Growing up in a single parent home seems to be family heritage. Grandma raised mom by herself and now mom's raising me. I often wonder what it would be like to have a dad around but wonder is the best I can do - that is unless you count "Uncle Ted" - mom's occasional, organic vibrator. And since he doesn't even say hello most of the time - well not until recently that is - he'd hardly qualify either.
Mom says that dad was a decent enough sort - just not too dependable. He even would have married her but mom knew that would be a mistake. It was better for us to live those first few years with Grandma until mom could make it through school. She graduated first in nursing school and has had great jobs ever since - as long as you consider working weird hours and dealing with the ill and dying a great job. Frankly, mom has the smarts to be a doctor - just not the dedication it takes to get there. And I guess a kid to care for got in the way too.
Mom takes her job very seriously and is an exceptionally good caregiver. She just has one minor inhibitor - at least as far as the world of medicine goes - she smokes like a fiend. What I mean by that is that you can seldom find mom without a lit cigarette. I guess that's not altogether surprising though since Grandma's just as bad - maybe worse.
Some of my friends think that I should rag on her to quit but frankly with all she does for me, no way I'm doing that. Some other friends, on the other hand - okay, the ones that smoke - think that I'm crazy not to take advantage of the situation and smoke myself. And of course they're right that there'd be no resistance. Of course I've snuck a few puffs along the way but it hasn't wowed me. All in all, I think I'm best off to leave well enough alone. I but I must admit I have been thinking about it a bit lately.
I wonder what I've done to deserve a kid like Lindsey. She's like me in so many good ways - hot looks and smart as hell to start with -- how's that for being a bit narcissistic - but not in the annoying ones. She never complains about anything - a fatherless home, Ted's nocturnal visits, being the chief cook and bottle washer - not even about my incessant smoking. On that last count if I didn't know better I'd suspect that the beneficence might be to mask a habit of her own - but there's absolutely no evidence to suggest that. Damn it!
When I was her age I savaged my mom. I didn't let the day pass that I didn't get some digs about smoking in. I was relentless. (See Naomi and Mom) The tables eventually turned on me though - partially of mom's doing and partially of my own - and soon enough I too was a smoker. In many ways I was probably more of a stretch. I was an athlete and cheerleader - I was expected to be upstanding and smoking had an obvious downside for me. While Lindsey is a great kid, she's pretty sedentary - talking on the phone is her favorite sport - and pretty active socially as well - a far better candidate for nicotine to seduce than I was. She also hangs with quite a few smokers.
And it's not that I haven't given her opportunities. Now I haven't exactly extended a written invitation saying "Dear, would you please start smoking" but I've sure not provided any barriers. I perpetually leave two, three, or four open packs around the house - just like mom did - including some ultra lights that I wouldn't be caught smoking. I talk constantly about how much I enjoy it. And I've made it clear that "smoking critics" aren't welcome in my home. And have almost gone out of may way to be friendly with her friends that I know smoke. I've done most everything except suggest to her that it's time to try a cigarette. And I've even thought about that. She simply seems indifferent.
I've hardly been to a party in the last couple of years where virtually all the kids weren't smoking. I don't know if it's to show off or because they like it like mom does, but I'm beginning to feel like an outsider. Somehow I just don't get it. Maybe I'll have to cadge a couple of mom's and try it or better yet maybe I should just ask mom outright. Hard to see how she could complain much. It sometimes almost seems like she'd like me to smoke. She hasn't come right out and said that. It's just kind of a feeling that I get.
"Mom" I begin right after dinner "tell me about smoking. What's the big deal? Everybody I know practically is doing it and I just don't get it. You smoke like a fiend and so does Grandma. Why?"
Alleluia!, alleluia!, alleluia! The conversation that I've been anticipating for most of Lindsey's fifteen years is finally upon us. I can't blow this opportunity. "So what do you want me to say? If I extol the virtues of smoking it's like I'm selling it to you which would be ridiculous (not really - but I can't be THAT honest) but if I sit here and condemn it, you know that's bullshit. Here's the bottom-line. Smoking starts out as an adventure and fun, develops into an enjoyable habit, and then eventually takes over your life. In the end you have two reasonable choices - quit or live with it - only those who take the third avenue - continue to smoke but do so remorsefully - truly suffer. That's tragic. If I even once utter "I want to get rid of these things" you have every right to purge the house of every cigarette - but not until you hear those words. Right now I truly appreciate the space that you give me."
