Free The Terrorist’s Son by Zak Ebrahim Page A

take a leap of faith and tell my two best friends who I really am. I tell them I’m the son of El-Sayyid Nosair.
    I confess to my friend Orlando first. We’re on a class trip, sitting on a bench in the courtyard of a museum. The name Nosair means nothing to him, so I take a deep breath and explain. I tell him that my father murdered a rabbi named Meir Kahane and helped orchestrate the attack on the World Trade Center. Orlando looks incredulous. He’s so shocked by the horror of it all that all he can do is laugh. He laughs so hard that he falls off the bench. He does not judge me.
    The second person I tell is my friend Suboh. We worktogether at a supermarket in a bad neighborhood and, since he’s old enough to drive, he drops me off at home when we’re done for the day. Suboh is Palestinian. He knows the name El-Sayyid Nosair and the dark things it stands for. I tell him that Orlando is the only other person in the world whom I’ve told about my father—or that I plan to tell. We’re sitting in Suboh’s car outside my house. He looks at me and nods. I’m afraid of his reaction. The windows rattle as trucks go by. When Suboh finally speaks, he does in fact rebuke me, though not in the way I’d feared: “You told Orlando before you told me ?” I feel a rush of relief. If my friends don’t blame me for my father’s sins, then maybe, slowly, I can stop blaming myself. I feel as if I’ve been carrying something enormous and heavy, and finally put it down.
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    In 2001, we pick up and move yet again. My sister has married and moved away. The rest of us head to Tampa, where Ahmed thinks he can find work. Yes, Ahmed is still around—he’s like mold in the walls we can never get rid of. But it’s becoming clear that he can’t tell me what to think any more than my father can. His reign of terror is getting pathetic, and it ends the day he insists my brother and I get summer jobs.
    We’re thrilled at the thought of having some money, even if Ahmed will take half of it to pay bills. It’s hiring season at Busch Gardens, so we troop downto the theme park and fill out applications and sit for interviews with a mass of other sunburned teens. We expect nothing. Miraculously, we both get hired. I’m going to be a Rhino Rally guide, which is beyond awesome: Plunge into the deepest heart of Africa! On our guided tour, you’ll experience all the excitement of a safari and come face-to-face with some of the planet’s most majestic animals. Come on! Let’s aim for adventure! My brother will be working Congo River Rapids, which he insists is even more beyond awesome: Get ready for the wildest river ride ever! Once you’ve climbed aboard a giant Busch Gardens raft, you’ll shoot perilous rapids, pass under pounding waterfalls, and investigate the strangest of water caves. What are you waiting for? Let’s get wet!
    Some teenagers might yawn at the thought of working at a theme park, but my brother and I are elated. We are babbling, high-fiving idiots in Pittsburgh Penguins T-shirts. In Tampa, there’s sunshine, there’s water everywhere, there’s salt in the air. The world is opening up to us at last. For years, we’ve been on the run from our father’s legacy, outcasts, terrified. For years, Ahmed has beaten us and watched us in such a creepy way that we’ve never felt safe. But now, my brother and I will lead safaris and river rides. We will go somewhere that Ahmed can’t follow. The only way to get into Busch Gardens is to work there or buy a ticket. If he wants to spy on us now, it’s going to cost him fifty bucks.
    And this is how I finally, finally, finally get the chanceto discover life on my own terms: my father is locked in, and my stepfather is locked out.
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    I’m eighteen now, and over the summer in Tampa, all the teenage