You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

FALLEN LADDER

While repairing a skylight on the steep two-story roof of my house in Portland, Oregon, a gust of wind blew my ladder down. It was 1993, before cell phones. I had no way to get help except to yell “Help!” to people passing on Mississippi Ave.

I finished caulking the skylight and crawled up to the roof ridge. Up there, I was no longer at risk of sliding off the roof because I could straddle the ridge. A second benefit of being on top of the roof is that I could see more than two blocks up the avenue. I waited for someone to come. If it had been a weekday, the avenue would have been crawling with activity. But it was Sunday afternoon, the shops and restaurants were all closed. No one was out. It seemed like I might have to spend the rest of the day and possibly the night up there.

Then, after 20 minutes of sitting uncomfortably on the ridge of the roof, I saw a man walking in my direction. He was two blocks away. He walked quickly. I thought, “Ah, an energetic young man who can lift the heavy ladder back into position”. I feared that he would turn and go up the side street, but he crossed the side street and continued walking up the opposite side of the avenue in my block. He was 50 yards from me when I started shouting “Help” and waving my arms. He didn’t acknowledge my shouts or even look in my direction. He walked past my house as I continued to call out for help. “He certainly could hear me,” I thought, “Why would he ignore my calls for help? “Perhaps he is deaf,” I thought. “It is just my luck that the only person who could help can’t hear my calling for help.”

Then, at the end of my block, just before he would have walked out of view, while continuing to walk, he quickly glanced back over his shoulder in my direction. He stopped. He turned to look at me. I pointed toward the ground and yelled that the ladder had blown down. He said nothing but cautiously crossed the avenue, walking towards me. He climbed the stairs to the yard next to my house. At that point, he could see the ladder on the ground. He picked it up and set it against the eave of the roof. He held it in place as I climbed down, escaping my imprisonment. Once back on the ground, I thanked him profusely for his help. He said nothing but just stood there looking at me with a blank expression. I was thinking, “What a strange man?” Then he turned to walk away. As he did, he spoke one sentence in a foreign language. All I could make out was one word, “Ruuski”.