Everything New
Sean Ennis
“Busier Than a Paper Hanger.” source: Roofer’s Coffee Shop
We agreed on a roofer and hugged. We had debated metal or shingles, gutters or no, local work or exotic, but in the end decided on a woman who did not have a ladder but did have a satellite image of our home, from the nineties, when half the house was missing and the Baggetts still lived here. We had to walk her around the addition so she’d believe us instead of her phone. Quick math, she figured it in. We liked that she was a woman, I’ll admit it. The roofer-men were know-it-alls.
What a stressful, enormous expense to keep out the rain, stunt the black mold in the room labeled “office,” and keep the house from a total dangerous collapse!
Meanwhile, in the Valley, there’s no way we’re letting our son practice with the basketball team this summer, so he and I are running the neighborhood track in new sneakers. Ricky is getting a new oven. Neal painted his house. Everything new. There’s that sexy feeling after a run, the nonsensical pride one feels in a new appliance or color. Matty even has a new baby.
The roof is replaced in three days and the house is resurrected. It will not rain. It will not rain to try it out and there’s still so much more to do if we want to leave. Living here with its two-prong outlets (an electrician said, fire hazard), its creeping vines up the peach brick (a roofer said, poisonous), its deficient dishwasher (a plumber said, poor drainage) has been—what? My son’s whole life contained. There’s no way we’re letting him practice with the basketball team. A joy.
He wants, when the work is done, to move into the room with the mold. It’s clear on the other side of the small house. What will he do in his own little apartment – with its own little bathroom – to decorate? He has his games on the tv and he still plays with balls.
But, you know, new roof same as the old roof, only better. Now that it’s complete, it brings me little joy. You can’t really see it, and it’s not like we go up there to watch meteor showers or something. I do however imagine all our neighbors doing some much-needed self-reflection.
My wife told me a secret. Under our back deck is the original patio. We could tear it down! We used to laugh and drink on the deck, but now it’s mainly where the dogs sun themselves, though I am writing to you from it. Maybe it’s a task for the next owners, who I like to imagine as thrilled with the place, a smallish family, its potential for a new life. Our gift: a roof, exorcised evil ghosts, some hidden charm.
Sean Ennis is the author of CHASE US: Stories (Little A) and his flash fiction has recently appeared in Passages North, Hobart, (mac)ro(mc), No Contact, and Tiny Molecules. @seanennis110