I’ve never liked April Fools. Like the constant spring rain, the memory of it seems to hang over the whole month, a constant reminder of how stupid you were to believe in things being normal. Then again, you’d have to be pretty naive to believe that.
Things have felt off at home for a while now. Ever since I got back home from the third culture kid retreat, my parents haven’t been able to stop talking about the importance of ‘transition.’ Not long after, mom starts sorting through the house again, taking inventory in the evenings while dad clocks overtime meetings with his superiors around the base. Even with the attempts at subtlety, I know what it means without them having to tell me. We’re going to move again. I’m not exactly surprised. Nowhere is permanent. Three years there, another two here—it gets easier to say goodbye once you know that they’re coming. It’s what we do best.
The moment there is no more room for doubt, I cut off all contact with Henry. Even though I am used to the drill, I don’t want him getting any more attached to me than he already is. Not surprisingly, he doesn’t exactly make it easy. At school, our schedules have turned into a game of hide and seek, with him taking every chance he has to try and confront me about it. As much as I hate the risk, I eventually start shifting to get away from him, disappearing into the crowd of students before he has a chance to catch me. Is it a jerk thing to do? Yes, of course, it is. I know it is, but it’s better to hurt him now than crush him later.
Still, as awful as I feel about it all, there is a part of me that is almost relieved. Another move means a fresh culture, a new form to shift into, and the chance to finally be back around people who understand me. Even though I’m still in contact with Lydia and others from the conference, there are no amount of texts and calls that can make up for the thousands of miles between us. Going back to a military base overseas, I can finally be back with people who don’t expect me to be something I’m not. People who understand the balance between worlds. My people.
By the time my parents finally sit me down near the end of the month, I’m fully prepared for the news they need to tell me. I’m wrong.
I sit on the couch in the middle of the living room and hear the raindrops clinging to the windows as they slide slowly down. Beside me sits mom, her arms tensed like she is preparing to give me a hug. A few feet away stands my dad, leaning back against the side of the loveseat as he speaks. When he finally finishes, they both watch me silently, expectantly. All I can do is repeat the word dumbly.
“Retiring?”
“It was earlier than either of us expected,” admits my dad, glancing toward mom and back again. “I don’t think your mother or I expected to be moving permanently back to the States any time soon. But especially after we visited my family over Thanksgiving…”
“That trip was a disaster,” I cut in suddenly, my face red. “Just ask mom. She and I were both miserable coming back.”
“That’s why we knew it was so important, Advika,” says my mom, squeezing my hand. “We want you to have a relationship with your family in Virginia. To get to know them, to bond with them.”
Jerking my hand away, I shake my head. “And you decide that’s a priority now?”
“It isn’t just about them, though,” continues dad, taking a step towards us. “We want to have time with you, Advika. I want to be here with you, to get the most out of these last two years before college.”
“Then be here, dad,” I counter, staring at him. “Retire here. Buy a house here. If we have to stay, then at least give me something I can hold on to.”
“We’ve already been looking at several properties not far from your grandparents, sweety,” replies my mom patiently. “I know this will be a hard transition, but-”
“No!” The word comes out louder than I mean it to, and suddenly I’m standing, staring at them. “You keep using that stupid word…” I press, feeling my hair shift a tone redder, “transition. You ship me off to some camp in the name of ‘transition,’ thinking I’ll learn something about myself, but instead, all I realize is how starved I am for people who don’t make me feel like I need to. Like… like I don’t need to keep playing this stupid game!”
“Advika, we think this is the best thing for you if only-”
“No!” I shout it this time, my features shifting wildly. “Do you not hear me? I’m done playing this game! I’m done changing my entire identity on a whim to fit what makes you happy.”
As I stand there, my shifting still spasming, my parents only stare at me, their expressions unreadable. When my dad finally breaks the silence, his voice is quiet. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
I can see Lydia in my mind’s eye, smiling, beaconing to me. Yet suddenly, it isn’t Lydia before me anymore. It’s Henry. Feeling my fists clench, I stare back at him. “You can take away what I need,” I say at last, my voice calm, “or you can take away what I have. But I won’t let you take away both.”
Neither of my parents follows me as I make my way up the stairs to my room. Not even Mac dares follow as I pass him in the hall. Falling against the inside of my bedroom door, I slide down to the floor, my features shifting uncontrollably.
It isn’t the jokes themselves that make April Fools so unbearable, not even when they cut deep into your soul. It’s the terrible feeling of thinking you were above them, of being confident you weren’t naive enough to care… and then being wrong.
When the shifting finally stops, I’m no longer mad. I’m not even sad. I’m resolved. There’s no point in blaming now. No point in wishing things were different. All that is left is what I know best.
With several pairs of clothes shoved into a pack, I gingerly slip out of my window onto the edge of our dripping roof, sliding down and into the puddled grass below. As I make my way over the back fence, I can hear the porch swing creaking behind me, straining as it shifts slightly in the night air. By the time I reach the road, the high school girl is long gone, her form replaced by the thin frame of a hitchhiker. Back in my room, as Mac paws at the door, a single note lays on my open window sill:
I am going to find my people.
Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/blurry-lights-rain-window-blinds-926705/