A pair of excited eyes swept over the rectangular building. The rain droplets hit the car, creating a soft pattering noise in the background. I look over to my mom, who looked like she was contemplating all her life choices that had led her to this very moment. I, on the other hand, was bouncing in my seat excitedly, trying to wake up my sister who had fallen asleep beside me. 

It was the first time I had been invited to a birthday party, and my whole family had come along. I did not mind; I was a mere seven years-old and much more concerned about the fun I was going to have in the next few hours.

Looking back at my parents, I could tell they were nervous. Driving in heavy rain had put them on edge, and looking at a  large, rectangular building with a grid of light-up squares covering the surface did not ease any of their worries. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I heard my mother murmur, watching as she rubbed her hands together anxiously. I felt the sickening feeling of hope and excitement slowly slipping away as I desperately tried to reach for them, only for them to slip through my fingers. Being the second-born, eldest daughter out of four siblings meant that I was not given as much attention and opportunities my brothers and sisters had. So for this once in a lifetime opportunity of mine to fall out of my grasp before I even experienced it was absolutely devastating. 

In a desperate attempt, I bounced in my seat, loudly exclaiming, “Come on! Come on! Come on! Maguy is waiting for us, Mom. Can we get out of the car please?” Sighing, she took her seatbelt off and turned to me and my siblings. 

“Yalla, let’s go. Everyone behave, okay? Don’t run off somewhere,” she said, giving a pointed look to my older brother Jason. 

Happily skipping out of the parking lot, I recalled the many times Jason had run away from my parents during an outing. I know he gives Mom and Dad a hard time, I thought, staring at my reflection in the shiny elevator walls, I hope when he gets older, he’ll look back and laugh and apologize. 

Stepping out of the elevator, I had to take a moment and stare. The size of two basketball courts, the place was overflowing with big slides and children’s joy. Multi-colored slides snaked around each other in an elaborate dance, twisting and twirling as though they wanted to break free but would miss the others’ company too much. Trampolines lined the wall and floor of the east side of the court, and I watched as other children jumped, reaching for the sky and their dreams, feeling more freedom than they ever had in their short lives.

The hand holding mine clenched, and I glanced at my mother to see her uneasy expression. Not comprehending, I gave her my biggest smile and ran over to my friend, who had just walked in. 

“Megan! Did you see those slides? They’re huge!” Maguy shouted over the noise.

“I know! I can’t wait to go play in them!” I replied, looking to my mother expectantly.

“I don’t know, Megan. You should stick with the group.” She said, her stern voice alerting me that the decision had already been made. 

Dejected, I followed Maguy to the private party room, noticing the pink and purple streamers and balloons. I could easily sense my mother’s anxiety and nervousness about being here. I did not understand it, though, for I tasted freedom on my tongue and sensed the excitement and energy in the air. I let it overflow in me, as I ran around, from table to table, watching the world flash by me in a blur. I let out a laugh as I tumbled into a plastic chair, grabbing a plate from the table and filling it with food.

As we were all eating, a group of cheerily-dressed women danced their way into the room, playing music and walking around with face-paint. I stared at the yellow napkins that littered the table, my throat restricting for reasons I could not understand. I examined the women, each with a smile plastered on their faces, confidently walking up to people and speaking French. I wondered if I could ever be like them, letting go of the shadow that held me back, rigid and unmoving, as I watched the world pass me by in a blur. I turned to where my mother was sitting, conversing with the other adults. She was always so confident and willing to speak her mind, something I wish I was capable of doing. However, it seemed as though there was always some worry lingering in the back of her mind, something I wished to rid her of so she could live peacefully. I could not wrap my young head around it: how she was so confident but anxious while I was timid but eager, ready for experiences but too shy to ask. 

The air suddenly became too stifling; the smell of pizza and sweat wafting around was nauseating. I arose from my seat; the jumble of Arabic, French, and English overwhelming as I walked towards Maguy and her father.

“Hello, Megan,” Maguy’s father greeted, smiling at me, “if you want, you know you can go play down there.” He pointed towards the slightly dirty plexiglass window. Marching towards it, I discovered that the window looked over the whole play area. Children ran around like crazy, screaming, climbing, and jumping around. Maguy and I shared an excited glance and mischievous grins as we ran out of the room towards the area. 

It had felt like paradise like running your fingers through the water on a magic carpet ride. A scream tore through my lungs - a sound that was just full of eagerness and excitement. The energy was buzzing out of my fingertips; unadulterated joy that only a child could feel rushed through me, threatening to pull me from the ground to the sky. 

Then, I could not see anything. The building was engulfed in silence, a tranquility that people longed for after a hard life. The peace only lasted for a second before the screaming started. Ear-splitting screams slashed the quiet, and a terror that I had never felt before flooded through me.

The lights came back on a minute later, with the workers apologizing for the blackout, blaming it on the rain. I saw my mother and father waving at me through the window, beckoning me to come back to them. I sighed and trudged my way to the room. I failed to notice the shakiness of my mother’s voice or the relief in her eyes when she saw all her children standing next to one another.

Walking back to the car, I complained, asking why we had to leave, especially first. My parents simply claimed they were tired and did not want to drive in the rain. Thinking back on the whole experience, my younger self never really understood what was going through my mother’s mind that time. But now, as I, too, anxiously look over my shoulder on a walk with my siblings and friends, twirl my finger in my hair to focus on something other than worrying, and subconsciously count to make sure everyone is safe, I feel as though we have switched places, my mother and I. 

Over the years, I had noticed how the worry-lines on her forehead had become smaller as my dad moved in with us and took some of her responsibilities away. The tension in her shoulders lessened as my brother got older and had stopped giving her a hard time as frequently as he used to. Now, watching her talk with my siblings on the couch, a worry-free laugh escaping her lips, soft eyes without a care in the world, I see how she has passed some of her burden onto me.