Up On The Roof
Sometimes, when the dark days come, I sneak out onto the roof. Sneak… now that's a stupid word… as though I don't belong there, as though it was forbidden territory for crying out loud. It's just a roof.
But I like sitting up there, looking out over the rooftops, watching the little animals scurry hither and yon. They're always busy, always going somewhere, doing something. When I was young, I perfected the art of roof-walking. One thing you can always depend on from people in this world, they never look up. You'd be amazed what you'd see if you'd just look up.
The sky is beautiful from up here. There's a slight 'canyon' breeze and you can spend hours just watching the dead leaves dancing. You can't find colors like these anywhere else, either. Well, okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it seems to me that even the air around you has color.
Something else that I like are the smells. The aromas from a hundred different restaurants gather to tempt you. A dog would go insane just trying to set them apart. I'm always hungry when I leave the roof.
I wonder about the people I see down there in reality-land. What are they thinking? Where are they going? Why does that lady wear that awful shade of red shoes? I make up stories about them. Her shoes are red because she told him that's how he'd know her. They met online, you see, and were finally hooking up 'irl'. Such a scary moment. Would she be found dead in an alley the next morning? Would he?
The damned pager goes off again and I'm pulled out of my reverie. People will insist on needing medical help. Ten minutes of walking for a thirty-second diagnosis. Maybe I'll get lucky and it really will be Lupus this time. Or maybe, just this once, it won't be cancer.
The roof will be there when I'm done. Good thing about living here. There's always a roof somewhere.