Darius the Great Is Not Okay(74)

He chewed on his lip for a moment.

“Can you come out? For a little while?”

I glanced back at Dad, sitting on the couch watching soap operas with Laleh. He nodded at me.

“Sure.”





THE CRACKS OF DOOM



I followed Sohrab down the silent street. He had something flat and rectangular clutched in his right hand, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

I tried to swallow away the lump in my throat, but all that did was move the lump down to my heart.

Being around Sohrab had never made me so nervous before.

The park—our park—was dark and empty. The mercury lights around the restroom cast the whole thing in a dim orange glow, barely enough to see the links of the fence as we climbed. Sohrab did an awkward one-handed climb, careful not to drop whatever it was he was holding.

We sat with our legs over the edge of the roof, surveying our Khaki Kingdom one last time. Sohrab didn’t say anything, and I didn’t, either.

When had the silence between us crystallized?

I rubbed my palms on my pants to try and get the mesh marks off them.

When I couldn’t take the quiet anymore, I said, “I’m so sorry about your dad.”

Sohrab shook his head. “Thank you. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I hated this new reality.

I didn’t want to live in a world where Sohrab and I couldn’t talk about things anymore.

“Don’t be sorry. Maybe one day I will.” Sohrab handed me the small package he was carrying. “I got you something. For your birthday.” It was wrapped in Yazdi newspapers, same as his cleats had been. “Happy birthday, Darioush.”

“Thank you. Should I open it now?”

“Yeah.”

I pulled the paper off and crumpled it so it wouldn’t blow off the roof. Inside was a framed photo of Sohrab and me.

It was from Nowruz, though I couldn’t say for certain when it had been taken. Sohrab and I were leaning against the wall of Mamou’s living room. Sohrab had his arm over my shoulder, and we were both laughing at something.

I wondered if Sohrab would ever laugh again.

“Is it okay?”

“It’s perfect,” I said. “Thank you. You’re always giving me things. I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad. I want to.”

I wiped my eye—a minor containment breach. “I never had a friend like you.”

“Me neither,” Sohrab said. He squeezed my shoulder. “You don’t care what anyone thinks. You know?”

My ears burned. “I care what everyone thinks, Sohrab.”

“No you don’t. Not really. You don’t try to change yourself. You know who you are.” He bumped shoulders with me. “I wish I was like that. I always try to be what my mom needs. What my amou needs. What you need. But you are the opposite. You are happy with who you are.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s really me. You’ve never seen what it’s like back home. How everyone treats me.”

“They don’t know you, Darioush.” Sohrab grabbed my shoulder. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“I wish you could see yourself too.” I swallowed. “You’re the only person who never wanted me to change.”

Sohrab blinked at me then, like he was fighting a containment breach himself.

“I’m going to miss you, Darioush.”

“I’m going to miss you, Sohrab.”

“I wish . . .”

But I didn’t find out what Sohrab wished.

The azan rang out, piercing the still night.

Sohrab turned and listened, his eyes fixed on the Jameh Mosque in the distance.

I turned and watched Sohrab. The way his eyes lost their focus. The way his jaw finally unclenched.

I put my arm over his shoulder, and he linked his over mine.

And we sat like that, together.

And the silence was okay again.



* * *





The house was quiet when we got back, except for Dad and Babou in the kitchen playing Rook again.

“What time do you leave?”

“Early. Mom says we have to leave by five. Which means we’ll probably leave by six.”

“Probably,” Sohrab agreed.

He looked at me, and I looked at him.

I didn’t know how to say good-bye.

But then Sohrab pulled me in and hugged me.

He didn’t kiss me on the cheeks like a Persian.

He didn’t slap my back like a Soulless Minion of Orthodoxy either.

He held me. And I held him.

And then he sighed and pulled away.

He gave me this sad smile.

And that was it.

Maybe he didn’t know how to say good-bye either.

I loved Sohrab.

I really did.

And I loved being Darioush to him.

But it was time to be Darius again.



* * *





Dayi Jamsheed came to drive us back to Tehran in the morning. I was showered and ready by five, so I waited out in the living room. I had finished the appendices of The Lord of the Rings, but I still had some econ reading left.