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THE FIVE SENSES
HEARING
The alarm’s keypad tries to announce my escape by emitting a loud BEEP each time I
press a number. I can only hope that the sound is too unexpected and my mom’s room
too far away from the door for her to hear it.
The door unseals with a sigh.
I’m Outside.
The world is so quiet it roars.
TOUCH
The front-door handle is metal-cool and smooth, almost slippery. It’s easy to let go of it,
and I do.
SIGHT
It’s 4 A.M. and too dark for detail. My eyes take in only the general shape of things, fuzzy
silhouettes against the night sky. Large tree, smaller tree, steps, garden, stone path
leading to a gate with a picket fence on either side. Gate, gate, gate.
SMELL
I’m in Olly’s garden. The air is full, ripe with scent—flowers, earth, my expanding fear. I
store it away in my lungs. I toss pebbles at his window, willing him to come out.
TASTE
Olly’s in front of me, stunned. I don’t say anything. I press my lips to his. At first he’s
frozen, uncertain and unyielding, but then he’s not. All at once, he pulls me tight against
him. One of his hands is in my hair and the other one is gripping my waist.
He tastes just like I remember.