But that didn’t make things any less awkward when it was just him and me in the locker room.
In fact, it might have been more awkward.
Once again, Sohrab stripped himself completely, like it was totally normal for guys to be naked around each other. His skin was a volcano, with sweat running down every valley.
My face was experiencing some extreme thermal flux of its own. “Thanks for letting me borrow these,” I said as I tucked the laces back inside my borrowed cleats.
“You’re welcome.” Sohrab slung his towel over his shoulder. “It’s nice to share with you, Darioush.”
I peeled off the sweaty Team Melli jersey, acutely awarethat all my soccer/non-American football stuff had come from Sohrab, whether bought or borrowed.
I felt very inadequate as a friend.
But then it came to me: the way to make it up to him. Sohrab desperately needed a new pair of cleats. And I was an Iranian millionaire.
“Come on. The water should be warm again.”
Sohrab faced me and talked while we showered, which was weird, but at least there was a spray going and soap partially covering me. I didn’t feel quite so exposed, especially when I could turn away to rinse off and listen to him.
Sohrab told me all about the guys we had played with: how the games had started out with just Sohrab and Ali-Reza, and then Ali-Reza invited Hossein, and Sohrab invited Asghar, and one by one the group had coalesced like a solar system forming around a brand-new star.
I was amazed Sohrab could carry on a casual conversation about the dynamics of Yazd’s soccer/non-American football-playing youth while soaping up his penis.
I was even more amazed I managed to talk back to him while I scrubbed my belly button and my stomach jiggled like some sort of gelatinous non-humanoid life-form.
Maybe I was learning to have less walls inside me too.
Maybe I was.
On the way home, Sohrab said, “Thank you for playing, Darioush.”
“Thank you for asking me.”
Sohrab squinted at me. “I told you. Remember? Your place was empty.”
I smiled back at him. “Yeah.”
“But not anymore.”
“Not anymore.”
“Mamou,” I said. “I want to get Sohrab some nice soccer cleats. Uh. I mean football cleats.”
“Okay, maman. Do you know what size?”
“Forty-four.”
“Okay. I’ll have Dayi Soheil bring them next time he comes. They have better shopping in Shiraz.”
“I’ll grab my money.”
“It’s okay, Darioush-jan, you don’t have to.”
“Yes I do. He is my friend. I want to do something nice for him.”
“You are so sweet.”
I was amazed I didn’t have to taarof about it.
