Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

“I feel selfish.”
Hamza could not argue so he hugged him with one arm, stood there for some time and
pulled away.
His son smiled a bit. “It’s too cold. Can we go home?” Hamza pulled his scarf loose and
wrapped it around his son’s shoulders instead. The boy laughed as he adjusted it, pulling it
underneath his coat. “I want a bath.”
“Okay, but later. I’m hungry,” Hamza said and ushered the boy to follow him.
It was amusing to watch Jasem try to stay on his two feet in the rattling subway car. He
snickered, latching onto the pole by the door, suitcases in hand.
“Even I speak better English than this guy.” His son remarked when the conductor
slurred the name of the station with each stop.
Hamza let his son step out of the train before he did, walking slightly behind him.
“How am I supposed to know where to go?” Jasem laughed, tripping over his father’s feet
as he tried to slow down.
“Careful,” Hamza said. He moved a hand up to hold his son’s back but thought better of
it. “I’ll throw stones in which direction,” he told him.
The nice seats by the Highline that Hamza had reserved were now occupied but Jasem seemed
pleased by the adjacent table. The boy ordered quickly and then leaned back in his chair with an
exaggerated sigh.
“You worked hard, huh?” Hamza asked him.
Jasem nodded. “Actually. Is this really your life?”
Hamza folded his hands on the table.
“When did you come here before?”
“I just asked my friends what is the most expensive place with the most boring food, they
told me here,” Hamza answered. It was somewhat true.
Jasem scoffed. When the food came, he insisted on taking a picture of Hamza next to his
plate. Looking at his phone, he smirked “Wow, the lighting makes you look my age, mashallah.
No wonder you like this place.”
Hamza laughed but as he looked at the boy, he wondered what kind of life he thought his
father lived. He must think they are one and the same.
39