Writer - Andrea Jackson
On a cold night I will open the roof to the stars. I’ll climb out onto the roof where the slope is frightening but I in my long johns and sneakers will DEFY DEATH as I climb to the highest part of the roof where no one goes except the roofer. I will be Roof Man and I’m not afraid because I can FLY. Now I stand tall and take off, flying above the roofs and the trees and even the birds, flying to California where it’s warm. I’ll land lightly on a beach and stroll into the old Coronado Hotel and only then will I remember that I’m wearing long johns and sneakers and that I have no money. I could turn around and fly back home. But instead in a very civilized and well-spoken and conspicuously sober way I ask stylish people for a loan. The hotel people call the police and I am put in jail. The next day during an exercise break in the jail yard I fly up and over the walls and back home where my wife has been frantically looking for me. She doesn’t believe my story and decides I’ve had a psychotic break. She has never believed I can fly. Even when I demonstrate it she doesn’t believe it. She thinks it’s a trick. There is nobody who knows who I am or what I can do. It’s lonely to be Roof Man. Also cold.
Andrea Jackson is at least twenty-three years old and lives in a commune in upstate New York where she peels vegetables until her knuckles are raw and bleeding, but it’s a good kind of raw and bleeding. Her new book is Who Am I and Where Is Home? An American Woman in 1931 Palestine, a terrific read that’s available on Amazon or through any bookstore. www.andreajackson.net.