So what if I decided that I wanted to smoke - would you allow it?
"You're kidding, right?" I say as I'm lighting yet another cigarette and reflecting for Lindsey's benefit the immediate and immense pleasure I receive. I close my eyes, hold the inhale maybe ten seconds, and then execute a confluent and still full nose and mouth exhale. The performance conclude, I continue "Even if I thought that smoking would be the worst decision you could ever make, what credibility would I have in telling you not to? Let's get down to brass tacks, are you asking me if you can smoke?"
"Not exactly. As I said, lots of my friends do but I'm just not sure. Like you just said "eventually it'll own you" - it owns you, it owns Grandma, I'm not so sure that I want it to own me.
Her seeming reversal threw me a bit. Thank God I hesitated before commenting further - because I wasn't sure where to go with this conversation. My jaw was nearly in motion when Lindsey did the job for me".
"But it might not hurt if I kind of knew how to smoke. Do you think that I could have maybe just one cigarette a day? That wouldn't hurt me much and I couldn't get hooked on just one, could I? What do you think? Would it be okay with you if maybe I had one cigarette with you every night after dinner? You could teach me how to smoke so then if I ever really needed to somewhere I wouldn't look like toad."
I was very careful to be stay dispassionate. Phony disapproval or overt enthusiasm were equally inappropriate. I again hesitated but only to craft my words. "Just one per evening isn't going to harm you but, like Lays potato chips, just one you may find tough. I have no problem with you learning to smoke - and of course I'll be willing to teach you - provided of course you don't spread the word. That could get me bounced from the clinic. Smoking myself is bad enough there. Enrolling my daughter would be criminal.
"So when do you want to start? Tonight? Tomorrow? Next weekend? I certainly wouldn't recommend beginning with my Reds - but I think there's an unopened pack of Marlboro Light 100's in the pantry drawer. You can take a look if you want to. But I will take you at your word - "Just One" - until this pack is finished you're to smoke just one per evening. Does that seem fair?" Not a single sincere word in the entire soliloquy but the situation simply demanded some parental reservation.
"I don't even know if I'll want to smoke that much. I'm sure there will be some nights when I don't want to smoke at all. That pack may last weeks - heck, it may last forever. I don't know whether this is really something that I'm committed to doing. But I think I will go get the pack right now." I knew that I had to mouth those words but they hardly reflected my feelings. Getting the pack - and let's be honest, I knew it was there, was actually getting me excited. This was a new adventure and I didn't need to be sneaky like most of my friends.
I know that I shouldn't be so excited but I am. Smoking won't be the same bonding experience that it was for mom and me for the simple reason we're already bonded. It just seems though like it will help forge an even closer relationship. The nicotine sorority is one of the immense power. It will be very curious to see how long this first pack will actually last. She might actually have the will power to last the full three weeks - but then I wouldn't bet on it. I sure didn't.
Lindsey walks slowly back to the kitchen table with the unopened pack in her hand. De jevu rushes at me recalling the day I first tackled opening a soft pack. She's searching for the gold tab as she sits down and then methodically winds it off the pack along with the cellophane top. She looks up at me sheepishly as she looks to decode the aluminum foil. Unlike my hard packs, this is not self-evident -- but she eventually unravels one side and neatly tears it off. Again with a kind of coyness, she stares at the pack and then some form of recognition flashes. She wraps the pack tentatively against her wrist - too tentatively for any release - but then repeats more forcefully and more successfully. A couple of white filters are now retrievable.
I feel so terribly self-conscious as mom tries not to watch me but watches me nonetheless. I've finally succeeded in loosening up a cigarette so I can extract it and do so somewhat gingerly. I don't want it to break or anything. Now situated between my index and middle finger, I can see my hand kind of trembling and the cigarette reverberating accordingly. I'm not sure what to do next.
"So I guess it's my turn to do some coaching. You really haven't ever done this before, have you" I ask rhetorically? "Take the cigarette up to your lips, grab it lightly between them, and then let go. You want the cigarette to simply dangle for a while. Here - let me show you what I mean. Your lips are relaxed and it loosely tilts forward - not rigidly forward nor droopily down. How does it feel?"
"Like a feather. It has just the slightest weight to it - and I think I can even smell a little of the tobacco itself. It smells kind of like the grassy field across the street. So how long should I do this?"
