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from Contest #4

For a long time they said we didn't need one, but then something changed and they said that we did.  Turns out the old roof had finally given in.  Has a roof ever ruined your life, just taken your carefully constructed and peaceful existence and smashed it all to bits?  A roof ruined mine.

I was a happy woman.  Thirty-five.  A satisfying career as a grade school teacher.  Married to the love of my life.  We were trying to start a family.  They say it’s harder after thirty-five but I was healthy and had no medical issues.  I was sure we would soon be expecting our first child.

Then there was the roof.  When we first bought our little bungalow in balmy north Florida the roof passed inspection.  That was seven years ago.  I guess sheer age and humidity had taken its toll.  It began as a stain in the corner of the kitchen ceiling.  It was the color white T-shirts become when they are soiled.  John called a guy to come look at it.  He informed us that if we didn’t put a new roof on there was a good chance it’d cave in on us.  Concerned about what the cost would be, I didn’t really listen as he explained that the framework was rotted through and not up to safety standards.  I figured John would know what was going on. 

The contractor who had told us of our impending death quoted a price far higher than we could stomach.  After several calls through the phone book, we finally decided on Gary and Sons Roofing Company.  They had good referrals. 

Look, I love my husband.  I didn’t set out to have an affair, not with the twenty-three year old who showed up on a warm Tuesday in June.  Greg was one of the “Sons”.  As he would tell me over the course of the project, Gary had retired after an unfortunate roofing accident left him unable to scale ladders and balance three stories above ground.  George was the other son in “Sons” and he and Greg handled the family business.  Greg would be taking care of our new roof, all by himself, he told me with a grin.  I couldn’t help but notice how his straight white teeth stood out against his tanned face.  I also couldn’t imagine how this kid would manage to re-roof our bungalow.  John was at the office and since school was on summer break, it fell to me to be responsible for making sure this roof wouldn’t kill us. 

The first time was about two weeks after he started work on our house.  Greg came every day, early, and began working while I was still puttering around the house.  After loading up the dishwasher, I yanked up the kitchen window that looked out to the side yard where Greg had chosen to deposit the roofing supplies and his tools.  He was there now, loosening some plywood from its binding.

“Hey!” I called out to him, “Care for a lunch break?  I can make you a sandwich.”  He looked up and squinted in the bright summer sun.  His dark wavy hair was soaked with sweat and his Gary and Sons Roofing Co. T-shirt was darkened with sweat as well.  I noticed the definition of his pecs when the wet shirt clung to his body.  He grinned at me.

“Sounds great.”  A few moments later, I brought out a tray loaded down with a turkey sandwich, pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.  I set the tray down on the patio table and looked up at our roof where Greg perched, toolbelt slung low on his narrow hips.  I admired his silhouette against the bright blue summer sky and his agility as he swung over the gutter and down the ladder.  He took a seat on the patio and I joined him, pouring two glasses of lemonade.  He gulped his down.

“Oh, man, is that refreshing.”

“It’s just from the mix,” I explained, and blushed.  What was happening to me?  What was this blushing business?  I’m a thirty-five year old married woman for crying out loud and this kid was making me blush over a compliment about lemonade from a mix! 

I watched Greg chew his sandwich.  He was a remarkably relaxed and slow eater.  Between bites he told me what he was doing to our roof.  Occasionally I mumbled a response, “Oh, is that right?” but truthfully, I barely heard him, being busy sneaking glances at his body through the sides of my sunglasses.  When the pitcher was empty and the sandwich gone, I took the dishes back inside and Greg went back to work.  As I scraped crumbs into the sink, I switched on the garbage disposal only to hear a horrible grinding accompanied by a shot of dirty water that spewed a few inches into the air.  I quickly shut the disposal off.  My shoulders slumped with the idea of having to find and pay a plumber to handle the latest stage of deterioration of our house.  Then I glanced up and spotted Greg through the window. 

I beckoned him in.

