Roofs

I want to be on a roof right now. If I have to live in a city, I mean, if I get to live in a big city someday (please dear God get me out of the one I'm in now) I want there to be a roof I can escape to. I want to sit on the edge and dangle my legs over, smoke a cigarette and scream hoarsely at pigeons. I want to bring a six-pack of beer up to the roof, and with my friends start a dance party on the crunchy gravel. In the summer I want to sun-tan on a towel, topless, and in the winter I want to bundle up in a blanket and a touque and cry after a bad day.
I want to kiss someone on a roof.
I want to sleep on a roof. I did, in Istanbul, but there was mattresses and blankets, which is cheating.
The best conversations seem to happen on top of buildings. There is something inspiring about being above everyone else. Ha, that sounds so imperialistic. But seriously, it feels like the air is different.

I used to get in trouble as a kid for climbing too much. Trees, roofs, every house we moved to I would figure out the best routes from outside (patio tables, window sills, deck railings, fences) to get on the roof, and which rooms inside had windows large enough for me to crawl out of. And trees in our yards, too, I would find paths up cedar trees and apple trees alike. My mom used to have to set limits for me, saying honey, I don't want you climbing that tree above the level of the house. Of course sometimes I did, but as I got older the thin branches at the top felt more and more unable to hold my weight.

I haven't climbed a tree in years. I miss it.