"Hey Nora, can I have one of these cigarettes?" I asked earlier this evening, smelling the full pack of American Spirits that had been sitting in my friend's room for weeks.
"Umm..Sure." She answered, looking at me a little funny. I tucked a cigarette behind my ear as I'd seen my friend Holden do, feeling kind of cool and hypocritical at the same time. As I left I asked if I could borrow a lighter, and she dug around for a while until she found the only one she owns.
"I hate to fuel this habit." She said, frowning as she handed me her blue bic.
"Don't worry about it." I said, "I only do it every now and then."
We kissed good night and I walked out in the drizzle towards my dorm listening to 'How We Operate' by Gomez.
I bypassed the path to my dorm and instead headed for the trail through the woods, around the lake. When I got out of the light pollution of campus I walked a little further and inexpertly lit my cigarette. I barely inhaled the first cautious puff. It's not that I'd never smoked before but this was only the second cigarette that I smoked on my own without the numbing effects of alcohol. As for why I was standing in the middle of the woods in the freezing drizzle at 11:30 pm when I have plenty of friends who would be thrilled to hear that I was smoking, I'm not entirely sure I can answer that coherently.
Part of me simply didn't want to be a hypocrite or make a fool of myself. I was certainly glad to be alone as I coughed my way through each inhale. But more than that, smoking is something I was doing just for myself. It is both my own private rebellion and my secret little safety blanket. I stand in the trees and the wet smoking and I am completely alone, making a decision for myself even though I know it's something I'm not supposed to do (and I do feel a little bit cool despite the coughing). The smoke is a familiar thing, reminding me especially of my brother Steven who is currently in Iraq. He always used to beg me to keep him company while he smoked on our porch. I usually said yes even though I detested his habit and thought he was stupid for wasting his money and jeopardizing his health. I enjoyed those quiet, meaningful little talks we had too much not to indulge him.
Besides, even if I get addicted at least the craving and the secret of it would momentarily keep my mind away from my undeniable anger and my unfounded feeling of directionless-ness.
I won't ever tell most people about this habit. Steven was all too thrilled when he got me shit-faced drunk at his going away party for boot camp and he found me outside chain smoking with a couple of his buddies which I don't remember at all(That's a story for another time). The last thing I'd want him to know after years of bitching at him about it is that I'm now occasionally indulging in his nasty habit.
My mother would be dissapointed in me, I wouldn't be living up to people's ever growing expectations. Most of my smoker friends would probably happily consider me to be one of them, except for those who would also be dissapointed in me. There would most likely be plenty of people happy to see me fall off my high horse. But I didn't fall, I quietly dismounted. Though I certainly don't plan to quit bitching at all my friends and family who smoke.
Out in the woods I turn away from the lights of the dorms. I stare up at the grey sky framed in bare trees and I smoke and I cough. But I feel good, comfortable out here, unjudged amongst the trees. When my cigarette is gone I extinguish it in the snow with a satisfying hiss. I enjoy the old cigarette taste in my mouth as I walk back. It reminds me of nights hanging out with Steven when he's gotten home at 3 and I'm still up, or standing with Holden in the freezing parking structure so he can have a cigarette before we go sit in our favorite cafe which he loved first and then introduced me to.
In my dorm I kind of want to go borrow some nail polish remover to fix up the sloppy manicure I gave mself in Nora's room but I don't feel like washing away this smell just yet and I don't want anyone to know.
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