I thought about what Mom had said: how she wished I had known him before. Back when he was warmer. Stronger. Happier.
I knew she was saying good-bye to that Babou too. The one who carried her piggyback through the streets of Yazd. The one who tucked her in at night. The one who picked figs fresh from the tree for her every summer.
Babou kissed Mom on the forehead and then ran his fingers through her hair. The same way Mom always did to me.
I didn’t think she would ever stop crying.
I watched Mamou and Babou wave to us, silhouetted in the front door, until Dayi Jamsheed’s SUV turned the corner and they disappeared.
Laleh was already out again, drooling on my hoodie.
Dayi Jamsheed’s SUV rode a lot smoother than the Smokemobile, even if he had learned how to drive from Babou, all evasive maneuvers and unsafe velocities.
With Laleh against me, and Mom talking to Dayi Jamsheed in soft Farsi, I started getting sleepy myself.
Dad looked back at me and Laleh. He caught my eyes, nodded toward Laleh, and smiled.
We were going home.
THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS
I thought I would feel different—transformed—by my trip to Iran. But when we got back home, I felt the same as always.
That’s normal.
Right?
Laleh and I took two days off from school to get over our temporal displacement. Dad and I still watchedStar Trek: The Next Generationevery night, sometimes with Laleh and sometimes by ourselves.
When we watched “The Best of Both Worlds, Parts I and II”—Dad made a special exception to the one-a-night rule for cliff-hangers—Laleh got scared and ran up to her room.
I hoped she’d be back.
But maybe not right away.
“It’s kind of nice when it’s just us,” Dad said.
“Yeah. But I don’t mind if Laleh watches. Sometimes.”
Maybe I did feel different after all.
Maybe something had changed.
Maybe it had.
Mom took me to get new wheels and a new seat for my bike while we were off, so I could ride to school on my own again. And on my first day back, I slung my Kellner & Newton Messenger Bag over my shoulder and headed out.
Even though I was still categorically opposed to messenger bags, it felt like the Kellner & Newton Messenger Bag had goneto Mordor and back with me. I couldn’t cast it aside now, even though Mom did offer to get me a new backpack.
Javaneh Esfahani knew where I had gone, and so did my teachers, but I hadn’t really told anyone else. So when I came back from spring break two weeks late, with a Yazdi tan, the rumors were already swirling.
“How was rehab?”
“Dude. I thought you died!”
“I heard you went to join ISIS.”
Fatty Bolger had the Chapel Hill High School Rumor Mill in overdrive.
