You come in with two lemonades but catch me off guard—I must still be looking at the binoculars.

“Oh, those old things,” you say.

I smile gently, which seems like a mistake. My dad is just next door, and I am younger and stronger than you, but who knows what else you have lying around here.  

You hand me a glass of lemonade. “Let me ask, are you afraid of heights?”

I should say yes, but I can’t look another human in the eye and lie, and the truth is, my dad and I have jumped out of airplanes together and I’m not sure you don’t already know this. “Not at all,” I say.

You hand me the binoculars and lead me upstairs and down a brief hallway with two shut doors on each side. I stop and take a good look at you. I’m surprised by the boniness of your upper back and the power of your hamstrings. You pull down a hatch from the ceiling, which folds out into a ladder, and we climb up into an empty attic and then out a window onto a section of flat roof. There is a leafy potted plant and a half full water bottle, two plastic chairs, and two plates with bread crusts.

“Have a look.”

I do and I see my childhood bedroom window, big and blurry, then refocus and I’m relieved that I can’t see inside my room. I look down our street. Nothing I’ve never seen before. A street that never turns—two-story houses with rectangular yards split in half by walkways. A posse of kids on bikes, all with similar haircuts and riding postures. An elderly woman pulled along by a golden retriever.          

You gesture for me to have a seat, but when I go to sit down you tell me that’s your seat and the other one is mine. “Go ahead and keep looking if you’d like. I can look anytime,” you say. 
 

But I don’t want to, so I put the binoculars on my lap. “What do you look for? Anything in particular?”
 

You smile at me as if to say, finally, we’re going to have a conversation. “Well, I’m retired now and it’s pretty much just me here. You see what I’m saying?” 

I only nod.

“I guess I could join a club or call up some old friends, but with folks my age I don’t have much to show for. And I like it up here and you never know - might see something of note. Something that could change things. Beautiful or rotten.”

“Or both,” I add.