“You can write it but only if you add that I never take a vacation, I never ask to go to France, all I want is that he take care of my boys.”

Mark and I were finishing toasted chicken, cheese and tomato sandwiches Jan made for lunch, and we were about to go back to work. It was ninety something, and on the roof, with the sun heating up and reflecting off the shingles, it had to be, as the DJ on ZLX would say, over a buck.

As the day wore on and we wore down, the shingles would become too hot to sit on, and our shingle cutting knives, made from metal, too hot to touch. From the beginning, when we met at 6:45 AM at the transfer station to dump old roofing material, I knew this day would be brutal. The sun was full and glowing a hazy orange, as if partially obscured by water vapor. Imagine Ethiopia without the bleached wildebeest bones.

I decided early, that to get to the end of the day, not necessarily to get finished, would be an honorable goal. Mark and I both like the heat, but this brought memories of summer roofing work in Evansville, almost as hot, almost as humid, but I’m no longer almost as young.

After emptying Mark’s trailer, stopping at Home Depot and Maki’s lumber for stock, we turned into 63 Grimes at 8:30 AM. I always look forward to Jan’s hug, but when we walked into the house we were greeted by only “the boys” – their four dogs. I followed Mark downstairs to the back slider and out into the yard and somehow, Rudy, one of the German Shepherds, squeezed out of the door and out of the yard. He has done this before, crafty explorer he, in fact, he escaped the last time I was there. Maybe, as Mark says, it is me. Anyway, that means Jan has to drive off, find Rudy and bring him back. But at this point, we didn’t even know he was gone.
Mark and I walked back to my truck and hauled our materials and tools to the roof to begin work. Our lumber yard trips meant we were starting late and already the heat was oppressive.

As everyone knows, I am a freak of nature. I grew up in hot, humid weather; I like the heat and I know how cope with it. My father taught me. His lesson, hard to understand at the time, was simple. Wear long sleeved shirts. Which I do, with heavy denim pants, socks and zero degree insulated boots. Okay, he didn’t say anything about the pants and boots, but if you wear long sleeved shirts you will, by god, sweat until the shirt is soaked, and in the evaporative process, you’ll stay cool. Or cooler. Try it. The second lesson, learned even later, is to force fluids. If you are not peeing, you are not drinking enough. I made many trips to the edge of the roof to water the plants below and I’m sure my random question asked much later, have you peed lately, made Mark wonder.

As I was pouring more water down my throat, call it an early fill-up, I looked over the roof ridge to see Jan, with determined gait, walking to her car. I shouted, “Hi,” but got a half smile in return. I went back to work, and a few minutes later, I realized she was driving back down the long driveway. Not gone long, where she went I didn’t know, but Mark, looking up, said, ” I’ve got to see why Jan is mad at me.” I thought to myself, how do you know she’s mad? How do you know anything, she’s in her car? Clairvoyant couple? But work and heat was all consuming and I paid it little attention.

Mark walked back up the roof, said something about how Rudy had escaped, and then continued to replace what we had torn away the week before. We knew that far off, the laying of shingles would signal the plausible end of the day. If, that is, we were still standing. I thought I would be, but I was not so sure about Mark: the non-water swilling, sweating, beet red, man in shorts and T-shirt.

Unlike the tear-off under the blue tarp in the rain, this was fun, similar to nailing pieces of a jig saw puzzle together. First a layer of plywood, cut in various shapes, then two inch thick rigid insulation, followed by a layer of roofing felt, more plywood, then black, rubbery, ice and water shield, more roofing felt, then finally, those sticky with hot tar, shingles.

It was now past noon, and as Mark always does, he set an arbitrary millstone to be met before our break. “Let’s finish laying the sheathing, then stop for lunch.” I might add that he had brilliantly filled his hot tub with cold water. There, we were to find respite from the heat, but in our hurry we never used it.

By now, Mark’s appearance was beginning to worry me. He was soaked with sweat, his eyes sunken like bathtub drains, and I thought neither Mimi nor Ned could have looked this bad. But he, more than any of us, is a workaholic. He slowed down, because he couldn’t force himself to move any faster, but he never stopped. We were going to finish the roof even if the last bang of the last nail killed him.

As I pushed the jug of water in his direction, I asked, “Mark, how did you know Jan was mad at you?”

“Rudy got out.”

Reminded of Matthew trying to count the number of hours he had been painting, I asked again, “No, I know that. I said how did you know she was mad at you? She was in the car.”

“She gave me the finger.”

“Oh,” I replied. Body language even I could understand.

If either Diane or I gave the other the finger that would be the end of the relationship. Carve the tombstone “They Were a Loving Couple, but No More.” Diane frowns, I know it’s my fault; I twitch and she thinks I’ve accused her of bad parenting. We are the BMW to the Queijo off road SUV. And believe me, I would rather our marriage have their kind of elbow room. However, I do think it harmless that Rudy wanders. But then Diane decides to go to Hawaii and our cat croaks, so go figure.

Addendum:

Mark said, “I really love reading your web logs. I don’t know if it’s because the writing is good, or because I know the situations and the people in them.” Well, Mark, which is it?



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