The Roof

The prophet slept on the roof, the top of our perilous mountain. Up four flights of stairs, through the foreign scents and past the hostile sounds. There at the peak lived our prophet. Most people just called him Sam.

I once asked him if he believed in a God. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said “Dude, we're here right now, right? Well, that's all that matters, if God exists, I'm sure he's pretty much cool with whatever's goin' on. That dude abides by all.”

Today was Friday, which meant I had the day off. So did Sam, seeing as how he never worked. So I grabbed a few beers from my fridge and went to the rooftop. Although neither of us were explicitly willing to admit it, Sam and I had been friends since high school. If anyone asked though, I just said I felt sorry, that's why I would head up to the roof, and Sam would simply feign ignorance. We both knew what would happen to our images if we were discovered to be cohorts in this world. People don't appreciate bums, I think they're jealous.

So it was that I kept my job and apartment, and Sam went fairly undisturbed on the roof.
On some nights, sitting up there, talking about the truths of our world or the lies of others, one could look up and almost pretend to see a few stars through the clouds and smog of the city. It was something we both missed, despite the positive balance our lives had reached. As breathtaking as the iron giants and massive sprawl of the city was, it was nothing compared to the sprawl and scale of the Milky Way hanging in the sky.

“Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“The sky, dumbass.”
“It's right there. Just look up.”
“No, no, the night sky, with stars and clusters and shooting stars and planets. Just the sublime, uncaring universe hanging over your heads. Do you miss it?”
“...some nights I miss a lot of things.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but, I wouldn't be where I was if I didn't sacrifice a few things.”
“I suppose. Kinda like a tree burdened with fruit. You can't pick it all, and eventually you're going to have to let some drop and rot away.”
“Yeah something like that.”

(Silence. Not uncomfortable, but there none the less.)

“So... listening to anything good right now?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was our prophet of our mountain. Most people mocked him in that respect, but I found the title fitting. There was a reason other than friendship I scaled the peak every Friday. I found solace and advice in his words, even if he never thought so. Inevitably he'd say something that would touch me, or make me think, and I'd call him smart or deep, but he'd always deny it. Saying that he couldn't ever organize his thoughts properly, and that I was really the prophet, the poet.

“No, dude, I'm telling you, you're absolutely right. I should move on, see some new sights.”
“What, I never said that.”
“Well, no, but you were hinting at it. You said it yourself, you haven't even been to the nearest city in the last few years, let alone out of state.”
“Yeah... but I have things... and I'm not sure if I could and...”
“That's bullshit and you know it, if you packed up and left, the only one here that would miss you would be me.”
“Hell, let's both leave.”
“Nah... I can't, I still have some business here to wrap up.”

(As one thread drops, audible in the silence, eventually another is picked up.)

“So... have you tried that new sushi place down the street.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think that was the part about our relationship that bugged me the most. We would always reach the brink of something important, but neither of us had the balls to pull the trigger, to push the topic over the edge and into that area where a choice had to be made, a decision reached. So it goes.

In all weather his deck umbrella was up, his flannel blanket was down, and his spot on the roof was his. Here it was he spent most of his time, writing or doodling or some days just staring off into the sky, looking for something he lost years ago. Or was it yesterday? Things had a way of getting turned around up there.

The last conversation I had with him wasn't actually on a Friday. Maybe that was the sign, that a change had happened and a new chapter in our story was about to be written. I'd had a matter of business to attend to that Friday, one that I couldn't afford to put off, and by the time I got back to the apartment, grabbed a drink (all I had left was some wine, I hadn't had a chance to get groceries that day) and scaled to the top, it was Saturday. As I cleared the last step and emerged on top, I saw his back, his head tilted up to the night sky. I sat down and looked up with him.

“I think I can see one?”
“Where?”
“There, see, up and right of the tower there.”
“Nope, still don't see it.”
“C'mon, it's right there. How can you not see it unless you're closing your eyes.”
“There's nothing there dude.”
“Man, you were always so short sighted.”
“Hey, that's a little unfair, my sight is perfect man.”
“Is it? I don't think you would have lost her if it was...”
“Hey man, don't bring that up!”
“How long have we known each other for? I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't think it was good for you. Today, it's been a year now. Yet, here you are, stuck in a loop. Going through the motions everyday because you can't leave her behind, can't let things alone.”

(Traffic, how perfect it fits the lull of conversation)

“You're right.”
“No, I haven't seen that movie yet, I... wait, what?”
“You're right. I've been stuck in this loop for too long, I need to break out. Move on, find some more fruit, taste more of life.”

We parted ways that night, and by Friday of next week, we were gone from each other's lives. In person anyway. And life moved on, things changed, and that chapter ended, recorded here in these words. I know I'll never forget him, in fact I'll probably see him again, and I'm sure the same he feels the same. Still though, how much did we actually do for each, during that year. I can't say, I don't know if it was harm or good, wrought on those Fridays. I suppose sacrifices have to made for a good story.