The Scent Keeper

by Erica Bauermeister

I lay there with the bottle in my hands. The desire to open it, to burn the paper and smell my father, was almost overwhelming, but that scent-paper was all I had left. It was proof of everything we had been—and of everything I had done to us. It was the best and the worst of me.

Words were like scents that way; they changed the very air you breathed.

But never forget the base notes, for no fragrance is ever balanced without a touch of musk, or smoke, or sadness. Base notes can come from dark places, but they can create beauty all the same. They are reminders of what we will do to live, and what we can give each other. My parents taught me that.