"What are you still doing up?"

I peered over the top of my laptop and stared at her black silhouette, standing stationary in the doorway, her arms folded. I could only imagine her facial expression, hidden by the room's darkness, but any fear I had was extinguished as I nonchalantly leaned back in my chair.

"What's it to you?" I answered smoothly.

"It's 2:30 in the morning, you should be sleeping," she snarled.

"So should you."

"Don't talk to me like that."

"You started it."

As my eyes slowly adjusted to the scene beyond my computer screen, I began to make out the wrinkles in her face and her lips tilted towards the carpet in an unmistakable frown.

"I...well..."

"Can't think of a comeback, can you?" I asked. I had won.

"That...that's not...you know what? Fine." And she exited the room without saying another word, though I vaguely heard her mutter something over her shoulder as she disappeared from view.

Oh, the beauty of summer.

It was that time of the year when nothing mattered anymore. Everybody knows the rules. If your mother grounds you, you sneak out after you can hear her snores through the walls of your adjacent bedrooms. If she says she won't give you money, you take it from her when she's not looking. If she threatens to not drive you anywhere, you walk. If she forbids you from eating, you call the police.

I knew that she was gone when her footsteps echoing through the halls were replaced by a sudden silence. And at this point, I slowly got up from my seat and left the room, heading towards the kitchen and opening up the sliding glass door that led to the back porch.

The beauty of living in a harbor town is that you can see the ocean from your house. And on a beautiful day, you can stare out your front window and catch glimpse of the ocean, a mere mile away; you can see the line where the cerulean waters bounce off the edge of a blue sky and you know that you are home.

When my house was built, the builders placed a on top of my roof. From the lower porch was a set of stairs that led to the platform on top of my roof. From there, I would often climb over the railing that separated the flat platform from the actual part of my roof. Tonight was no different. I swiftly climbed over the railing and crawled over my roof, resting my back against the chimney and sighing heavily as I took my iPod out of the giant pocket of my sweatshirt.

I released the breath I'd been holding as I placed the headphones into my ears, turning on a soothing song. There was something so calming about the music, the melodic beats shifting my anxiety aside and replacing it with an unmistakable state of content.

The roof was always the place for me to be. In the middle of the night, after an argument, at no time in particular, it was a quiet place for me to do homework, to be alone, to protect my thoughts.

It was a place to dream.

I felt the wind press against my bare hands and closed my eyes, opening them every few minutes to prevent myself from falling asleep out in my starry sanctuary.

My eyelids were getting heavier and I felt myself slowly drifting out of consciousness, despite my best efforts to keep myself awake. Suddenly, my eyes snapped open when I heard the familiar footsteps behind me. Someone was coming up to the roof.

I turned my head slightly to view my intruder and came to face the same silhouette I'd encountered earlier that night. With a grumble, I turned up the volume on my iPod and turned back to face away from the stairs.

"Hey! Get out from over there! What do you think you're doing?" I could still hear her with the earphones shoved as far into my eardrum as physically possible. Damn. I gave into her requests and turned my head slowly, pulling out my earphones and giving her the most disgruntled look I could muster. She appeared to be unfazed.

"What are you doing up here?" She sounded more angry than curious.

"Sleeping," I answered, only half-kidding.

"You should be inside! Get off that roof! You're not allowed up there! What am I going to do with you?"

"You can let me stay up here," I answered. "You can do that."

"Do not speak to me that way, you are going to your room and going to sleep. I'm sick and tired of worrying about what you're doing in the middle of the night."

"That wouldn't be a problem if you just went to sleep," I reminded her.

"It wouldn't be a problem if you went to sleep too!" Her anxious whisper was beginning to ring in my ears.

I said: "I'm not getting up." And I turned around to face away from her, leaving my iPod paused in case she chose to speak again.

"Okay," she answered, her voice getting softer. There was a pause, and I wondered if she had left yet. My hopes were shattered when she spoke again. "Listen," she said, her anger only slightly apparent in her tone. "I don't know...what you want. What you expect here. You obviously couldn't care about what I have to say and you obviously don't give a damn about anything else."

I shifted uncomfortably, my back scratching the stone chimney. I didn't want to listen to what she was saying but I found myself unable to ignore her.

"I'll admit I don't know much about you," she continued. "But I know this. You're never going to get what you want if you spend your life alone, up here. You're never going to be at peace with anyone if you don't give yourself time to just...give it a rest. This sky isn't going to give you any answers you know."

"It's doing just fine, thanks," I told her quietly.

"Yes, and you're perfectly content right now, aren't you?" It was a question that wasn't meant to be answered. She cleared her throat loudly and I found myself getting angry at her again for disturbing my peace, my bliss. "What happened?" she asked. "Are you in a fight with one of your friends? What happened? What aren't you telling me?"

"It's none of your concern," I muttered.

"It is my concern, damn it, I'm your mother!"

"Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious. Just...just do me a favor and leave me alone." I trailed off slowly, looking at her defeated form slowly.

"Tell me why."

"There's nothing to say," I answered.

"That's not true," she said, a bit louder.

"Oh, and how do you know that? What do you know about me anyway?"

She didn't say anything and I found myself almost fearing what she was about to say. Finally, she spoke again.

"I don't know much about you," she admitted. "But, I do know you've been up here every night that you've been home. Because you obviously have a problem, and I want to know what it is. Something is on your mind. And why are you coming up here? To think about it? You need to give it a rest. I don't know what it is but this doesn't seem to be helping you."

I turned around to face her. I looked into her solemn expression, illuminated by the full moon above our heads.

"The problem is that up until this moment, I really didn't think you gave a damn about me," I told her in the most nonchalant voice I could muster. And I turned back around again to face away from her. There was silence before she spoke again.

"Oh." Sweet and simple. Another pause, and then: "Well, goodnight then."

I didn't answer. I waited, unsure if I should be relieved or disappointed, until I could no longer hear her footsteps. I then turned back around and watched her shadow saunter down the stairs.

And in one brief motion, I pulled the silent earphones out of my ears and shoved my iPod back into my pocket. Breathing heavily, I sat back against the chimney, looked up into the summer sky, and cried.