One Half from the East by Nadia Hashimi Read Free Book Online Page A

Just a few days ago, I overheard her telling one of my aunts that she wasn’t sure if she’d done the right thing by making me a bacha posh . And the last time I tried to talk to her about being a bacha posh , she got so anxious that she didn’t even seem to be making sense.
    My sisters can’t help me. Things have totally changed at home. My parents act as if they have no idea that I’m a girl. My mother’s been sliding the biggest chunks of meat my way, and sometimes there’s none left for my sisters. Aliawhines and pouts, but Neela just shakes her head. I haven’t washed any dishes or swept the floor in almost a month. The chores I used to do have been divided up among my sisters. This bacha posh thing has put a big wall between us.
    Alia and Meena are in our bedroom. Meena is braiding Alia’s hair as they sing.
    â€œMeena, do you want to watch a movie?” There is electricity today, and it’s been so long since we used our precious DVD player. When we were in Kabul, my sisters and I would borrow DVDs from anyone who had them and watch anything we could get our hands on. “You remember, Meena, the one where the father dresses up like an old woman so he can play with his kids.”
    â€œThat movie was ridiculous,” she says. She shoots me a skeptical look. “It made absolutely no sense. What man would ever dress up as a woman?”
    Meena has a point but I don’t want to admit it. Even if it’s not at all a believable story, it made me laugh, especially when he was cooking and the stove set his fake breasts on fire.
    â€œOh, his voice was so funny. And his lady stockings!” Alia is giggling at the thought of it. Meena tugs at Alia’s braid as if to rein her in.
    â€œFine, then what can we do? We’ve all finished our homework. Do you want to go sit in the courtyard? Maybe play jacks?”
    â€œO-bayd,” she says, making her mouth a perfect circle to say the first syllable of my name. It’s dramatic, which is not usually her thing but I guess things can change. “If you want to go and play outside, then you should do it. You can do it. We’re staying inside because we have to help Madar and listen in case our father needs anything, and we might have to help Neela, too. Since you don’t have to do any of that stuff, you should go out and play whatever you want.”
    â€œMeena, what’s wrong with you? I just asked if you wanted to do something.” Meena is testy, like she’s mad about something but won’t say what it is so it comes out in different shapes and colors. I don’t think she’s really mad about me going outside into the courtyard. Alia looks over at Meena. She noticed too.
    â€œI want to go—”
    â€œWell, you can’t!” Meena snaps. She shuts Alia down like a lid slammed on a pot. Alia hunches forward, her brows knitted together in frustration. The younger you are in a home, the worse you have it. There are just that many more people who can tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard my grandmother say, God have mercy on the youngest in the house.
    â€œMeena, leave her alone!”
    Meena glares at me.
    â€œStay out of it. We sisters are talking. Go and do your . . . your . . . your boy stuff!” Meena’s seething as if this was something I chose.
    Alia keeps her mouth shut. It’s no fun being in the middle, either.
    â€œLeave that meat for Obayd. Let Obayd go and play. Fold Obayd’s clothes,” she says, mimicking my mother. “As if we don’t know that Obayd is not really OBAYD!”
    â€œIt’s not my fault, Meena,” I whisper. It is an awful feeling to think your sister is starting to hate you. “It’s not what I wanted. I’m not even good at it.”
    I turn to leave the room. Just as I hit the hallway, I hear Meena call after me, but I don’t go back