I wake with a throbbing headache. Stiff and tired, I turn on my phone to check the time. It’s already noon.
For a moment, I stare at the screen, unable to understand it. I’ve never slept in this late. I feel heavy, like my brain is full of scratchy wool.
Two voice mails and fourteen missed texts flash on the screen. Most are from Dan. I scroll through them, too groggy to really care. The first couple are from last night:
Hope you got home okay. The finale was cool!
I think I had too much sugar, LOL. Still awake!!! Are you?
You going to go to the rec center tomorrow? Lots of us are!
You should COMMMME!
The next are from this morning:
RISE AND SHINE! I’m going to the rec center. You should come!
I’m here!!! Are you coming?
Coach and Juniper are dating! SO WEIRD!
I just totally kicked Benj’s butt! You need to be here!
We’re going to get lunch at McDonald’s and play some more games. COME!!!
?????
Are you alive????
I click through Layla’s three messages—two asking if I’m all right and one inviting me to the lunch with the others. Then I toss my phone aside. I don’t feel like answering.
Today is the deadline. I only have $360 saved. It’s not enough. I can’t believe I was so stupid about the laptop.
Maybe the rebab won’t sell the instant it’s put on sale. That’s likely. But how am I going to come up with $340 when I’m competing against all of Cambridge? All of the internet, for that matter, if he puts the ad up on eBay. The more I try to think of options and possibilities, the more my head hurts. I find myself just staring at the ceiling.
My stomach cramps, like it wants to remind me it’s still Ramadan. I’m hungry enough to eat a whole lamb.
Baba cracks open the bedroom door. “You’re awake—that’s promising,” he says, leaning on the wall. He points to folded clothes beside my bed. “Get dressed and wash. They’ve officially announced the sixth is Eid, so I thought you could use one of your presents a day early.”
Baba leaves the room. I prop myself on my elbow. On top of my neatly folded old jeans and socks is a new, secondhand Manchester United T-shirt—a little thin and well worn. The heaviness in my head settles on my shoulders.
At home in Afghanistan, we used to spend the whole week preparing for Eid. It was the busiest time at the bazaars. Plar would take me to find new clothes to wear for the holiday, and we would pick out a shalwar kameez for him and a collarless one for Baba. The morning of Eid al-Fitr, we’d celebrate with gift giving, music, and a breakfast of roht. My mor could never make it without burning the top. I miss the taste of slightly charred sugar.
Later in the day, my cousins would come, crowding into our house, excited about gifts of money from the adults. They would sing, “Eidie, eidie!”
I gather the clothes. Baba must have had to save so much to afford the shirt.
And I didn’t get him the rebab.
Just to make myself more miserable, I look at my record one more time. I skip down to the trade list itself, ignoring my other notes.
COMPLETED TRADES:
1. Manchester United key chain -> iPod
2. Coins -> Game Informer magazines
3. iPod -> Figurines
4. Figurines -> $145
5. Magazines -> Combat boots
6. Story -> $50 + textbooks
7. Combat boots -> Art supplies
8. Art supplies -> Guitar
9. Textbooks -> $205
10. Guitar -> $80
Pushing back a sigh, I slip into the bathroom. I wash my face first, trying to wipe away the lingering shame from last night, and then get dressed. My old jeans have shortened, or I’ve grown in the past month, because the hem hits above my ankle. It isn’t hard to guess that I’ll wake up to new trousers tomorrow, which only makes me feel more guilty.
When I come out, Baba glances up from his work of tidying the living room. “It fits? Good.”
“Thank you,” I say, unable to look at him directly.
“You are very welcome. Come, sit and rest.”
For a while, Baba plies me with questions about the rec center, about the team and my friends. It is more than he has tried to talk in the past month. I’m not sure if it is the spirit of Eid al-Fitr, or if he is trying to distract me from last night. I answer as much as I can, though it feels like talking through a fog. I’m numb and exhausted.
After an hour or two, I lie down in my room again. My mind keeps drifting to Eid. In Afghanistan, we would go home-to-home feasting. We would eat until we couldn’t stand another swallow—and still we would eat more. It was my mor’s favorite time of year—the only time when we could be fairly certain we would see a full day of peace.
My phone buzzes every twenty minutes or so, but I ignore it.
Perhaps the rebab is already placed in the shop window. Perhaps someone has already come to take it.
Baba looks in to check on me around four fifteen. “How are you, Sami?”
“I’m fine,” I say, plucking at the carpet on the floor beside my mattress. My phone buzzes twice in a row.
“Is that one of your friends?” Baba asks.
I nod.
“Well, why don’t you answer them?”
I sigh, but explaining that I can’t find the will to care about anything—not even soccer—sounds like too much work. Sitting up, I look at my notifications. I have a few dozen messages from Dan, but I only look at the last couple.
You need to come!!!!
The rec center is open late today!
We have a surprise for you!!!
Everyone wants to see you!
Be here by 5 OR ELSE.
If you don’t come, I’m going to get you!
I know where you live!!
PLEASE COME???
“It’s Dan,” I tell Baba. “He wants me to come play soccer.”
“Well, then why are you moping on your bed? Go and play.”
I look at him, surprised. “But you wanted me to spend time with family.”
Baba lifts his eyebrows. “And you are spending time with family by languishing in here?”
“Earlier—you hated when I went with them.”
“I didn’t hate it; I just wanted you to stop running from me. Friends bring hope, Sami jan. That is all I want for you—hope.” He straightens from leaning on the doorframe and waves me out. “Have fun. I will prepare a big iftar meal for when you come home.”
I hesitate still, part of me embarrassed to face Layla and Dan after my strangeness at the celebration. But I realize that this, like the shirt, is a gift Baba is giving me—the gift of letting me go.
So I rise and hug him. Then I pull on my shoes and jog down the hall and stairs to the street. It feels good to move.
I text Dan: Coming.
He answers seconds later: YAAAASSSSSS!!!!!