On the Roof
Marie was on the roof. The deck, with its cool concrete pavers and faded cedar Adirondack chairs, was one of the reasons she and Harold had bought their condo in this building. The only ugly part of the roof was the chain-link fence along its edge; soon after they moved in they'd complained about it to the condo board and were told it was necessary to prevent the neighbors' idiot children from flying off into the expressway below.
Marie stepped close to the fence and worked the toe of her shoe into one of the links. Nobody said anything about jumpers.
Harold would think it was fine, Marie guessed. Harold thought everything was fine. Get a good job? Fine. Lose the job? Don't worry, it's still fine. Let's make dinner. Want to have a baby? Fine. Can't have a baby? Also fine. Let's go to the zoo. Nothing fazed Harold.
He would marry again, she knew. It wouldn't take five years; it wouldn't take two. Harold would fall in love with the next woman who opened her eyes wide at him, who laughed at one of his jokes or cracked one of her own. He wasn't built to be solo; he was built to work with what he got.
She remembered how he'd handled his mother's meltdown when his father died several years ago. Harold's mother had been out of her mind with grief and rage, saying terrible things, unforgivable things.
After what seemed like hours of just standing there, listening, Harold put his arms around her and told her he loved her. That they all loved her. Everything would be fine. As Marie watched Harold with his mother, watched the heaving of her shoulders lessen, watched her arms, which had been crossed over her chest, unfold to embrace her son, Marie suddenly saw how he was herding her.
This was so opposite what Marie would have done—she was ready to yell right back at Harold's mother, to swear never to see her again, to storm out, to fly home—that she felt her jaw slacken as she watched her husband, amazed that he could surprise her so.
And sure she didn't deserve that surprise.
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Author's Note
This was written in response to a structured prompt. As often happens, it went places I didn't expect.
Other stories by Deb Oestreicher
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In the beginning I thought Marie really was a jumper… but I don't think that was her intent. I think that was simply a framework for her reflection.
I love the line about the fence "… it was necessary to prevent the neighbors' idiot children from flying off into the expressway below."
This makes me think Marie thinks she might have done better had she and Harold had children. But Harold probably would have thought the children weren't so bad and worked with what he got.
The tension between Marie and her perception of Harold is very very interesting. Nice work.
It's the the unexpected that makes all the difference.
"He wasn't built to be solo; he was built to work with what he got."
Wonderful character sketch. *
"Fine" story. I feel I know Harold, and he would exasperate me rather than surprise me. *
Great character studies, not only Harold, but Marie as well.
I don't want Marie to jump, okay? Fave.
My dear Ned used the expression for me and his mother in our plane travel from Minnesota to Irvington NY with a bus to train transfer to Metro North in Harlem, "herding the butterflies" -- an expression I particularly liked. No outbursts from her or me. With my own mother tonight when she confiscated my car keys so I would be required to stay for dinner, I made a fracas of pacing in the hall. No thought of jumping off the two-story deck but of walking eight miles home without my purse that was locked in my car. I didn't do it, but I hyperventilated for two hours and felt force fed.
The cat got out so that's another dimension of tonight.
My mother at last returned the keys, after two hours of my pleading, with the words, "I am not pleased at all. You are all dressed up with no where to go and you do not act like a member of a group." Many trains sounded, and I had to wait for a train at the crossing driving home.
...
I feel "On the Roof" is missing its third location, though the first is there and excellent, the second is there, the fourth, and the fifth relates to the wonder near what's missing. *