He perched on a chair on his roof and read his book at a dizzyingly slow pace. Even a compelling collection of essays proved too much for his focus, which drifted to the bright sun above, out west at the Manhattan skyline, down at his toes in need of a pedicure, over at the ground where the roof tiles met the walls.
It was hot, but the breeze washed over rooftops like the buildings around him were exhaling.
Another half page read, then re-read, because despite reading the words and sentences, he was not really registering their meaning. He was distracted again, this time by the giant, dead fig tree leaves that scuttled across the roof floor, the wind propelling them into random, meaningless pirouettes.
They had fallen off their tree from inside the top-floor apartment with roof access, and whether intentionally or not, they had made their way out onto the roof. Trapped by the walls that bordered the roof, tracing back and forth, the dead fibers scraped against tile, insistent on reminding anyone nearby of their presence. He was convinced that if nobody intervened, they might do this forever.
Before he could continue analyzing the plant carcasses, the door to the apartment with roof access opened, its click startling him. Out walked a medium-sized dog, its paws padding on the roof cautiously, aware that a new human was on its roof and sussing out how this changed the environment. He put his book down, having read a good three pages in the last 20 minutes, and let the dog approach.
The dog, big but anxious. He remembered how you are supposed to let an anxious dog come to you, to be unafraid yet gentle and open, to let the dog be the boss of the new relationship. He extended his right arm out a bit, palm up, as if to say ‘I’m here, but only if you want.’
The dog did meander over, silent and curious and timid all at once. All of a sudden, it lay down right next to him, paws stretching out along the roof’s tiles, expanding its surface area to take in the warmth from the sun-baked tiles and the afternoon heat from above. He rubbed its stomach as one does when dogs show their bellies, jealous of the creature for what seemed like a life full of sunshine and sleep.
Out of the apartment came a woman, tall and pretty. He asked her if she’d just moved in, and she said no, but her boyfriend did.
“If the dog does anything weird, just yell for me,” she said before returning inside, in a casual way that implied he already knew this, like they had the familiarity about each other that coworkers would. He overthought about how he would yell for her, what exactly he would say, how loud he’d be, and what things the dog might do that would warrant him needing to yell for her.
He decided it would be better if needing her, at any point, was not an option. He thought about how awkward (or maybe, how American) it can be to share a semi-public space with someone you don’t know, especially when you’re someone who kept to themselves their entire life.
While he was thinking about all of this, the dog fell asleep, the book sat unopened and unread on the table, and the dead leaves rattled around under the blank, bright sun.
~
Just what I would do:
He overthought about how he would yell for her, what exactly he would say, how loud he’d be, and what things the dog might do that would warrant him needing to yell for her.