Greg pulled open the cabinet door to expose the pipes under the sink and the garbage disposal.  He looked at the garbage disposal drain from the countertop side as well.  I hovered close behind him, anxious to figure out why my sink was vomiting up everything like a hungover college student.  I could smell his sweat mixed with his deodorant and the scent, oddly enough, of fresh cut grass.  He turned around quickly and startled me.  We were suddenly face-to-face, inches apart.  It felt like static electricity just sprung up between us.

“Oh!” I exclaimed in surprise.  He laughed.

“Sorry,” he said, “Well, I can’t see what’s wrong with the disposal on the surface.  I’m gonna have to take the unit out and look at it that way.  You okay with me doing that or do you want to call a plumber to make sure it doesn’t get screwed up?”  He looked down at me, one corner of his mouth turned up in a slight grin, almost teasing.

“Uhm, oh no, it’s okay.  You can do it, it’s easier that way.  You seem to know what you’re doing.”  He continued to bore his eyes into me and moved a step closer.

“I mean, if you want to fix it, it would help us save a few dollars, and you, uh,” I stammered, “You seem, uhm… handy.  But I don’t want to make you, I mean, you’re supposed to really only fix our roof…” 

He put his hands on either side of my hips and slowly began walking towards me.  I stumbled backwards a few steps until my back hit the countertop.  My eyes never left his, which were dark hazel and dancing with mischief.  My mind momentarily tried to remember if his hands were dirty and if they would leave stains on my cotton sundress.  My hips felt like they were on fire where his calloused palms pressed against them.  He was inching forward, the heat his body absorbed from the sun radiating onto me, until I felt my cheeks burning.  I put my hands on his arms, thinking to push him away but I couldn’t find the strength.  Then our bodies were pressed against one another and his stubble was scratching my cheek as he dipped his head into my collarbone and began to gently kiss me there, working upwards on my throat. 

I felt a rush of excitement through my body and a tingle that spread from the depths of me out to my toes.  I closed my eyes and let my head fall back.  A sigh escaped.  I felt myself lifted onto the countertop by his strong arms.  I tugged his sweaty T-shirt over his head and ran my hands along the pecs that I had admired every day.  I put my lips against his warm skin, tasted salt and sunk my teeth into his muscular chest.  He pulled the straps of my dress down my shoulders, exposing my breasts to his searching mouth.  The pace became more frenzied as our clothes were yanked aside and the built-up tension was finally released.

That was the beginning.  From that day on, just the sound of his footsteps on the roof above me would quicken my heartbeat and make my skin tingle.  We spent many steamy afternoons that summer with our limbs entangled on the checkered linoleum of my kitchen floor.  Being with Greg was exciting.  He was a more aggressive lover than John and I found his roughness exhilarating.  Then I found out I was pregnant.

Looking back, I hardly recognize that life I used to live only a mere four years ago.  When John found out about my affair, things quickly fell apart.  In a whirlwind of accusations, lawyers, paternity tests and tears, we were soon divorced.  Looking for comfort wherever I could find it, I moved into Greg’s small, cheaply built house.  I still look around the living room, with the threadbare couch and colorful toys scattered around and wonder how I got here.  On some days I wonder why I am still here.  I look at my daughter’s dark wavy hair and laugh at myself, at how four years ago I had desperately hoped that I could pass her off as John’s child.  John, with his blonde hair and light complexion.  My daughter surprises me sometimes, when I realize she can walk, or talk or has become a person in her own right.

I took time off from my teaching job to give birth to and raise my daughter and never returned, due to a combination of budget cuts and my emotional instability.  Now I sit in a small wood paneled office between metal filing cabinets and answer the phone for Gary and Sons Roofing Company.  The days pass by without much notice, each one more or less just like the one before. 

This isn’t the life I was supposed to be living.  This isn’t the life I started out with.  I was a happy woman, married to the love of my life.  We were trying to start a family.  Where was the turning point?  How did I not see it when it happened, and how come I didn’t stop it? 

Now when Greg makes love to me, I squeeze my eyes shut and take myself back to that old sun-dappled kitchen with the blooming stain on the ceiling and remember those warm afternoons, his taut young body and the pleasures we shared, and for a brief moment I am nearly happy.

 

back to Contest #4