She Danced under the Stars ✔

4

When evening came, we leave the apartment with my cat, just to feel a little less alone. Lily loves to smother it with a ton of hugs and Eskimo kisses, but fortunately it bears no grudge against her.

We decide to change low walls. Instead of walking the whole length of the courtyard, we climb the little mound of soil in my dad's postage stamp garden, just in front of the apartment. My cat follows us weaving its way through the hollyhocks. I stand on tiptoe: this low wall doesn't lead to the roofs overlooking the street but to those overlooking the paths behind the apartment complex.

The only disadvantage on this side is the lack of street lamps. A chimney stack on a low roof blocks out the moonlight, making it trickier for us to toe the side of the wall for a hold. When Lily grabs the top, she suddenly slips and takes a tumble in the bushes. I can tell from her swearword that she landed in the wild roses. I help her to wriggle out of here. She dusts her cardigan and the seat of her pants. While she clears her ponytail of a few leaves, I step ahead of her, securing my hold between two stones before heaving myself up.

I move on all fours to the nearest roof.

'I hope we won't be disturbed this time,' Lily whispers as she meets me. I lean against a chimney. Lily rolls up her sleeve and sucks at a wound on her arm. She didn't half hurt herself in the wild roses.

'Don't worry,' I say. 'You know well we have the pocketknife.'

'You're going to perform a knife-throwing act, Miss Zorro?' she asks with a snigger.

I roll my eyes. What an idiot. 'You'd be happy with that if the guy showed up.'

She shrugs. 'Just because he came once doesn't mean he will come back. Anyway, I'd rather draw my cellphone. A call to the cops would probably make a stronger impression on him.'

I give a skeptical pout and turn away. I position myself so that my body hugs the corner of a facade, then I stretch my leg out into empty space toward the next roof. I feel the corrugated iron with the tips of my toes. It doesn't crumble. I secure my hold and I jump. I land half-crouching, without a scratch. My cat trots along the gutter. We can say what we like, but a dancer is not as good as a cat on the rooftops . . .

While I move forward, my eyes search the balconies for a nosy neighbor, a moralizer or an old nearsighted lady who might mistake us for vandals. I try hard not to think about the dark figure, but it permeates my mind. I'm haunted by the possible reappearance of it.

Lily meets me with a light step, her arms outstretched, careful not to slip on the moss. We reach the center of the roof. Lily stands firm upon the ridge, with a proud little smile on her lips. I do the same.

Two shadow puppets on a screen of stars. The only screen you feel better on without an audience.