The Tip of a Knife

As I snuck out of my grandmothers two story house I listened for the sound of footsteps or the creak of her wooden bed. There wasn't a single stir in the night only the smell of the roast we had for dinner the night before nor was there a chirp of a cricket or the whisper of the wind. The question that I was still wondering was, how the hell do I get out without breaking an arm or a leg? Like a sign the moonlight shone down onto the silver metal of my dads old ladder.

"Thank you," I whispered to the heavens.

I walked across the gravel sounding like an elephant stomping. I paused as I got to the car and listened for the sounds of Grams stirring. All I could hear was the beating of my heart in my ears and the wispy intake of my breath. I hopped in the car and shut the door, trying not to slam it. Hoping Grams was still in a deep sleep, I turned the key in the ignition and sped off into the night to the party that would make or break my status of popularist girl in school.