Seeing the world differently from the rooftops

Patrick Kiley

Talking in My Sleep

Perspective. Why is it such a trial to get a new one of these? Purchasing a new car, a new computer, the latest trend in pants, hats or sunglasses - perspectives cost so much less, but it seems to demand a currency more obscure than what they use in Greenland. It is an experiential amount, inflated by routine and marked down with risk. If you want a new angle on things, then put away your money and see Ann Arbor from the rooftops.

This is my dream: One night very soon, the University will rise up. Quite literally. Everyone will put down the books and coffee and like a pack of docile zombies we will ascend the fire escapes and ladders to the rooftops. Perhaps then we will all have a new perspective, at the mere risk of tumbling headlong into the azaleas.

I have experience with this. All my life I've been going up on rooftops to catch a bigger glimpse of the surroundings. Take it all in. Before I was even 10 years old my brother and I put a wicker chair on the gas grill, wobbled up above the creaking, hoisted ourselves with sweaty palms onto the gutters, then slid backward like crabs against the slanted grain of the shingles. It's worth it though. We were little kings up there, scampering along the tilted terrain as like Mario and Luigi. At dinner there was a silent smirk between us, because we knew that from the right height even Dad could look like a kid.

Not to be sentimental. Rooftops can also be settings for the pathetic. One time my friend Sharif put a Sierra Nevada in my hand; we must have appeared drunken gymnasts teetering off the fire escape, groping towards the sky. The things I remember are that it was cold enough to see breath, the moon was clearly cratered, and that my spine would not agree with the upside-down "V" of the roof's apex. I also remember that some piece of architecture reminded me of Jefferson's Monticello, which is funny because that's a house I've never seen, let alone scaled.

The last time I was on a rooftop was also in Ann Arbor, at house on the corner of William and Fifth. We went there after work, slumped, dismal, thirsty for spirits. But we ended up out on the roof blowing bubbles and smoking cigarettes. Take a drag, exhale through the glinting film, and the bubble will become a milky ball undulating through space. One of them had the longevity to cross William and journey above the District Library. I watched in proud amazement as it finally popped, exhaling once again, leaving me with one foot dangling off the edge.

These are perspectives I gained: Bigness, silliness, weightlessness. But I can't be the only one who has found something new in the higher up. There is a bagpiper around here who is wont to pipe from the tops of parking structures. One recent night I became so fixated on his bellowing blare that, like the snakes to Saint Patrick, I had to follow it. Through backyards and parking lots I arrived at the epicenter. I found a red-bearded man with his lips to the pipes, and he told me he played at the top so that the sound wouldn't disturb anyone. With a curious look, I told him that I could hear him so many blocks away. He was stunned. He hoped the cops wouldn't be after him and I imagined the difficulty they would have in picking him from a crowd, bagpipes in one hand, scotch in the other.

These are the stories that form on rooftops. Before long there will be snow and ice, making the whole adventure slippery in its promises. So be sure to see Ann Arbor from on high before too long. The question is, who among us is bizarre enough to poke through the night like children? Stardust, Peter Pan, Marry Poppins. Maybe fairy tale images like these come to mind. But hey, if that's not your cup, then be glad to know that rooftops are the ideal locale for reading Nietszche, dropping acid, or practicing pedantry with four of your most pompous friends. That's the beautiful thing about perspective: It only requires you - whoever-you-are - to move.

- Patrick Kiley can be reached by e-mail at pkiley.umich.edu.