The Book of Joe

around to the side of the school, where we find another deputy guarding the path leading to the rear of the building and the fire staircase. “If we can get that guy to move, I can get up to the roof,” I say. “Do you think you can create a diversion?”
    “No problem,” Carly says sardonically, ducking under the barricade without hesitation. Before I know what she’s doing, she’s taken off at a run across the side lawn toward the front corner of the school building. “Hey!” the deputy calls to her. “Stop!” Carly keeps running, and within seconds the guard has taken off after her. I hear her stop to inform him that she’s a member of the press, but by then I’ve already crossed the lawn and made it into the stairwell. I take the metal stairs two and three at a time, feeling all James Bond as I make my way up to the roof.
    I’ve just emerged onto the roof when I hear footsteps pounding up the stairs behind me, and I’m bracing myself for a confrontation with the deputy when Jared appears running up the last flight of stairs and joins me on the roof.
    “Hey, Uncle Joe,” he says, flipping his wild hair out of his face as we stand together, catching our breath.
    “What are you doing here?” I say.
    “I go to school here. Sometimes.”
    “You picked a hell of a day to stop cutting.”
    Jared shrugs. “Who knew?” He walks over to the edge of the roof and looks down at the crowd below with mild curiosity. “Be one hell of a swan dive.”
    “Why don’t you go back downstairs.”
    “The view’s much better from up here.”
    “Fine.” I give up and turn to look up toward the cupola.
    “I’m going to talk to Wayne for a few minutes. You wait here.”
    “You bet,” Jared says. “Good luck.”
    I’ve forgotten that the only access onto the cupola is from the front of the building, which means grabbing the concrete ledge at the base of the cupola and swinging my legs out into the open air before pulling myself up. If this somewhat risky move bothered me when I was a kid, I don’t remember, but it certainly gives me pause now. One slip, and it’s a good five-story fall onto the front promenade. Still, Wayne has managed it in his frail condition, so who the hell am I to back down? Before my hesitation can morph into paralysis, I reach for the ledge, the gritty edge of the concrete tattooing my fingertips, and swing my legs up onto the base of the cupola. The crowd below lets out a gratifying collective gasp.
    Wayne sits leaning against the cupola, a cigarette in his mouth and another, just lit, between his slender fingers, dangled in my direction. “Hey, Joe,” he says, nodding a casual greeting.
    “Hey.” I pull myself up and then squirm forward on my belly until I’m safely on the ledge. “How’s it going?”
    “Swell.”
    I take the cigarette and roll into a sitting position next to him, our feet dangling precariously over the side of the building. “Why don’t I remember this being so dangerous back in the day?”
    “Because we used to be immortal,” Wayne says, still staring through his feet at the action below.
    “That must have been it.” I take a perfunctory drag on the cigarette. The smoke tastes stale and stings the back of my throat. “So,” I say. “What’s going on?”
    Wayne nods as if he’s been waiting for the question. “I woke up feeling especially strong today,” he says. “And something told me that this very well might be my last day of being independently mobile. You can’t begin to imagine what that feels like, knowing that this is my last day to simply climb out of bed and see the world, the sky, feel the ground beneath my feet, the wind against my face.” He pauses to take a small, almost childish puff on his cigarette. “So, to make a short story even shorter, I took a walk, and here I am.”
    “I can’t believe you managed to climb all the way up here,” I say.
    “I know, right? I wasn’t sure I would make it.”
    “And how were you planning on getting down?”
    Wayne leans forward and looks between his toes at the crowd below and then turns back to me, smiling ruefully.
    “Shortcut.”
    “Wayne, man.” I’m at a loss. A couple of gray pigeons land to our right on the ledge, the jade green flecks in their plumage glinting like sequins in the sun. I’ve never thought
    of pigeons as colorful before, and I watch, fascinated, as they putter around for a few seconds in a quick, jittery ballet before flying off in a noisy burst of