A doll’s coat

Dear Anya,

I found it, the same coat, tucked away in a cardboard box, except years have passed and our worlds are different.

The doll’s coat, soft and furry in texture, was made from a pale blue coat that belonged to your older sister Ayesha. It was relatively new when one of the sleeves caught at the door and was badly torn. Your mother cut it up and secured the better parts for your tall barbie’s new coat.

You were in ninth heaven when you came that afternoon to the play loft at Bably’s house. “Look,” you cried. “Look what Amma made for Nimmi!” You held your doll out and we stared. We also noted the pair of wooden heels your brother had added. Nimmi looked so pretty that we forgot all the new things we had—the cane sofa set Abba got for my doll’s house, the porcelain tea-set that Mishu’s aunt sent her from Singapore, and Bably’s Tom & Jerry tiffin box. You were jubilant and trusting. You failed to see the green flames flickering in our eyes while we fawned over the new Nimmi.

We left our dolls on the cane sofa with the tea cups to chat to our heart’s content. When it was time to go, you found Nimmi sitting only in her wooden heels and short skirt. The lovely blue coat was nowhere to be seen. I watched you leave, your pigtails bobbing up and down, your face twisted in anguish. On my way home, I hugged my sofa set and doll to myself, pretending to be glad that nobody took my stuff.

You came with Ayesha the next day and visited all three of us looking for Nimmi’s coat. Our mothers were upset and ordered us to bring out our things. But the blue coat seemed to have evaporated.

For days, you sulked and kept away. After a few months we started playing again. But your eyes held a suspicion I had not seen before. And you never brought your nice things over again.

A year later, you and your family left the town altogether.

Two months ago, I spotted you on Facebook. You laughing brown eyes have regained faith. You have built a life elsewhere, made new friends.

I want to tell you all about the stolen coat that I had carried home and hid among the broken things in the attic. I want you to know that it helped nobody and it did not fit any of my dolls. I thought often of returning it to you, but didn’t want to be dubbed as a thief.

But how I look back on those days some 20 years ago! We were such happy kids till the day I chose to steal innocence.

If I confess now, would you care to forgive and hug me back? Or, perhaps you would laugh and say, “Let bygones be bygones!” and return to your seamless life?

With love and regret forever,

Radia.

Sohana Manzoor is a writer, translator and academic from Bangladesh, with a PhD in English from Southern Illinois University Carbondale. Her work has appeared in Bellingham Review, Litro, Eclectica, SUSPECT, Best Asian Short Stories 2020, and elsewhere.