“Everything has changed; it’s not like when we were kids.” Mohamed says suddenly, looking towards the public beach, and Ahmed, who is sitting in his wheelchair underneath a parasol, at the end of the concrete pier.
I look over; Ahmed’s is staring at us. His arms are crossed; he keeps them this way for the rest of the day. I close my eyes and listen to a dull humping sound of the propellers coming from the big ships entering the Canal, streaming into my ear, like a heavy hand knocking.
Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door.
“What do you mean?” I say to Mohamed, while thinking to myself, what a stupid question.
“I am not sure, there are too many people, nobody is happy, it’s all work, but look at Ahmed, he’s happy, I know it sounds crazy, man…”
The sun dries the last drops of saltwater on my eyelashes and is starting to burn. I wave to Ahmed, signalling my return. Mohamed stays afloat on his back, his eyes look empty.
We all receive chances in life, some better than other, some we welcome and some we just have to face. In the end, we all die. Even if we don’t agree with death, the fact is everyone’s chance for life eventually runs out.
This was Ahmed’s last chance.