Free One Half from the East by Nadia Hashimi

nudged forward in my best boy pose. My sisters look at me. Meena rolls her eyes, Alia giggles, and Neela pretends not to notice.
    â€œThis is not easy for him, Obayd.” My mother sounds tired. “Your father loved putting on his uniform every morning. He felt good when he was working. He earned money that fed us, bought our clothes, and kept us in a decent apartment. He doesn’t have that now. And when you have no reason to leave the house, you have no way of coming home happy.”
    â€œBut it’s not his fault.”
    â€œOf course it isn’t. But it’s hard to tell a one-legged man that it’s time to stand up.”
    I think I know how my father feels. Rahim seems to think we can stand like boys, but sometimes I wonder if he and I have everything it takes to do that.
    There is a large plate of rice and lentils and a bowl of curried vegetables. I pour the saucy mix over the pile of rice and pick out a spoon and fork. I take it into the bedroom, balancing everything so I can knock on the door frame and announce myself. There isn’t an actual door, just an opening where a door should be, which is kindof like my father—there’s just empty pant where his leg should be.
    My father is curled up on his side, his face to the window so I can’t see it.
    â€œPadar,” I say softly. I take two steps in. The explosion in Kabul blew out one of my father’s eardrums, too, so he can’t hear very well. I make my voice a little louder. “Padar?”
    â€œMm. What is it?”
    â€œI’ve brought you some dinner.”
    â€œNot hungry.”
    â€œMother says you haven’t eaten yet.”
    â€œI’ll eat when I’m hungry.”
    I stand there for a moment and feel myself getting angry with my father. I know he’s missing a leg, but what about the rest of him? He’s got hands and arms and a whole other leg that he could be using. It’s like everything good, all his smiles and jokes, were in that leg, and when the bomb went off it sent all of it flying away.
    Is he going to stay like this forever?
    I blurt something out before I have a chance to give it a second thought.
    â€œWhen are you going to get up?”
    My father isn’t fazed by the frustration in my voice.
    â€œPadar, why don’t you sit with us? Why don’t you even listen to your radio anymore?”
    When he doesn’t answer, I feel myself getting angrier and then scared that he’s so mad he won’t even talk to me anymore.
    â€œPadar?”
    â€œDidn’t you hear your mother, Obayd?” he says in a flat voice. “You can’t tell a one-legged man to stand up.”

Twelve
    I t’s the end of the school year and the start of a three-month break from classes. I’ve always liked winter, even if it does come with some problems. In Kabul, the snow would mix with dirt and turn the streets into a brown, slushy disaster. It’s doing the same thing here in our village. I don’t mind because there’s a lot of good stuff that comes with the snow too, like snow games and holidays and air that’s crisp.
    It is my first winter as a boy. Now that I’ve been one for almost two months, I can’t wait for the adventures this new season will bring.
    Rahim knocks on my door with his friends Abdullah and Ashraf. Rahim told me that they’ve always known he’snot a full boy and that they never seemed to care. While that makes them some of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, I still feel a little jealous when they’re around because it means Rahim splits his attention three ways and I don’t get the biggest share. Rahim is Abdullah’s best friend too. What I really like about Rahim is that even when he’s got all of us around him, he still makes me feel like I’m more than just a regular friend. I feel really good about that, especially since I’m three years younger.
    Since we don’t have school,