Ahmed Aziz’s Epic Year

Three years ago, we moved for the first time in my life. In fact, apart from the two nights at a neighbor’s house when half the town was looking for my dad, I had spent every night of my twelve years in the same house, sleeping in the same room, in the same bed.
Three years ago, I learned that sometimes you have choices without having a choice. Like getting to eat out, as long as it’s an Indian restaurant. Or buying a new video game, as long as it’s “parent approved.” Or choosing something new to wear for Eid, as long as it’s fancy.
Three years ago, we had to leave Hawaii. We had no choice. We could have moved to California, or Japan, or Minnesota. We had choices.
My parents chose Minnesota.
Story of my life.

I was mad at Mom for making us move our lives while Dad was still sick. Seething: No conversations, no discussions.
I pulled a guava off the tree before getting in the car. The tree Dad had planted the day I was born, with a line scratched and a date carved on the trunk marking my height on every birthday. I slouched down, arms crossed, and baseball hat pulled low. I waited for Mom to notice how angry I was. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, tapping on the steering wheel, bobbing her head from side to side, and singing all the wrong words to a Prince song. “Gimme a red Corvette. Baby, you’re much too bad.” The guava was hard and still sour. Sara joined in from the back, clapping and snapping out of tune and out of sync. I was surrounded by weirdos.