“Okay.”
“Darioush. When are we going to play football again?”
I bit my lip and stared down at my Vans. They were getting dusty.
I wasn’t sure I could endure another episode of penile humiliation in the showers.
But Sohrab said, “We don’t have to play with Ali-Reza and Hossein, if you don’t want to. We can go to a different field.”
That’s another thing I liked about Sohrab: He knew what I was thinking without me having to say it out loud.
And a third thing I liked about him: He gave me time to think things over.
Penile humiliation notwithstanding, I actually did have funplaying soccer/non-American football with Sohrab. And we couldn’t really play with only the two of us. Not if we were going to be on the same team.
I always wanted to be on the same team as Sohrab.
“I don’t mind,” I said at last. “We can play with the others.”
“You sure? I won’t let them tease you again. I promise.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “We can play whenever.”
Sohrab squinted at me. “Let’s go this afternoon. When we get back. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You are so good at it, Darioush. You should play for your school. When you go home.”
I imagined running onto a field in the Chapel Hill High School team kit. Go Chargers!
“Maybe I will.”
Fir and cypress trees lined the walkways of Dowlatabad Garden. We walked in the dappled shade, enjoying the mist blown off the burbling fountains. The path was paved with broken stones on one side and gleaming white diamond-shaped tiles on the other.
It was so peaceful.
“My dad loved to come here,” Sohrab said.
I liked that he felt safe talking about his dad to me.
“Do you get to visit him?”
Sohrab chewed his cheek and didn’t answer.
“Sorry.”
“No. Don’t be. It’s okay, Darioush.”
He sat on the edge of a fountain, and I sat beside him, bumping shoulders.
I don’t know why people say “joined at the hip.” Sohrab and I were joined at the shoulder.
I let him take his time.
“We got to see him at first. For the first few years. Once a month.”
The fountain gurgled.
