The Girl Who Lives In My Garage • Jenlisa

one

Jennie

The third step down holds my fate in its hands. There, the padding beneath the beige carpet is almost nonexistent. The supporting boards and beams creak with age. I learned these facts the hard way back in eight grade, after my parents discovered the word "curfew"and once again earlier this year when I was too excited, too drunk, too something to remember the Third Step Rule.

Tonight I don't forget. I clutch the wooden banister and step over Third Step onto its silent neighbor, Fourth Step. It takes a long second before the familiar chainsaw of my dad's snoring sounds again. I'm in the clear for now. 

I tiptoe down the remaining stairs. The front door is before me, freedom within reach, but that door creaks and groan too much for my needs. The well-oiled door to the garage is my escape route of choice.

On the way to the said door, I pause to pick up my black knee-high boots with heels. My sister Jisoo calls them "stripper boots" and steps on them every chance she gets. My parents nag me to them in the closet, but I need my shoes available for times like this. Opening and closing the closet door is an unnecessary risk.

Escape is close when my nose tickles. Shit. If I had a petite, polite sneeze like most girls have, this might not be a problem. However, my sneeze on the Richter scale. I obeyed the Third Step Rule and had my shoes ready to go, but now I'm going to ruin it all with a sneeze.

The door leading from the house to the garage is thick. If I can just get on the other side of it, my family might not hear me. As I step into the garage, those familiar sneeze-preceding start up.

My eyes water as I close the door and turn the handle back into place without a sound. Before I can step away from the door or cover my mouth, I sneeze so hard that my teeth cling together and I think that maybe I should have peed before leaving the house.

The sound echoes off the walls. I tense, waiting for one parent or the other to throw the door open. To ruin my plans. But that doesn't happen.

Instead, from across the frigid black garage, an unfamiliar female voice says, "Bless you."