One Half from the East Read Online Free

length, but she doesn’t quite know how to make it look like a boy’s head. She just keeps cutting from the ends until I have a shaggy cap of hair. I still look like a girl. My mother takes a step back to judge her work. She looks like she might cry.
    Meena steps in and takes the scissors from my mother’s hands.
    Snip, snip, snip. Clumps of hair fall at my feet.
    Some people can look at something and know how to make it better. That’s Meena’s thing.
    When Meena is done, I stand and check out my reflection in the window that looks into our kitchen. My ears are much bigger than I ever realized. I turn my head to the side. There’s no horse tail to swing. There are no knots for my mother to gently brush out. My purple hair clips—the plastic ones that look like tiny bows—I can’t use at all. My hands are on my head, pulling at nothing. What has she done to me?
    â€œMeena, take her inside so she can change into theshirt and pants. I’m going to clean up here.”
    My mother grabs a short broom and starts to sweep my hair from the courtyard.
    â€œI don’t need Meena’s help. I can dress myself.” The words come out with more spunk than I mean them to. I wonder if something’s happening to me already.
    I go inside and find the blue plastic bag. Inside are a pair of navy blue cargo pants with four pockets, which are four more than I’m used to having, and a gray button-down shirt with a wolf patch sewn onto the left arm, just below my shoulder. The wolf looks fierce, his mouth open just enough to reveal two dramatic fangs. I try to copy his snarl. I put the pants on and feel like I’ve stepped into another world. Meena comes into the room and stares at my backside.
    â€œI can see your whole body,” she whispers.
    I’m covered from head to toe, but not with the shapeless shift of a dress. These clothes outline my form so clearly that Meena could (but doesn’t) measure the distance from my shoulder to my hip or from my collarbone to my knee. I look over my own shoulder, twisting my neck as far as it will go. I want to see my behind. I want to know what it looks like in pants. It’s hard not to feel naked. Aside from when I’m taking a bath or the day I was born, this is as naked as I’ve ever been.
    â€œWhy are you watching me, Meena? Girls shouldn’t bewatching boys.” It’s not something I actually mean. The words and the boldness are things I need to try on—like the cargo pants.
    â€œOh, that’s just great. Now we have to deal with your attitude, too. Don’t think I’m going to treat you any differently. You’re still Obayda to me, today and tomorrow and all the days after that.”
    I step in front of her, close enough that she can see the flyaway hairs she missed cutting. “What do you really think? Do I look like a boy? Am I really going to be able to do all those things Madar talked about?”
    Meena shrugs. “Why not? You look like you’re one of the boys now.”
    I run my hands over my head. There’s nothing to braid, brush, or tangle.
    I’m not sure how I feel about this.
    â€œBut how will I know for sure that I can do all those things?”
    Meena thinks for a second, tapping her finger on her rose lips. “Think of the things that only a boy could do and then go and do them. If everything goes well, then you’ll know for sure.”
    She might be right. In a stroke of brilliance, I come up with a plan to test this out.
    I don’t have a brother, but I’ve seen how boys pee. I saw a little boy in the market once, standing by the edge of aditch. His mother was trying to fan out her skirt and cover him from view, but I could still see. He couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, so it was okay for me to steal a curious peek. I saw him lean his shoulders back and thrust his hips forward, and a yellow stream made a high arc before