Ahmed stayed there with the receiver against his ear, feeling the humid basement air across his scalp, and now he faintly heard his father beginning to hum a tune. Ahmed listened to the quiet, absent, repetitive humming, and saw his father’s fully carpeted office with the windows looking out toward the gulf, and the leather blotter across the wide lacquer desk, and he was there with his father in the mundane joy of straightening all his papers before going home, making sure everything was in good order. Ahmed remembered again that it was evening there, the light starting to turn thick, and as he listened to his father putter over these last few things, he closed his eyes to hold back everything he had left to do that day.

*  *  *

After soccer practice Ben came back to the room to discover that Ahmed had gone to the bookstore and bought a red Game hat with SJS and ST. JAMES SCHOOL across the front.

“You can’t wear a St. James hat at school,” Ben said.

“To cover my hair.”

“It’s ridiculous!” Ben was suddenly breathless, and he had to put effort into keeping his voice under control. “You can’t advertise the place you are already.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ben again felt in himself the teacher, the coach. “What if you were at home, just sitting on your couch, and you wore a hat that said ‘Home’ on it. Who are you even saying ‘home’ to? You’re already home.”

“That sounds nice. Why not do that?”

“You just can’t.”

Ahmed looked at the hat he had bought, now so much less than it had been a few minutes before.

“Perhaps I could wear that hat?” Ahmed looked to where Marlboro Racing hung on the post of Ben’s lofted bed, and Ben followed his gaze.

“Which one?”

“The red one?” Ahmed pointed. “With the race car on it?” His r’s fluttered at each end of “race car.”

“The Marlboro hat?”

“Yes, that one.”

Ben hesitated.

“You are often telling me that my clothes are too formal. I would look less formal in it. Of course it will still be yours.”

Ben looked away from Ahmed. “I sewed a piece of webbing in the back so it would exactly fit me, so I don’t think it would even fit you.”

“Can I try? Maybe we are the same size.”

Ahmed stepped over and reached for the hat, and Ben thought of knocking his arm away, but then he thought of the hair down in the trash can. This would be a kindness; Ahmed would remember this. Ben could have a steadfast heart.

Ahmed lifted the hat off the post and pulled it first over the back of his head and then down over his brow.

“It fits!” It fit him perfectly. Ahmed looked at Ben and his smile dimmed. “I shouldn’t have it.”