Rooftops - A Year In The Making

Chapter 1 - The roof

There's no school today. This would be a good thing to any other normal 15 year old, but to me it's painful. I hate school, I have no-one to talk to there, no-one to help. However, it's a lot better than here. I'm not allowed out any more. When I was 10, right after dad left, I tried to run away. I didn't get very far and I hadn't brought any warm clothing either.  Within two hours I had finished my supply of food, I was freezing and headed home.

Mum panicked though. Not because she wanted he here, because she didn't want me out of here. Where I could tell people what happens inside.  Because walls hold more secrets than anything.  More lies, more tears.  They see everything.

I have a little box room in the corner of the house.  It's a two bed that used to be one, mine was a bathroom before it became my haven.  I have a metal bed with a thin, worn mattress.  All four walls are covered with posters, drawings, and lyrics.  I keep my few clothes under the bed, and the only other furniture I have is my guitar stool.  Two black sheets hang from the ceiling with drawing pins and have cut out stars sewn into them.  Everything is hand made by me, my guitar is hand painted, my paper lanterns made of tissue paper from the school.

Except I love my room. My little escape from hell. Mum does come in here if she's annoyed at the finance man or her drug dealer bailing again. Only to use me as a punching bag then leaves. But my room has one important thing, my window.

It's not a big window, but it's big enough.  Our house is attached to the neighbours by their garage.  A single story garage with a very slightly sloped roof.  My window isn't the only that overlooks the garage roof, next doors does too.  Two little windows and one escape to freedom.  The house next to ours had been unoccupied for some time.  The lady that lived there before died about a year ago, her chimney was always smoking and her windows boarded, everyone said she was a witch.

I haven't had breakfast but I don't want any. It's 9 o'clock so mum won't be up for ages. I climb up onto my bed and squeeze through my tiny window onto the roof. As I dangle my legs down I know I have to fall, I've done this so many times I expect the tiles beneath my feet at the right time.

I sit on the tiles, you can see where I usually sit because that is where I have made a little clearing in the moss. The clearing is big enough for two people. I don't have any friends to bring up here, any siblings to show or anything. But I am always prepared for when I meet the right girl.

Yes I am gay, no-one knows at school. At the moment I'm known as Riley the quiet one, I don't want that to change to Riley the lesbian.

I sit facing the back of the house. There isn't really a garden we just have an overgrown patch of land that hasn't been stepped in for years. Then all I can see is fields. We don't live in a secluded area. If I was looking the other way I would see our row of terrace houses and another row opposite that. Except I can't see that way if i turn around because the roof slopes. It's not a steep slope. Only a slight one, but it blocks my view into the street and, more importantly, blocks peoples view to me.

After 15 minutes I decide to lay on my front with my head at the steepest point, peering over the tiles I can see the deserted street.  Pavement littered with gum spots and cigarette butts.  Bricks cracked and chipped.  Then, a lorry cuts through the morning silence.  The removal van is followed by a pristine porche, white with silver window linings, cleaned to perfection it could have been dusted.  My eyes follow it down or road.  Many houses are available here because no-one wants to live down Filltree Avenue, they all lived around the school three blocks away.

But what would a clean, expensive car be doing in the rough area.  The van slowly makes it's way between parked cars until it stops outside my house. What? Then the porche overtakes it and comes to a stop in front of the house next to us. Oh no. Oh God no.

The door opens and out steps a beautiful lady. She has her golden hair hanging loose all the way down to her lower back. It's thick hair, so there is no gaps and it has a slight elegant wave to it. Elegant, yes, that's how I would describe her. She carry's a toy poodle so gracefully like it takes no effort. She must be in her mid-thirties I think. Although she has quite a lot of make-up on. It doesn't look to much though. It looks good on her.  It looks right.

Then the other car door opens.  She steps out of the car and her hair flies in front of her face. She flicks it back gracefully and looks around. As she turns to shut the door there is no mistaking that she is the other ladies daughter. Everything about them is the same. The girls golden hair sits at exactly the same length as her mothers and has the same wave to it. Their faces are almost identical but the girls face is fresh and young. She doesn't wear as much make-up as her mother. Just some pink lipstick that makes her lips shiny and cute.

She glances over at her mother  and replies to her question about house keys.

"They're right here" The girl replies. Her voice is so sweet, not so high pitched it's squeaky but higher than most peoples. She holds out the keys as they glint in the sun and drops them into her other hand. She then smiles at the lady and walks around the car. Her dress sways in the slight breeze and causes the multiple colours to make a beautiful pattern as she moves.

Then they're gone. Out of sight but definitely not out of mind.