By Willow Gatewood

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My first memory of smell didn’t come until the autumn after my thirteenth birthday, and the experience, down to the timbre of Enya’s voice on the radio to the soft lap of wind on my face, remains one I can recall so vividly it’s as if I’m back on the bridge over the Cape Fear Sound. We had just rolled the windows down. Beach breeze and seagull cries filled my head. I inhaled to taste salt air, but for the first time, the chemical tingled more than the roof of my mouth. I gagged, shocked by the twang that overwhelmed my nose.

Likely caused by chronic sinus infections as a baby, the closest acquaintance I’d ha…

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