This was the only place she had ever had friends; this was where her intimates were; this was her old home, where she’d once belonged.
And this sense of belonging was indelible.
She decided to go upstairs and take a good look at the long abandoned rooms. She took a fl ashlight from a drawer in the hall, as the electricity had been cut off for years. Climbing a fl ight of wooden steps, she came to a room with two beds. It was the room where her parents and siblings had slept. Mei took in everything with an erratic glance: a treadle sewing machine covered with a pink pillow case, a small closet painted with Chinese roses and artistic calligraphy, a red-painted desk with an old and tiny TV, a huge speaker and a cassette player. Walking through a dark passage to a short set of wooden stairs, she noticed that a side wall was obviously tilted, and the single board that was used as a bridge to the backyard was now rotten and covered with thick moss.