on the roof

She lived on the roof and he would visit her there.
What did you bring me today.
I brought you this broken camera.
Thank you.
She placed it on a shelf she had fashioned from scraps of sheet metal.
What is the world like today.
Oh, about the same. What will you do with the camera.
I don’t know. Probably take it apart.
Do you think you can fix it.
She sighed and looked away.
It’s supposed to rain tonight. Will you be okay up here.
She looked back at him.
What.
Why do you ask questions like that.
I don’t know. I just worry.
No, you don’t. That’s just something people say.
He stood up and walked over to her shelter. He knocked on the sturdy roof. She’d cut a hole in the middle of it for a skylight. He examined the caulking around the plexiglass panel.
What are you doing over there. Did you come to see me or to inspect my house.
It’s not a house.
Says you.
He came back and sat across from her again.
Do you need any supplies.
I’m almost out of rice.
I’ll bring you some next time.
A pigeon landed nearby and began pecking at the tar and gravel roof.
Do you ever think about the future.
No, why should I.
So you think you can just stay up here forever…
What does it matter. And why do you care anyway. I didn’t ask you to keep coming up here.
I find it hurtful when you talk like this.
Really. And what about before. Do you remember before.
I try not to think about the past.
Well, I don’t think about the future. So where does that leave us.
The present I guess.
Right. I’ll see you next time then. And don’t forget the rice.
She stood up and walked over to the pigeon. It cocked its head skyward then flew up and perched on her shoulder.
His restless eyes moved from the bird on her shoulder out beyond the roof line to where the late afternoon sun left a burning orange wake at the horizon. He began to doubt the rain.
As he climbed over the edge onto the fire escape he glanced back and saw her holding the pigeon with two hands high up over her head. When it opened its wings and flew she was gone. In a way he was relieved for he hadn’t the heart to tell her there was no longer any rice. Not now or ever.

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