I woke to warm, gooey air smothering me even though the ceiling fan was spinning on high. Dangling lightpulls smacked and banged the glass globe with each rotation of the blades. The base of the fan swayed and groaned, ready to jump from its screws in the drywall any second.
I blinked, trying to focus on my alarm clock. One forty-five. No doubt everyone in my house was sleeping: Dad on the couch with the remote resting in his hand, Mom in her room, reading glasses still on her nose, and my sister here or at a friend’s. Mom was more lenient with her. First daughters always have it the worst.
Moonlight seeped between the tree branches and into my bedroom window, providing the only light. Clothes were strewn about in piles on the floor. I rolled my eyes because Mom would make me clean them up tomorrow.
Until then, they would stay in heaps.
I spent hours buttering breadsticks and cooking pasta at work all day. And the day before. And almost every day since I turned sixteen. I had to pay for my own sneakers and shampoo unless I wanted what Mom could afford to buy.
Anxious and unable to return to sleep, I tossed the sheets onto the floor with the rest of the mess.
I glanced outside my second-floor window. It reminded me of a photo: so still and quiet. Below, blades of grass held their breath. Above, Stars burned brilliantly. I wanted to be part of it instead of sitting in my sticky room, to climb outside and get some fresh air.
I pulled the screen out – the cheap, removable one Dad bought because mine got ripped away in a thunderstorm. I had never been on the roof before. The excitement made my heart hammer in my chest so loud I worried that someone else might hear it. They can’t. They’re sleeping.
I stepped through the window and sat on the shingled porch awning. It scraped against my legs like sandpaper, so I curled them into my chest, using my bare feet as stability against the decline.
Street lamps illuminated the gray pavement, making it shine like the silver moon. Thin shadows crept between them, swelling into giants.
I could see the end of the block in both directions. I looked left, then right. In the distance, the neighbor’s Caddie swerved back and forth toward me. His headlights danced, his tires grumbled. His car came to an abrupt stop in front of his house, one tire on the curb, and he staggered out, likely drunk again. He slammed his car door shut, piercing a hole in the quiet, jingled his keys, and stumbled inside.
A thought to climb off the roof and run entered my mind. To where? I didn’t know. To do what? No clue. What would Mom say? I knew If anyone caught me, I’d get grounded. Or maybe they wouldn’t even miss me.
I turned over on my belly to shimmy feet-first to the edge.
I needed the corner of the roof where the twisty iron rod connected the porch floor to the ceiling. I knew if I could find those supports, I could lower myself down it like a ladder. I would be free, at least for a little while.
So, I wiggled and inched along with sweat beads forming on my forehead. I looked over my shoulder and a rush of excitement swelled my chest. I looked at my toes, inches from the edge and my skin tingled from the danger.
Then I thought about climbing back up the iron posts and scaling the roof. I thought again about Dad or Mom waking. I thought about someone seeing me; a neighbor who would tattle, or a stranger who would hurt me. I thought about falling and being alone, barefoot and broken on my driveway. I looked back at my window, then down at the street, and back at the window once more.
I got to my hands and knees and crawled like the child I was back toward the house. I slipped inside and secured my screen back in its place, holding air deep within my lungs. I gathered the sheets from my floor and laid in bed, smoothing them over my dirty knees.
I closed my eyes, knowing how close I was. In the moment, it was more than enough.
Photo courtesy of Thom Oudhuis/Unsplash