Four Feet More

I finished this book last night, and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it. While the ending was hopeful, I guess wanted it to be a bit happier. The story did make me look at the Afghan community differently though and made me start thinking about a group of Afghan friends I had in high school.

I spent my teen years in the city of Fremont, California, which is where a portion of The Kite Runner takes place. It was strange to read about streets and locations which used to be part of my everyday life. Lake Elizabeth, which is mentioned a few times in the book, is the park where I spent endless weekends both playing and coaching soccer. It was through soccer that I came in close contact with Fremont's Afghan community. My brother was on a traveling team with 3 Afghan guys who were all extremely talented soccer players. Mo, Fo, and Obaid were also very funny and became great friends to both my brother and myself. Obaid came over to our house all the time and his mother would frequently send us Afghan food to sample. These were strange dishes featuring a lot of cinnamon and cilantro, and I didn't really enjoy them. It wasn't until later that I found out Obaid's mother was not the best cook, and her meals were a poor representation of Afghan food (which is actually quite good). Mo, Fo and Obaid would talk endlessly about Afghanistan and their dreams of returning there once the country returned to normal (this was both during and shortly after the Soviet occupation). Their memories of Afghanistan were much like those of The Kite Runner's main character, Amir.

Towards the end of my friendship with these guys, things took a turn into uncomfortable territory. For about 6 months, I had a crush on Fo (short for Fowad). While not tall, he was dark and handsome. More importantly, he was the best soccer player of my age I had ever met. This guy did things on the field that I had only seen professional soccer players do, and I was smitten. Then one day Mo and Fo said to me, "You would make a good Muslim wife." They approved of the fact that I didn't drink alcohol or eat pork (I was 17 and going through a vegetarian phase). They also would say things when they came over to our house such as, "Now, if you were an Afghan woman, you would get us something to eat and drink" (instead, I had plopped down onto the couch next to them without even asking if they were hungry). These comments slowly doused the torch I had been carrying for Fo, but unfortunately, both his and Mo's interest seemed to be kindled.

My first inkling that they were interested in more than friendship came when Mo began calling me every night. In between discussions about soccer and school, he would insert comments about how much I would like Afghanistan and how he'd like to show me his country someday. My suspicions were confirmed when he asked me out to a movie and dinner. As I climbed into his car, I was still trying to delude myself into thinking this was just a friendly outing. The gift he gave me of a gold necklace with a heart charm (surrounding a "J") pretty much jolted me out of my state of denial. While he was a complete gentleman, the date wound up killing my friendship with Mo. I was just wasn't attracted to him in that way and, stupid teenager that I was, I began avoiding him.

This was when Fo moved in. While we were away at a soccer tournament, he took me aside to sit next to him on the ledge of a fountain. He was nervously fiddling with a piece of paper in his hand, which he explained was a poem he had written. Would I like to hear it? I warily said yes, and then listened in silence as he read flowery phrases about a woman he had come to adore. After he was done, he looked at me meaningfully and asked if I liked the poem. "Yeah, it was good!" I replied, pretending to be oblivious, and then I got up and walked briskly away. Poor guy. His poem, while very sweet, marked the death of any lingering attraction I had felt for him. It reminds me of the following conversation from Pride and Prejudice:

Mr. Darcy: I thought that poetry was the food of love.

Elizabeth Bennet: Of a fine stout love, it may. But if it is only a vague inclination I'm convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.

Over the years since I last saw Mo, Fo, and Obaid, I have wondered about them frequently. Especially after the events of September 11th and America's battle against the Taliban in Afghanistan. I hoped that none of them had returned to their home country and that any family they had still living there were OK. About 5 years ago, I ran into Mo in the bar of a local restaurant. He was actually sitting at the bar, having a drink! I wasn't sure he would remember me, so I walked past, casting him covert glances. However, he did recognize both me and my mom (who I was having dinner with), and came to our table to say "Hi." He said his family was doing well and laughed at my surprise about him drinking alcohol. When mom asked him if he still wanted to return to Afghanistan he replied, "We're too corrupt for them now!" It was good to see that despite my awkward rejection of him, Mo harbored no ill feelings and was still the same funny guy he'd always been.

Even though I'm not sure how much I liked The Kite Runner, I did enjoy the memories it brought to mind. I gained a new understanding of friends whom I have not seen in a long time, and have begun to look at the city where I spent my teen years bit differently. Who knows? Maybe someday in the future I'll find myself at Lake Elizabeth again, this time with Jeff, Vika and Eamon, watching colorful kites flying in the air.