Cracks & Creaks

I had known and spent years deciphering every single crack and creak sound there was to hear, from the top floor of my house, to the basement. It was particularly rickety as you reached the kitchen. I was always sure to take a big, gentle step over the spot right as you enter the kitchen (which was always the loudest spot). My Dad, god bless the man, has terrible sleep apnea and was always an early to bed kind of guy, so he was never really a threat to my mischief. My mom, however, was always been a light sleeper and was liable to catch me in the middle of my secret, moonlight mission if I wasn't careful, so stealthiness was a necessity.

It's a nerve racking feeling as a 16-year-old trying to break curfew and sneak out of your house late at night for the first time. There's a constant anxiety for the 3-4 minutes it would take for me to properly excuse myself in the desired stealthy manner. My stomach buzzes, I breathe slowly and carefully, as my body tenses up just enough to crack the back door open. I begin to hear the door creek -- I stop. Breathing deeply and slowly, pausing to listen for any movement in my parents' room right above me. The silence is deafening, I cautiously begin opening the door again slowly. I finally reach pay dirt, as I have made my way safely and quietly outside, and nobody in my house has the slightest clue I'm even out of bed.

I get my bike out of the garage, after tip-toeing myself off the deck. Send the "I'm on my way" text message to the neighbor girl down the street, that I am meeting. I become giddy with devious pleasure, fully aware of the stealthy performance I just put on, to dance my way out of the blue house on the corner. I ride away to enjoy a brief moment of invincibility, with my headphones, only to come back in a couple hours (usually intoxicated, although not always) and sneak myself back into my house, avoiding all the cracks and creaks along the way.