Rooftop

DAY 2-3: ROOFTOP

“Follow me.”

Further up, the trail forked. To the right of the primary way was a steep desire path. Rosa led me through, climbing down with swift carefulness as though she’s trodden this path too many times to count. She lacked the proper clothes for the occasion, wearing sandals and a dress. I followed behind her, attentively stepping between rocks and holding onto the nearby ledge. I attempted to mirror her brisk nature so as not to fall behind.

Rosa let out a quiet yelp. Her foot slipped from behind and she began to fall backward. Almost instinctively, I reached out my arm behind her back to break her fall. As she fell into my arm, her bare shoulder made contact with my hand.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I let go of her. My immediate response was one of extreme discomfort. She felt fragile and vulnerable. Holding someone when they have not asked to be held made me uneasy, even if I was breaking her fall. The sensation of physical contact, when unexpected, can be immensely off-putting. Even though I technically did not do anything wrong, or perhaps even did something right, I was overcome with a sense of shame and a desire to remove myself from the situation. It made me cringe; it made me want to clench my fists, curl my toes, and shut my eyes. Holding her like that probably made her uncomfortable and ruined the moment.

“Thanks,” Rosa told me while looking back with a quick, nonchalant grin.

She did not seem disturbed in the slightest. The flow of our interaction remained uninterrupted.

We made our way towards the bottom of the hill onto an emerging path of broken, sandy road. The town area did not appear overly lively on the ground level. Perhaps it was too late into the evening. Or night? I wouldn’t know; I don’t have a phone to check—but I kind of prefer it that way. Slowing down our pace, we cut through some thin alleyways.

“So what made you move out of this area?” I asked.

“Well, my dad split from my mom. He found a new woman and thought it was better to spend time with her than with his daughter and wife. I guess the area we live in now is more financially viable.”

Perhaps I should not have asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I responded.

“Don’t be. You’re not the one who should apologize,” interjected Rosa.

“Up here!” she signaled.

This alleyway was particularly cozy. Rough cobblestones that had to have been laid hundreds of years ago spotted the ground. Just the right amount of light seeped into the small crevice between these two buildings. The rest of the city was still visible. We entered the building to our left that had a stone brick base below chipped, blue-gray plaster with white linings and a flat roof.

The interior almost looked abandoned, or perhaps it was. The walls and floors appeared unsubjected to any form of upkeep. Especially the floor, which had eroded to the point of looking like beige and gray rubble. Scaling the thin set of stairs to our left, we eventually made our way onto the rooftop.

“What do you think? Do you like it?” inquired Rosa before I had even reached the top step.

As I made my way to the end of the stairs a beautiful vista entered my sight with Rosa standing aside it. The nearly set sun let out the last of its light on the orange terracotta shingles that sat atop every house, skimming the silhouette of the distant mountains along the way.

“I can see why you like it here,” I replied.

"I used to come up here and draw all the time. It's practically a second home. And one of the only consistent ones."

Rosa sat on the concrete ledge overlooking the city. I stood across from her, hands in my pockets. The setting sun cast an orange fade on the side of Rosa’s face down to her sundress.

Home. It’s interesting how the idea of home works. As someone who lived in the same house until college, I cannot speak to the effects of moving at a young age, but I do know the value I place in locations. The comfort I feel when I am in my own house, my own bed—it’s unrivaled, unparalleled. That being said, I’ve adapted to the college dorm setting well. I’m sure I could shift my home. But will my dreams still be of my first home? Will my brain truly adjust to a new home, or will I subconsciously be stuck in my first home? People seem to have a ratio of observing to thinking. The younger you are, especially in childhood, the more you observe. As you get older, you spend much more time thinking—focusing on what’s next and paying little attention to what’s actually around you. I’d posit that being in the stage of observation helps to subconsciously establish a feel for “home.” For as much as I attempt to observe a new home, will I ever have the time to do so to the degree that I did as a child? I find that possibility unlikely. But, perhaps it does not matter.

