Hollow thuds echoed in the almost empty house with each step she took. With only five minutes to get out, she knew she didn’t have time for nostalgia. The walls that showed smiling pictures and happy memories wouldn’t hold her back, not because she didn’t care, but because she couldn’t let them. This would be her only opportunity to get out and she had to take it; any later and she may lose her nerve.

Under the bed, where she had carefully been collecting the things she would need, was just a small carry on suitcase and purse she had gotten for her sixteenth birthday. Clothes, chargers, some maps, a roll of cash, and a burner phone she had gotten for when she needed to lose the one she had now. She carefully took the roll of money, collected from birthdays and babysitting, and separated them into smaller stacks of about a hundred dollars each and slipped the thinner wads into the center of the pads she was bringing. Someone might steal a wallet, but no one would go through period products looking for things to steal.

With all of her things ready to go, she needed a message. Her getaway would be ruined if her parents thought she had been kidnapped. They didn’t know she had arranged to take all of her finals early due to a “vacation conflict”. Missing graduation was a small price to pay. She couldn’t write a note, it would hurt too much- she didn’t have enough time to say what she needed to say anyway. Something that was hers, clearly hers, to leave behind on purpose. Maybe her phone was a good choice- then she wouldn’t have to deal with the texts and calls and pleas to return, but something made her want to hold onto it just in case.

Her keys. That was the item she needed. She would not be needing them anymore, because she would not be coming back, and they would know she was sorry. Sorry that she couldn’t do it anymore. Sorry that there wasn’t an event or a fight but just a feeling, a feeling that she had been drowning for a long time and couldn’t keep going underwater. The AP classes and the sports and the brunch with distant friends and family dinners full of fake smiles… it was suffocating her in a way that she couldn’t ever explain to them. How could one tell their parents that all the things they do in love are killing their child?

She needed space and time, to scream and cry and grow and just be. Even if it was hard to leave the security that she had known all of her life.

She pulled her house and car keys out of her pocket and took just a moment to look them over. The smooth metal with the paint wearing away from continuous use and the various keychains from trips cluttering up the main center loop. Swallowing the emotion that was creeping up her throat she pulled the key to her lips and kissed it, letting the bitter metallic taste creep through, and hoped that her family would someday understand.

Two brisk honks of a truck shattered the moment, and she set the keys down on the kitchen counter, just out of place enough to be noticed. Second-guessing herself, she scrawled, “I love you. I’m sorry.” on a post-it and set it under the key chain. A third honk fired into the sunny May afternoon, its message clear: We will leave with or without you. Without another moment to hesitate she gathered her bags and ran out the door, and with this leap she sprung out of the depth of her past and took her first breath.