From the time the youngest of us was moving independently of a parent, Gina, Mary, Mia and I were seen as a small, drifting quartet of cousins at family gatherings. Two distinct gene pools, one common goal: to discover new spaces and unknown places where no eyes and “No!”s could block our intentions - not to sit and behave, but explore the dark closets and dusty cabinets of quiet rooms far from grown-ups.
Though never far from mischievous brothers.
The adult world was confining and so much needed exploring. So, Gina would rouse us to seek out new corners, ever-expanding our adult-free borders. She’d open the door and wave us through and when things didn’t kill us, she’d boldly step past us and reassume command.
And we’d follow.
Just as we did as she led us out the door and down the hallway of Nonnie and Papa’s apartment building. The long, hum drum hall of dubious hues and thick, padded carpet that silenced our patent leather footsteps and our voices, until sparked by static electricity and funny faces, we giggled and squealed and ran down the hall.
Without any grip from my new, leather soles, I slipped and I slipped and it looked as if the end of the hall would stretch out forever with its dark, numbered doors both ahead and behind; where tvs and voices murmured and mumbled and lives went on living, while our little flock focused on the big, brown, metal door at the end of the building.
IT would lead us to unexplored worlds and unsupervised floors; to a quiet, pristine lobby where unsat-on furniture needed that changed, where plants were dusted - not watered - and the floor was so highly polished that beneath the light of the overly ornate lobby chandelier, it glittered and gleamed like a magical lake that I wished I could skate in my stockinged feet.
Mary being tallest was the one who pressed the button with the arrow pointing downward. The elevator hummed and clicked and began to move. We watched the numbers (newly learned) over the elevator door blink in very slow, succession. Then the metal door slid open.
We looked to each other and back down the hallway, where no one came looking and in our reluctance, the door glided shut.
In unspoken allegiance, Mary re-pressed the button and almost immediately the door slid back open. Gina pushed our little gaggle inside the small, box with dark wood panelling and reached for the lowest of buttons; then the sliding door closed and down we went to the unexplored land of the lobby.
The journey was brief, but remarkable, for I’d never been this far before without at least an older sibling. As soon as the elevator opened its doors, I could see the lobby floor shimmer and shine and without hesitation, I stepped from the safety of my flock.
Gina followed.
Mary followed.
Mia didn’t.
And suddenly, the door slid shut and I watched Mia’s tiny body disappear behind it. Mary and Gina’s big, brown, Italian eyes went suddenly wide and I felt something unfamiliar - panic - suddenly rise, for the elevator started moving and the numbers started lighting, in very slow succession, upward.
Mia was off on her own new adventure, without Captain or crew, or even a clue, as to where she might be going. The three of us, at a loss for what to do, just stared at the door of the moving contraption which slowly ascended to the top floor and stopped.
Would she get off there and try to find her way back to Nonnie and Papa’s?
Did she even know what floor they lived on?
Did we?
We didn’t.
The once strong lure of shiny floors and velvety chairs was now replaced with powerful thoughts of Mia and Mom and home; of familiar places and faces, full plates of pasta and filled candy dishes.
And facing consequences.
Worried and wordless, we heard the elevator again click into motion and anxiously watched the numbers very slowly descend as the small moving room - which might or might not have Mia imprisoned in it - came closer.
Mary, Gina and I inched toward the elevator, hoping we would not see a grown-up, but our quartet reunited when the door opened. And much to our relief, there Mia stood, in the exact same spot in center of the elevator where she had been deserted, looking slightly startled, but still happy to see us.
Before losing her again, we leapt into the elevator and watched the still elusive lobby disappear behind the sliding door. Now all we needed to figure out was what floor.
Gina pressed all of them.
When the elevator next stopped and opened its door, we hoped to see something or someone who looked familiar, but nothing and no one was there as a beacon. The next floor offered no more than an exact replica of the last and I felt the fear and the tears bubling just below the surface.
The elevator halted on the third floor and as the door slowly slid open, it revealed a sight I thought I’d never be happy to see, Jim and John, sent out to search for their sisters and cousins.
“WE FOUND ‘EM!”, Jim hollered, as the boys raced back to the front door of the apartment where Nonnie stood shushing and waiting, with oven mitt and apron, and a look of consternation.
A scolding was at hand.
Gina smiled at each of us, then turned toward Nonnie.
And we followed.
