The Girl On The Roof

New Beginnings and Ends

I stepped through the door to my house and instinctively ducked so that any flying objects wouldn't hit me. It was a false alarm though, and I breathed a sigh of relief before shutting the door behind me.

The house was... different. Clean, even. It hadn't been this clean since dad died. Mom had never been motivated to clean it. I stepped further into the alternate universe I'd discovered and looked around. Even the couch looked cleaner than usual, though I couldn't point out why.

Finally, realization poured into me and I clamped a hand over my mouth. It was one of those days.

"Crap," I muttered and quickly looked over the contents of my jacket pocket. The last time this had happened I'd had an extremely embarrassing photo booth strip of Jane and me, and to shorten the story we're going to say it was not ideal.

All I found were a few buttons (who knew where that came from) and a dollar bill. I sighed in relief and shrugged off the jacket before hanging it up on the coat rack.

Just as I did, someone walked up behind me and I turned to see Luke, all dressed up in an apron with a silly smile on his face. "Hey, Marty. How are ya this day?"

Somehow, these days were worse than the ones in which Luke was throwing vases and glass around. The days where Luke tried to be the perfect dad, and to keep my mother's affection by pretending to care.

I stared at him then shrugged and tried to make my way upstairs, but he blocked me. "What do you want, Mother Luke?" I asked sternly. "I have homework to do."

"That's funny, because you left your bag by the door." Luke frowned and then resumed his creepy smiling. "Come on, Marty, talk to me. Soon I might be your dad, and you—"

"Woah, woah, woah." I stopped in my tracks and glared up at him suspiciously. "What now?"

Luke looked over his shoulder and looked as if he were about to tell me something, but then his excited face melted into one of creepiness (the usual) and he stepped back to let me by. "Never mind I said anything," he muttered.

I gave him one last suspicious gaze before going upstairs. I yelled at Polli to turn her music down, then escaped to my room before she could yell at me and I shut the door.

Leaning back against it I felt the light of the moon slide onto my face from the window, and I shut my eyes against it. I wanted so badly to just look out, to see a place that wasn't infested with mother Luke.

I walked over to my dresser and opened the drawer, extracting a shoebox that was worn with age. Opening it, I found a few photographs of my mom and dad's wedding and old trips to Disneyland, a keychain with a pebble attached that had an M imprinted on it, a few hot wheels cars, and finally, a newspaper with the headline Firefighter Dies In Tragic Fire.

Returning to the door, I slid down to the floor and hugged the photos to my chest. What had Luke been saying? He'd be my dad soon? Was he going to propose to my mom? They'd only been dating for a few months—a few torturous months that were filled with broken vases and tasty meals.

I can't believe my mom had ever dated him.

They'd met at the supermarket. He'd been in his mom phase then, and I guess she fell for it. I can't believe she did. They'd started dating a few days after that, and my life had been pretty much hell after that. Walking home to screams, having to stuff a pillow under my door so I wouldn't hear them kissing, and dodging flying objects as soon as I would walk into the house.

I looked over at the window, wondering if Hazel ever went through stuff like this. I knew Jane didn't, as her parents were madly in love with each other and her. Not in the same way, of course, but you get what I mean. So what was Hazel's home life like? Were her parents control freaks? Did she even have both parents? Did she have any? Was her life utterly hopeless and awful, like mine seemed to be?

I shook my head as the tears began. I would not cry. I would not cry. But the tears came anyway, and I cried.

I cried for my dad, who was lost so long ago I could hardly remember his voice.

I cried for my mom, who was in such a bad relationship it literally hurt her.

I cried for Polli, who was trapped in a world where she felt she had to lift up her skirts in order to get attention.

And I cried for Hazel, a girl whom I'd never get to know fully, since she was too focused on hating me for watching her.

The crying wouldn't cease; it poured out of me more and more, even when it seemed like I had no tears left.

Soon there was a knock on the door. I didn't answer, didn't bother to speak. Was there a point? It was probably Polli, come to yell at me for disturbing her music playing. Or maybe Luke, who baked cookies that he'd eventually throw at the wall.

But a soft voice emitted from the other side of the door instead. "Marty? It's mom. I was thinking you might want some company."

I didn't move from in front of the door. I didn't want her to come in. To see me like this, in my time of weakness. But she knocked again, and I forced out a hoarse "go away" before returning to my sorrow.

"Marty, I'm coming in." The doorknob clicked, and the door whined in protest as it was slowly swung forward. I moved out of the way and turned so that she wouldn't see me.

"Marty, come on. It's me. Please turn around."

The door shut behind her and I heard her come up beside me. I felt her smooth hand pat my shoulder comfortingly. I smelled her natural smell of baked goods and warmth, if that was possible.

"Please just leave me alone," I whispered. "I don't want to be seen like this."

My mom frowned and sat in front of me, taking my chin in her hands and staring at me determinedly. "Hey," she said firmly, not at all like the mother I'd come to know over the years. "You do not talk like that. I don't care if you are a boy, girl, or whatever. You will not be ashamed of showing who you are." I blinked, and she continued. "Crying is a form of strength, and you should not be afraid to show it. Do you hear me?"

I looked up at her, my wet eyes wide in shock. Did those words just come out of my mother's mouth? Slack jawed, I nodded.

Her expression softened and she pulled me towards her, giving me a small hug and squeeze. "I know that it's hard, Marty..." she said quietly. "I know it is."

That was all she said. She didn't say I love you. She didn't even say she was sorry. She just hugged me and kissed my head, and that was enough. Together we mourned dad. We thought over how our lives turned after he died. We did not say many words. Yet it was enough.