Chapter 1December 2001I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid, overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the trunk road close the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, just now it?s wrong what they say about the one-time(prenominal), about how you toilet bury it. I k straightway it is wrong because I well-educated that the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I recognise I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the ext cease cardinal years. One day last summer, my friend Rahim caravanserai called from Pakistan. He asked me to come see me. Standing in the kitchen with the recipient to my ear, I knew it wasn?t just Rahim Khan on the line. It was my broad(a) past; all my sins that I have not atoned for. after(prenominal) I hung up, I went for a walk along Spreckels Lake on the northerly edge of Golden Gate Park. The early-afternoon sun sparkled on the piss where dozens of miniature boats sailed, propelled by a short(p) breeze. and so I glanced up and saw a equate of kites, carmine with long blue tails, soaring in the sky.
They danced mellow to a higher place the trees on the west end of the park, over the windmills, floating billet by side like a pair of eyeball looking down in San Francisco, the city I now call home. And suddenly Hassan?s voice whispered in my head: For you, a mebibyte times over. Hassan, the hare-lipped kite runner. I run on a park bench near a willow tree. I thought about something Rahim Khan said just forward he hung up, almost as an after thought. The re is a way to be skillful again. I looked ! up at those... If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website:
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