The Waking Moon

Chapter Thirty-One

Jack parked the scooter in the alley behind a row of two story shops and restaurants on the busiest downtown block. The air smelled of fried tortillas and roasting corn, wafting through the kitchen vent of a Mexican restaurant. The low bass of hip-hop thumped through the walls of the bar next door. It was a cold, clear evening, but the stars were sparse beyond the streetlights and illuminated signs.

We walked up the alley, crunching through the film of ice that had formed along the saddle of the sagging asphalt. I stopped behind the crepe restaurant, where steam billowed from a corroded flue, and the air was thick with butter smells. A rickety wooden stairwell ascended the dirty stucco to a small, second floor landing. From there a fire ladder ascended to the roof.

"Let's go up here," I said.

Without hesitating, Jack followed me up the stairs. He stayed close as my feet groped for traction on the slick metal ladder, spotting me as I scrambled onto the tar and pebble roofing. For some reason, I'd always wanted to sneak onto these rooftops. They were low enough not to give you vertigo, but high enough that you could spy on all the people below without them knowing. There wasn't much to see—a small satellite dish, a thick brick chimney, several metal flues. Yet somehow it gave me a thrill. I walked to the edge. Tejon Street was bustling with activity. The cars were a parade of red brake lights. People wandered along the sidewalks or stood in shivering clumps below, smoking cigarettes.

"What should we do?" Jack asked.

I thought for a moment. "Build a snowman!"

Jack laughed. "An installation piece!"

"A giant sculpture!"

There was a fair bit of snow on the roof, and so we sculpted a huge figure reclining along the top of the cornice, so it would be visible from across the street. As we finished the legs, we ran out of snow, and had to fetch armloads from the adjoining rooftops. I waited until Jack's arms were full, and then beaned him in the back of the head with a snowball. He dropped the load and tackled me.

"You're asking for a fistful of snow down your shirt!"

But he didn't follow through. His long body stretched over mine, and in spite of himself his eyes went serious, and clouded with desire. Festive sounds drifted up from the streets. White puffs of vapor slipped through his lips, and I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against me.

"God, you're so beautiful," he said, low and soft.

I stared up at him in disbelief. "I am?"

"You are." His lips found my neck again, and my body sparked with life. Just then, I caught sight of a white beam of light rolling past us, falling in bright slashes across the chimneys, searching. "Hey," I whispered. "Look!"

Jack crept to the edge of the roof and peeked over the cornice. "Uh oh. Cops!"

He rushed over and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. We ran back toward the stairs. But when we peeked over the ladder, we saw a police cruiser roll slowly down the alley, searchlights blazing.

"This way," Jack whispered, pulling me back across the roof.

We jumped over the tarred lip of the building and onto the neighboring roof, where billows of steam drifted through a ventilation shaft. We were giddy with laughter. I realized that people across the street were looking up at us now, pointing. There wasn't another ladder down the back, so we kept moving, stopping briefly to wave at the crowd. Two policemen beside a patrol car gestured angrily to come down. But we kept running, skipping from rooftop to rooftop until we reached a three story brick building of lofts with a fire escape down the back. Jack grabbed the railing and jumped over, then effortlessly pulled me across.