The Door

Short Fiction by J M Jackson

My parents named me Ehsan. I have lived for eleven years. My parents saw five of those years. I have new parents now. But I have my same old wall. I remember many happy sunrises and many happy days spent sitting against my white wall. I share my wall with my gecko friends. They come to say hello each day. They run around my feet. They tickle along the wall.

I loved learning English when I was younger. I like to think in English now. When I look at my feet, I see sandals and not saplai. I found my sandals last year on the street. They were a bit bloody, but still good sandals. I cleaned them up fine. I am almost too big for them now. Or they are too small. I think I am growing. Or the world is shrinking.

Sometimes men throw coins at my sandals. I thank them in my heart for their kindness. God provides, and I am thankful. I collect the coins and sometimes I buy food. Uncle Fariad sells food from his shop on the next street. He is always shouting when I see him. He always makes sure I have food when I have coins. He is very kind. I think he looked after me when I was younger. He always has his pakul on his head. I do not think there is an English word for pakul. I suppose it is a hat. But that is too simple a word. His beard hugs his face like a bushel of spiders legs. I would like to have a beard like his when I grow up. I am not…