We were doing exactly what we were not supposed to be doing: playing on the roof of our home. But since mom and dad were at work, we figured we could get away with it.
Dad had already warned Adam and I about climbing around on the roof. He found out we were playing on the roof after I had jumped from the house top to the redwood picnic table below and it collapsed.
One would have thought the butt-blistering I got that day would have taught me a lesson. Nope.
As I walked back and forth along the ridge of the roof, I could hear Adam calling me. He was standing on one end of the teeter-totter Dad had built a couple years earlier.
Adam wanted me to jump on the end with the hope of landing on the roof. I told him it wouldn’t work but he insisted.
He was a very good insister.
Adam shot straight up 30 feet or more then in the blink of an eye, tumbled head-over-heels into the ground. The sound of his body hitting the earth was like a plastic basket of wet clothes.
He jus’ laid there unmoving.
My first thought was that I had killed Adam — my second thought was Mom and Dad are going to kill me. In response, I ran from the backyard and into the field across from out house. I hid in the trees thinking Adam was dead.
Then I saw him in front to the house. Adam was drinking a soda as if nothing had ever happened.