Dinosaurs on the Roof

1 As Janet crested the hill, her breath was smooth, her stride easy. Sweat streaked her brow, beading and falling. There was an unfamiliar car parked at the curb near where she lived, but she wasn't expecting anyone, and her landlords, the Luckritzes, always had relatives and friends coming and going. Since she'd increased her distance from three to four miles today, exhaustion might have dragged at her, but the striving had turned into a gleam in her blood that pushed her to sail on. The swish of her ponytail threaded out the back of her baseball cap brushed her shoulders. Her long legs stretched and coiled, promising a future of runs, always longer, always farther. Even races. Miles of concrete flowing under her. Miles of dirt. Marathons, even. Throngs of runners in silky shorts, their lungs gasping. She would float along in a cloud of wild breathing. A shift in the late-afternoon light turned the ragged old four-door into a shimmering green bubble. She was pretty sure it was a Chevy, and eighties. Not that she knew cars that well. And then nudging away ringlets of sweaty hair, she saw gray duct tape crisscrossing rusted scars on both the front and rear fenders and knew who was inside. Her gaze vaulted the brown siding and the shingled rooftop ahead to a fissure in the autumn colors of the tree-packed hills. Scattered houses rode the summit, and somewhere miles below, the banks of the Mississippi brought the town to an end. Across that gray slab of water rose the Wisconsin hills. Her attempt to see into the car met only shadows thrown by a nearby oak. While telling herself to jog past, maybe gallop on into the woods, she slowed and then stalled. The window started jerking down in spasms, and the face that pushed out was that of Bernice Doorley, a lifelong friend of Janet's mother, Isabel. Caught upon the hook of the old woman's gaze, Janet felt the rewards of the run leave her. The last time she'd seen Bernice was at her mother's funeral over a year ago. "How do," said Bernice. "Straying a little far from home, aren't you?" Janet asked. "Not so far. Speedometer says here I went just a little more than six miles." "I ran about that far." "Did you now? Look at you. All out of breath. Who you runnin' from?" "Just running, Bernice." "What's that called again?" "Just 'running,' as far as I know." "No, no, it's got some other name so it don't sound ordinary, but somehow there's more to it." "Exercise." "Nope." "Jogging." "That's the one." With a sly little smile, she pushed the door open. "Get in. Have a little rest." Janet looked away and then back but gave no indication she would enter the car. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?" "Lookin' for you. Isn't that clear?" "Not really." "Get in. I need to ask a sort of favor, and I can make it snappy." Janet smiled but took a backward step, as if something she would be smart to avoid waited inside the car. "Listen, do you know what? We can talk, but I should take a shower. You can come up." Her attempted display of welcome made her feel like a puppet with fingers worming their way up inside her to make her act in ways she didn't mean. Why can't they just leave me alone? she thought. Bernice appeared ready to scowl, her eyes vaguely suspicious, behind the thick lenses of her glasses in clear plastic frames. "Listen," Janet explained. "What I meant was we should go inside. I need to get something to drink and jump in the shower before I catch cold." "You want me to come inside?" "Yeah." That was her deal, all right. Polite, compliant, and fake. A cozy little chat with Bernice was the last thing she wanted. "Oh well, you should say what you mean, then, Janet." "I thought I did." "Not as far as I could tell." Emerging into the day, Bernice made a sturdy impression, always had. Medium height and slightly overweight, she was broad across the back and hips. Her white hair wasRabe, David is the author of 'Dinosaurs on the Roof' with ISBN 9781416564058 and ISBN 1416564055.