St. Jonathan's Eye

They were on the bed. It was twilight out, but neither wanted to turn the light on.
It was the end of all of that and they both knew it. Nobody wanted to admit it first.
"Joey," she said, staring at the ceiling.
"Mm?" he said.
"Do you remember when we used to go to the cathedral and climb the gargoyles?"
"Of course."
"We could see everything from there."
Joey said nothing.
"We haven't done that in a long time." Maria sighed and turned so that she was facing him. The last pale blue light threw stripes across his face. His eyes were fixed on the plaster above.
Joey said something, but choked halfway through. "What?" said Maria.
"I was just thinking about the gargoyles."
"I wonder why we don't do that anymore."
"They'd catch us. We're too big now."
"That's bull, Joey, we're no bigger than we were then."
"Yes we are. To them we are."
He was silent again.

Maria put her foot in St. Jonathan's eye, testing the stained granite. She grabbed his pointed ear and hoisted herself up onto his head, then reached for the nearby slate roof. Scrambling she managed to get up on the top. She turned and looked out into the world. The sky was hazier than she remembered, because she used to be able to see her house from here. She watched the courtyard below her. People moved to and fro, unaware of a new gargoyle that had perched upon the old cathedral.
She saw Joey down there. Her breath caught ever so slightly, and she crouched lower so that he wouldn't see her. He was talking and laughing with some kids she didn't recognize. She bit her lip between her teeth, drawing air in a hiss as she noticed the swastika emblazoned on one of their arms. Not them, she thought. He can't have sunk so low.
The harsh German voices floated up to her. They were joking about something, but her German wasn't good enough to understand them. Joey had always been so good with languages.
She turned to follow their progress and a shingle fell from the roof, bouncing off the heads of Saints Francis and Simon and landing with a clatter on the cobblestones below. The Germans looked up.
Wer ist das auf dem Dach? Who is that on the roof?
Wie... ist sie ein gargoyle. Eh... she is a gargoyle.
The haze must have been worse than she thought, because the Germans accepted this and moved on. Joey stayed behind and looked at her. They made nervous eye contact. He broke it first, turning his head like he was snapping a cord, and continued on.
She continued to watch him as he caught up to his swastika-emblazoned friends.
The tear felt warm on her cheek, tracing its way down her grey speckled face, leaving a dark trail.
It was comfortable here, she thought. She didn't feel like she needed to move anymore.
And anyway, she said to herself, gargoyles don't cry.