At night, no matter how hot it had been during the day and how much of that heat lay trapped on the tar-black shingles, she would climb from her bedroom window onto the garage roof and lie there, listening to bands play at the outdoor theater. The sound would echo like rain in a tin cup as it traveled the few miles from the theater to where she lay, but she didn't mind. Sometimes while listening she saw a contrail form in the sky overhead. She imagined that the people inside the tiny planes could hear the concerts as well. She told herself that they would carry the songs they heard with them wherever they were going. It was the kind of thought, on nights like that, that almost made it okay to grow up.
No comments:
Post a Comment