The Girl On The Roof

Flashback

December 4th, 2007

All was quiet before the front door creaked and a warm voice rang out.

"Honey, I'm home!"

A five year old me jumped up and ran to my dad, wrapping my arms around him before he could put his suit (fresh from the dry cleaners) down. He chuckled and tousled my hair affectionately, then looked past me. His eyes were suddenly wide, and I turned my head to see what all the fuss was about.

Mom's head peaked out from the top of the stairs, and her face brightened considerably when she saw Dad. Her hair was done in a complicated braid that I couldn't quite understand, but it looked beautiful anyway, even from a distance. The daze of awe vanished as she jumped back and ran down the hall, yelling "it's bad luck! Go away!" with a laugh.

Dad's smile was still there, and he released me from the hug and patted me on the shoulder. "Go get dressed," he whispered gently. I nodded and ran up to my room, which was decorated with space posters and little Marvel action figures along my dresser.

I took one look at the tuxedo Mom had picked out for me and frowned with distaste. I hated tuxes. They were all tight and itchy. Still, it was her big day, and I would never do anything to ruin it.

Mom had given birth to me when she was seventeen years old, still in the middle of eleventh grade. She and Dad were two of the biggest nerds in school, but everyone knew them as a couple that was madly in love. When people found out that she was pregnant, they all expected him to leave her. But not only did he stay, he stayed over at her house most nights of the week, helped her get through her classes, and never left her side.

Mom always loved telling me stories about how Dad would end up falling asleep with his face buried in a textbook, and she'd end up studying herself before giving in to fatigue right by his side.

They'd never gotten married because of school, the new baby, and a few years later, Polli. Mom and Dad made a pact that they'd be married before Polli turned three, so neither of us would have to live as bastards any longer.

Today was the day.

The night before Dad had been so excited he couldn't contain himself, turned on music, and danced with Mom around the living room until they were both dizzy and fell on the couch. This was hours after my bedtime, but I stayed up and watched them anyway.

After throwing on the ridiculous outfit, I ran out of my room, tugging at my sleeves, to find Uncle Arty hanging by the staircase, laughing with his wife Talia, who was holding Polli. I immediately slowed down, scared that I'd get yelled at (again) for going too fast. They were not the craziest couple.

Aunt Talia turned to look at me and plastered a smile on her face, then set Polli down on the floor. "Hi, little Marty," she cooed (obviously fake; she was not a good liar). "Would you mind taking your sister for a little? Thank you, dear." She patted my head lightly and turned back to her husband.

Polli looked up at me with large brown eyes full of curiosity, and I took her hand. Together we went outside to the backyard, which was set up with rose petals and chairs. There was even an arch set up at the end of the aisle.

Most people were already sitting, so Polli and I took our places at the back. Polli was a flower girl along with our cousin Lu, who was twelve, so hopefully would be able to keep her under control. I was in charge of the rings.

Oh no. The rings.

I jumped to life, handed Polli to Grandma, and ran back inside, almost crashing into Mom.

Her long brown hair was in that beautiful braid, little pink flowers entwined. There was no makeup on her face—she never wore makeup, but she was breathtaking anyway. Her dress went to the floor, like a ball gown. At the top it was blue, with off shoulder sleeves, but as it passed her hips the blue melted to white.