Smoke

“Can you pass me a cigarette?”

“What?”

“Pass me a cigarette.”

“I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’re you asking for one?”

“I wanna try it,” she said. “I wanna see why you smoke so much.”

I sighed, smoke coming out of my mouth all the while.

“You sure about this?

“Positive.”

“Don’t blame me if you get addicted.”

“I won’t.”

The click of a lighter.

A hand clasped around a tiny flame.

The sound of burning paper.

A puff.

A wheeze.

“It hurts more than I thought it would.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Just finish the stick. It gets easier, trust me.”

So she did.

Coughing and wheezing with every puff and drag.

It was lunchtime.

The streets were bustling with people rushing to get a bite before their break ended.

I got a call.

“Hey, it’s me. You on break?”

“Yeah I am.”

“You wanna grab some lunch?”

“Yeah sure, where are you?”

“I’m at the parking lot beside the convenience store that you always smoke at.”

“Alright. I’ll see you there.”

I checked my watch, I barely had any time in my break left, but I guess I could squeeze this into my schedule.

We met up in the parking lot.

Sure enough she was smoking, or at least trying to.

“I bought a pack of flavored menthol ones but they still hurt.”

“I told you, you just get used to it.”

“I thought these would be different.” She said, as she held up the pack.

“What flavor are those anyway?”

“Strawberry.”

“Are they any good?”

“No, they still taste like cigarettes.”

“Can I get a stick?”

“Yeah sure go ahead.”

I took a stick, lit it, puffed, inhaled, exhaled.

“These are pretty good, really smooth.”

“I’m surprised you can tell the difference.”

“Well, I’ve been smoking for awhile now.”

“I guess I just gotta get used to it.”

“Yeah you do.”

There was a moment of silence as we both took drags from our cigarettes.

“We should do this more often,” she said.

“Do what?”

“You know, just hang out.”

“I don’t see why not.”

She blew smoke out of her mouth as she smiled.

“It’s settled then! I’ll call again some other time.” She said, as she started walking.

I puffed on my cigarette, blew out the smoke.

I was about to say something but before I knew it she was gone.

I finished up the cigarette she gave me, puffed on it one last time, threw it on the pavement; crushed it under my shoe.

I thought about what I was getting into, thought about where this was going and where it would eventually end; as all things come to be.

Every now and then I’d get a random call from her.

On other days I’d be the one to call her.

Sometimes during the day, sometimes during the night.

Mostly when I was lonely.

Some days I’d cut class for her if I felt like it.

She’d always have the same kind of strawberry cigarettes with her.

A tinge of consistency in our otherwise inconsistent meetings.

“What are we?” I asked.

“Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know.” I replied. “ I guess it just felt appropriate to ask since we’ve been seeing each other so often.”

“That makes sense.” She said through exhales of smoke.

“In a way, I suppose it does.”

“I’d say we’re friends.”

“Just friends?” I asked.

“Just friends.” She said.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me, yet in it a hint of disappointment.

Like taking the final drag from your final stick in the pack.

“Can I get a stick?” She asked me.

“Go ahead.” I said, as I handed her my pack of lights.

“Why are one of your cigarettes upside down?”

“You don’t know what it means?”

“I don’t.”

“It’s a wish stick.” I said.

“You save it for last and you make a wish when you light it.”

“I see.” She replied.

I could see that she was already rather disenchanted with her newfound information. Still, she pushed on with the conversation.

“What’re you gonna wish for?” She asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t really want anything in particular.”

“Nothing at all? No dreams, no wishes for the future?”

“None at all.” I said, lying.

Obviously I couldn’t tell her; but the only thing I ever really wanted was right beside me.

I took a detour on my usual way home.

It was raining, and I didn’t have my umbrella with me.

I took a winding path; through dark alleyways, and covered walks filled with faces I’d never remember. Through lifeless streets brimming with equally lifeless looking people, each looking for a place to rest their weary heads, each looking for a place where they could disappear into the night.

All of them seemed to be looking for a place of solace.

For a place of warmth.

It was a limbo of sorts; where people existed in between the possible wonders of tonight, and the ever approaching dread of tomorrow.

I was about to turn the corner and leave but then a neon light slowly flickered to life beside me. Jazz music flowed out from the back of the establishment.

Inside, all I could see was a single bartender tending to his spirits.

A simple lonely soul in a simple lonely bar.

And as I stared into this dingy looking jazz bar, I just knew.

“She’d absolutely love this,” I thought to myself.

I called her that night.

Told her about my walk.

Asked her if she wanted to go with me to the jazz bar.

It was a resounding yes, followed by a cough and a wheeze.

“Are you smoking right now?” I asked.

“Uhhm, yeah I am.”

“You should probably cut back if you’re coughing that much.”

“I’m trying my best.”

“Sure doesn’t sound like it.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not like I’m addicted or anything.”

“I never said you were.”

“My family’s actually pretty concerned about me.” She said.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“They scolded me recently.”

“For what?”

“They told me to stop coming home smelling like cigarettes, told me to stop smoking.”

“Oh, well, I hope you cut back then.” I said, lying.

“Lets wish for it.”

“What?”

“You know, with our wish sticks.”

“Ohhh I see what you mean. Sure thing.”

“It’s settled then! Don’t forget to make the wish.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course I will.”

I didn’t want her to stop.

I didn’t want to lose the time we spent together.

So I wished for things to stay as they were.

It was selfish I admit. But I couldn’t help it.

I really did love the time I spent with her.

We met up in the jazz bar on a rainy Thursday night not unlike the night I first found it.

Between us, the bartender, and the lonely souls outside looking for rest; there was nobody around. It was almost as if the world had conspired to make this night ours, to set the stage where the two of us could be together.

“What can I get you two?” The bartender asked.

“A glass of whiskey for me. Single Malt.” I said.

“Just water for me.” She said.

“Just water?” I asked, rather playfully.

“I have class in the morning.”

“So do I, why not have a couple drinks? It’s on me.” I exclaimed.

“Fine, but just for tonight.”

And so the night went on, with alcohol serving as the fuel for our conversations.

“Do you want a stick?” I asked her as I opened a pack of her favorite brand of strawberry cigarettes.

“I’d really rather not.”

“Why not?”

“Listen, do you ever plan on stopping?” She asked.

“Stopping what?”

“Smoking.”

“Not really. Are you trying to make me quit?”

“I am.”

“You know I can’t just quit out of nowhere. It’s basically a part of who I am.”

“I don’t think I can seeing you like this then.”

“What?”

“You know I’m trying to quit, and seeing you smoke right in front me isn’t helping at all.” She said, as she looked right at me. “I’m worried about you, your health. I’m scared that if I keep seeing you like this, I won’t be able to quit it myself. Please, just stop.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

…

“I’m sorry.”

There were no more words. No more random texts. No more afternoon smokes.

I suddenly found myself lost in the limbo.

Caught between what was and what could’ve been.

I was just another face that was lost among the ever increasing sea of people.

Always looking for a place of solace, for a place of warmth.

Deep down I think that I really wanted to quit smoking; but I was scared of what would be left, of what little there would be.

I became a regular at the jazz bar.

I drank on most nights, sometimes even during the day, but mostly when I was feeling lonely.

It was always the same.

Whiskey, single malt; and a pack of strawberry flavored cigarettes sitting right beside it’s glass.

In a way our relationship was just another cigarette that I smoked too quickly.

I took long drags, puffed often, wasted moments, and before I knew it;

it had already run out of fuel to burn.

All that was left were the memories that slowly faded like smoke as they danced ever so lazily in the air.