The Kite Runner and Candy Corn

 

 

 

There used to be a massive century plant on one of my regular routes. Decades old, it was the size of a compact car. Its owner enlisted it to help mark the seasons. Styrofoam candy canes glinted from its spikes in December, glittering hearts in February, miniature Uncle Sam hats in July. 

The old fellow was a fixture for countless runs and walks. Even unadorned, it was a sight. And then, one day, it was gone. 

 

It took me almost 20 years to read The Kite Runner, maybe as long as the century plant lived. One or more of my brothers were stationed in Afghanistan for a long time after the book was published and I chose to distance myself from the heartache I knew the story would carry. Being warned of the general doesn't necessarily prepare for the specific.

 

 

 

*Spoilers follow* 

My feelings about this book are condensed into the hotel scene in Islamabad when Amir learns Sanoubar has been approved for a US visa. We rejoice with Amir, are flooded with relief and hope, until the bathroom door is locked and the boy doesn't answer. 

 

There are many moments of happiness in the book, but the only true joy lasts for about five sentences. Then, the boy bleeding in the bathtub, the slow crawl to redemption and a new normal, and we leave the characters in the smoke of their losses. Still, they must survive. Sometimes, to survive is to forget everything that came before and start again.  

 

Now there is a new century plant in the old one's parking spot. It's small. It doesn't have nearly the presence of its predecessor. But this week, its spikes are decorated with styrofoam candy corn. 

 

Things go on as they have.

I borrowed The Kite Runner from my library via Libby. It is read by the author, Khaled Hosseini, and is 12hours and 1minute.