Meena

After we’d been stuck in the car for over an hour, Sahil finally stopped in front of a tall stuccoed building. “We have arrived,” he announced as he put the car into park. I got out, stretching my cramped legs, and looked up. There were floors of windows along the exterior of the building and yards of colorful fabric were flowing from clotheslines hanging along the open-air balconies. Sahil, Ahmed, and the uncles took turns unloading our luggage from the basket above, while the younger cousins chased each other in the courtyard. As the aunties paid the rickshaw drivers, Jamila aunty led my mother and me toward the main entrance of the building.

“This place looks so different from how I remember,” my mother said, touching the newly painted exterior as we stepped inside. This was the home my mother had grown up in—where she and Jamila aunty held carom competitions and flew brightly colored handmade kites from the terrace. It was the home where my father first saw my mother; the place he picked her up from before they departed for America. It had been more than twenty-five years since my mother had last seen her childhood home, and she looked around curiously, taking in all the details. Jamila aunty explained how the building had been renovated a few years back, but the one thing they left untouched was the rickety old elevator.

“Ah, yes, this I remember.” My mother laughed as she pulled back the crisscrossed door of rusted iron and stepped inside.

“Remember that time me, you, and Vishali from the third floor got stuck in here?” she said to Jamila aunty, laughing. There was a giant gap between the elevator and the lobby floor where I was standing, and staring into it reminded me of a deep black abyss. Seeing all the levers and ropes exposed above the wooden box made me very nervous.

“We refused to ride this thing for months afterwards!” Jamila aunty replied, shaking her head and stepping inside. “Come, Leila.” She motioned me in. “There’s just enough room for you without risking another jam, insha’Allah.” She and my mother laughed.

I warily stepped over the gap and stood next to my mother, holding my breath as the entire box swayed gently. My mother pulled the door closed and pressed the wooden button, smiling nostalgically. I pushed the hair back from my sweaty forehead and swatted away mosquitoes. With no air-conditioning and barely enough room for the three of us to stand vertically, I tried not to think about the probability of an elevator jam.

We made our way to the top floor and walked down the narrow corridor to a flat at the end of the hall. I could hear lots of shuffling and movement on the other side, and as soon as we buzzed the bell, the door swung open to another frenzy of hugs and introductions. I tried my best to hang in the back. I wasn’t sure how much more pinching and squeezing my face could handle.