Todd’s truck departed, and a moment later, William’s El Camino arrived. I descended the accordion ladder and walked into the garage. William looked like I had felt the prior morning, tired and hungover. Bags, too large for a man his age, protruded beneath his eyes, and he moved with lethargy as he alternately sipped from a Styrofoam cup and inhaled a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Vincenzo,” he said in his deep voice, but this time without humor or excitement. “You still working here?”
“I guess so,” I said.
“Too bad. You had a chance to get out while you still could. I thought for sure Todd would fire you.”
“What? Why?”
William smiled, squinting as the cigarette smoke wafted up to his blue eyes. “I’m just giving you shit. Todd called me last night. Said he couldn’t believe you got all that rock broken up and into the foundation ditch. He said anybody that would do what you did with a hangover and without complaint had to be a good worker.”
“How’d he know I was hungover?”
“Experience,” William said with his distinct chuckle. “You looked like shit. Todd doesn’t care what you do on your own time so long as the work gets done. Because you got the work done, he was able to schedule the foundation inspector for tomorrow morning, and the concrete pour for the afternoon. That puts us ahead of schedule. What’s he got you doing this morning?”
“Tearing off the roof,” I said.
William’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. From the frying pan into the fire.” He laughed and took off the long-sleeve cotton shirt he wore over a stained T-shirt and handed it to me. “Wear this,” he said.
“It’s already hot up there.”
“Forget the heat. That insulation itches like a bitch. Don’t touch it. Don’t let it touch your skin.” William pulled out a crumpled blue bandana and a pair of plastic goggles from one of the white buckets. “Tie this around your nose and mouth and wear the goggles. Trust me. Or you’ll scratch your skin off.”
William went back to work preparing the foundation for inspection and, hopefully, the cement pour. I went up the ladder with the handkerchief and the goggles and pulled down insulation for about fifteen minutes. It was already warm and humid inside the attic; my goggles kept fogging and I could hardly breathe through the bandana. The temperature felt hotter by the minute, and now that William had gotten me thinking about itching, I was itchy.
After pulling down several batts of insulation, I better understood Todd’s instruction about cutting the nailing slats. The framing looked like what I imagined a whale’s skeleton would look like from the inside. The two-by-six beams formed the backbone. In between the framing were the one-by-four nailing slats, the rib bones. The tar paper, shingles, and insulation—what I imagined to be the blubber and skin—were nailed to the slats. I stopped and thought for a minute. There had to be a better way to do this job.
I took an end of my crowbar and banged on a place where I had removed insulation. Dust fell, further choking the air, but eventually I poked a hole in the tar paper and shingles. The hole allowed bright light and a puff of fresh air. I enlarged the hole enough to insert my head, pulled down the bandana, and took a deep breath of cool morning air. I knew how Todd wanted the work done, but I contemplated a way that would save time, save lumber, and most importantly, provide me breathable air.
I stuck the blade of the Sawzall through the hole I had punched near one of the ridge beams and hit the trigger. The saw jumped from my hands like a rifle and I dropped it, putting a small gash through the top of my Converse. A quick check confirmed I had not cut off my toe. I swore, took a breath, and tried again, this time with a firm grip on the machine. The blade ripped through the tar paper and shingles as well as the rib bones. I cut a four-foot-long gash, then stepped to the adjacent two-by-six and repeated the process. When I had finished, I busted through the shingles at the top of the two gashes. I then used the crowbar to lift the square I had cut until momentum, gravity, and its weight caused the cut section to tumble end over end down the roof. It crashed in the front yard with a bang.
William cursed a blue streak, and he and Mike, who had arrived earlier, came running from the garage looking like they expected to find me sprawled on the front lawn.
William swore a string of expletives. In between he said, “I thought you fell off the roof.” He looked at the roof section on the front lawn. “I guess that’s one way to do it. Just don’t kill yourself.”