“How old were you when you moved?” I asked Rosa.

“It must have been when I was around 10.”

“Well, I can’t speak to your old home, but the place you live now is pretty cozy. I like it.”

“You could say that. It’s not bad.”

We took in the night’s breeze in a brief moment of silence.

“I love how cities look with the oncoming night. The lights, the contrast, the quietness—it feels so alive and peaceful,” I gushed.

“I see your point,” she smiled.

There is a sensation I seem to experience in addition to taste, smell, vision, hearing, and touch. It strikes me as almost impossible to describe. The only words I can think of to label this sense are “atmosphere” and “vibe.” Perhaps it’s the amalgam of every sense. When I think back on a very distinct memory, I tend to receive this feeling, even if for just a brief moment. Nostalgia seems to amplify my recognition of this sense, as when I am feeling the sensation in the moment, I do not immediately think to recognize it. It’s often when I am thinking back on a moment from long ago and even when I reframe thoughts with how I perceived life at the time that I suddenly feel this sensation. Aside from nostalgia, I tend to receive this feeling quite often with larger-scale dreams. While some dreams embody only a small location and have little distinctness to their feeling, some are grand, detailed worlds that immerse me instantly and leave a lasting impression as though I was actually there. When I have a dream of this sort, I tend to write it down in an attempt to capture this distinct feeling in a bottle. But, this feeling is fleeting. The moment I reimagine it, it hops right from my arms as though it was a hare I have been chasing. It’s only when I catch the hair by surprise next that I’ll get what I want.

I remember distinctly when a moment of this sensation occurred as a toddler. I was watching a video of a man discussing the inner workings of a construction site. Given that construction was my obsession at that time, I was captivated. I watched intently. I remember the color of the dirt as it was scooped from the ground, and even have a general reimagining of how I believed the construction site looked. I don’t know if it’s an accurate reimagining, nor do I know if I even want to check.

Sometimes this distinct sensation can embody a more abstract form. At age nine, thinking about calendars would seem to bring me to a vast, cozy, and visually distinct world. The association and the way I imagined the months were almost entirely spatial. I still recall dreams I had at the time that embodied this feeling. This may have been due to the fact that I was not nearly as familiar with the progression of the calendar then as I came to be. Perhaps once I grasped the months and rid them of mystique, part of that sensation died. I wonder if as I age, the degree to which I have this feeling decreases. I’m not sure.

One thing I have been able to deduce is that mindset and location often play a part in recognizing this sensation. When I think of a time when my mindset was different, such as when my perception of abstract concepts was more spatial as a young child, I am able to perceive a small part of this feeling. The same can often occur with places. There’s a degree of immersion I had in regard to places when I was a child, almost as though I was filling in the blanks of the vast world around me with my imagination, or even just recognizing its vastness, that produced a potent sense of atmosphere.

The reason I make digital models of locations is to chase this sensation. Places in video games and movies, digital locations—they also have the ability to grant this feeling, from what I have deduced. The benefit of recreating these places, sounds, and atmospheres digitally is that it is incredibly easy to revisit. It’s like capturing this indescribable feeling in a bottle. What is my goal in considering this sense? To chase, live, and know these atmospheres and the high they give me.

Even though it is rare for me to perceive this sense of atmosphere as it is occurring, I felt as though I could perceive it now, at this moment. The evening view of the city, Rosa, and all the surrounding colors—this was an atmosphere I wanted to capture in a bottle.

“Well, it’s getting late. I don’t want Mom to worry; we should head out,” Rosa let me know.

“Right, of course.”

To think that before this day I barely knew her at all! To think it would be that easy to get to know her! I was satisfied with the day. So, is Ms. Maria the greatest wingman of all time? Maybe. Probably. No, definitely.

I went to sleep gratified that night. I can’t believe that was only my second day. I hope this great luck continues. I can’t see it going away. In fact, I don’t think anyone could steal this from me.

NEXT CHAPTER: STOLEN LUCK