I didn’t know exactly where I wanted to live. I couldn’t picture it in my head. Did I want to be in the city with everyone else, living above and below somebody, or rent a room in a house with a bunch of other poor students? What I saw, instead, were things. I knew what pots were going in my cupboards, and I knew the Brita filter size I preferred—the big ones took up too much space in the fridge. And I wanted twinkling lights—for a balcony, perhaps—and I wanted to have them on every night as I slept with the glow coming into my room. When I finally made up my mind, I moved into the second floor of a building full of old people, and I got those pots for my cupboards, and I got that Britta filter that didn’t take up any room. I’m still waiting for my lights.
“Spend your free time the way you like, not the way you think you’re supposed to.” [Quiet, Susan Cain]
What she liked about the roof was there was no one else up there with her. Her dad was downstairs walking on the floors and she was climbing through her window, scraping up her knees to get up there.
"I know you’re up there," he told her one night.
"I don’t care." She took a drag of her cigarette. "If I don’t see you, and you don’t see me, then I’m not actually up there."
She was one giant mess of things and I wonder if she even noticed.
"I like that mark on your face."
I smiled. “Yeah?”
"Yeah. It suits you."