my friend despite these foibles.
To Lee Jessup, who began as my writing coach and very quickly became my friend. Like a champ, you effortlessly kept me disciplined even when I desperately wanted to meander or give up. For that, you’re a true hero.
To the boys who inspired the chapters on men and dating: AW, GO, JF, JW, KT, MC, TM, and Theodore—thanks for the inspiration (and memories). Even if we’re not in touch now, know that I think you’re good guys (though I probably hated you at the time when things were bad). Except for Theodore—I never even got a chance to get close to you. I hope you’re well.
To Francisco for giving me heart, John for unlocking its truth, Micah for freeing my soul, and Michael for giving it wings.
To the residents of Columbus, Ohio, I thank you in advance for being good-natured about the fact that I mentioned some less-than-stellar Columbus stories that colored my memories of early immigrant life in America. Thank you for understanding that it was only one lonely girl’s subjective experience and not at all indicative of any objective reality.
To Zaid, for being my conscience and rational brain in times when my family got to be too much. Also for still speaking to me even though I tried to decapitate you with a The Jungle Book record when we were kids.
To Lameace, for giving me the opportunity to make you laugh and whose distinctive giggle is therapy for anything that ails me.
To Jehayer Al-Johar for your big, open heart and believing in me always.
For my late maternal grandmother, Sadiqa, who, when I was born, declared that I would be someone to be reckoned with.
To my parents, not just for giving me these delicious stories, but for imbuing me with the strength of character to find humor in life.
To Dad, who gave me my love of books and thirst for knowledge and taught me the importance of having a childlike wonder no matter how old you are, because: “Many things are possible,” and “Anything is possible.”
And above all, to Mom, who always knew I could and would. Everything I am is because of you.
About The Author
Ayser Salman was born in Iraq back before it became a curiosity and moved to the United States when she was a toddler. She spent much of her childhood in the 1970s trying to fit in among her blond-haired, blue-eyed counterparts and telling everyone to call her Lisa because it was “just easier that way.”
After shunning her parents’ dream of her becoming a doctor in favor of journalism school, Ayser worked as a news producer in Kentucky before moving to Los Angeles, where she is an award-winning producer and editor for promos and original content for clients such as Miramax Films, Disney, Universal Pictures, and FX. Ayser also teaches writing at LMU School of Film and Television. In her free time, she writes and speaks about her experience of being the “Other” in America.
Ayser lives in Los Angeles, where you’ll probably find her skating on the beach (with old-school roller skates, thankyouverymuch).
You can find her on:
Instagram: @aysersalman
Twitter: @aysersalman
Facebook: www.facebook.com/aysersalman
Website: www.aysersalman.com
Ayser Salman, The Wrong End of the Table
