an old habit to put on his grave.
i have been a smoker for about eight years. eight years of hard packs, losing lighters, balling up foil and cellophane, ripping off camel cash, emptying ashtrays, buy two get one free, combing the couch for change, cupping my hand against the rain, craving.
it all comes to an end tonight. tonight i say goodbye to another old friend.
there's always been a ritual involved in the first drag, the delicate smoke, the need, the relief. always a ritual when a friend and myself sit down to smoke a cigarette and talk. a ritual to chain-smoking and writing. a ritual to social smoking, smoking alone, smoking after sex, smoking with a glass of wine, smoking after a good meal, smoking on the way to work, smoking when nothing else feels good.
but the smell of stale smoke and the sound of my zippo ... they don't feel good any more. they bring him too close to gone, and i have to do this for me.
i have nothing but the best thoughts of lighting his morning cigarette for him while he paws around for his glasses or bumming him my last one because he knows i have another pack or kissing him with nicotine on his breath or watching him smoke like life finally coincided with the moment. it's devastating to hold on to something like this, and it hurts more to know that i'm letting it go.
sometimes, it's my only friend.
the only one that brings me peace.
i'm doing this for the only reasons i can think of. i'm quitting because ...
well, fuck.
it will give me something to go back to.
the first time i talked to boy, i noticed that he smoked my brand, and that made us both smile. we would sit out on the steps of our classroom building and smoke until the sun went down, and we both got cold.
this is the end of my era. this is me going back to before. i'm doing this for something bigger than me and for someone better than me. i can't smoke without him. it feels like loneliness.
i put the cigarette in my mouth, put another nail in my coffin. the filter sticks to my lips. the camel is a bit off to the side. i can smell the tobacco and see the pursed packed end. the lighter takes two flicks to light, and i push it against the end. pull the smoke into my lungs like saying goodbye. exhale like filling a room.
this one, this cigarette, this muse and friend, this comfort, this last one.
this one is for you, bean. may the last taste as liberating and true as the first.