That's long enough. I just wanted you to get comfortable with the feel of it. Lots of kids "fake it" with a pencil but a pencil is much more substantial. A cigarette feels almost weightless. So now I want you to watch me. I'm going to light my cigarette but not inhale. I'll do it and then you'll do it."
I watch mom flick her lighter to life and move it toward the tip of her cigarette. Simultaneously her cheeks appear to hollow bringing the formerly, dangling cigarette horizontally rigid and in line with the oncoming flame. The sucking action unites the two and clearly draws smoke to mom's mouth. She immediately grasps the cigarette between her index and middle finger removing from her lips. Normally I would see a small wisp of smoke escape as a large ball dove for her lungs but this time was different. She obviously didn't inhale and instead blew out the entire mouthful in a formless cloud.
She repeated the movement a second time and then it was my turn. She stated emphatically that I was to mimic her completely and not to attempt to inhale. This seemed like wise advice from what little I knew about inhaling. Suddenly her lighter was now approaching my dangling cigarette and the "ball was in my court" so to speak. I began to suck on the cigarette as she had and noticed the tip rising slightly toward the approaching flame. In milliseconds they met and smoke came rushing into my mouth. Not being a smoker it was probably even easier for me than mom to just blow all of it out. Like hers, the clouds were spurty and shapeless. At mom's direction I took another couple of puffs and again sputtered out poofy little clouds. Meanwhile mom absent-mindedly lapsed back into really smoking. After coaching me through the first few puffs, Mom retrieved her cigarette from the ashtray and signaled to me that I'd need to trim my ash. As many times as I'd seen her do this though, I still found tapping it off strange and awkward. It did do the trick though - the end again rounded and neat. I then returned the cigarette to what I could only describe as the lady like pose that I'd so often watch mom and Grandma do - limp right wrist and all. "What now?" I said, not hiding a little grin.
"No point in messing around" she responded. Watch carefully what I do." This time she again puffed out most of the smoke but then did that little open mouth swallow when just a bit remained. I could kind of see it disappear down her throat - but it wasn't anything like her normal drags. So I went for it. I took a decent enough puff and kind of let it leak out until I knew there wasn't much left - and then whammo - I sucked what was left in. Even though it wasn't much, it felt like a frog leapt down my throat, turned into a bull, and kicked me in the chest. I immediately expelled it back out but did so without coughing or choking. And with that I felt a perverse sense of pride. I'd honest-to-God inhaled and not lost it.
Mom's new instructions were quite simple. Continue to do exactly the same thing - each time inhaling a bit more - until I'd had enough. I did that maybe five or even six times and got to the point that I inhaled nearly half of each puff. I would have continued except the world suddenly got a little out of balance. Things literally started spinning around and it was all I could do to snuff out what remained.
Mom let me sit there quietly for maybe the next five minutes. Neither of us said a thing until my body began to settle back down. Finally I heard my own commentary -"that was weird but cool" - and mom just smiled. "I'm pretty sure one a day will be plenty" I offered without conviction and she returned but a smile. And then as a seeming afterthought "Oh, I'm just sure that it will be too" and I wondered about her conviction as well.
So what the hell have I just done I asked myself - but the thought was truly indulgent. I knew full well what I'd done - I'd done what I had planned on doing for as long as I could remember. I'd capitalized on the first real opening to introduce my daughter to the beauty and bane of my life. I wasn't going to make her into a smoker but I sure as hell wasn't going to prevent it. From this point forth it would be her call. Of course I knew that it was likely out of her hands too - the genetic predisposition cast many generations ago.
Needless to say, the experience was memorable. How many moms give their daughters smoking lessons (while actually quite a few as I've come to find out)? I was pretty sure that I'd be around for tomorrow's encore performance but I was done for this evening. I was only going to smoke one a day anyhow so why think about it. But strangely I did. By ten o'clock and six or seven cigarettes later for mom, I was almost interested in another. But of course I would have to wait.
Tuesday was long - very long. I couldn't quit thinking about the cigarette that I'd smoked the night before and was really excited about the upcoming evening and another opportunity to smoke. When I got home there was a routine phone message from mom instructing me on the evening's dinner. I got busy quickly sautéing the vegetables and preparing the fish for pan-frying.
I was so quick that everything but the last minute fish was ready half an hour before mom would be home - and so I sat down. And it was then that I suddenly realized that the pack of cigarettes - my pack of cigarettes - was still sitting over on the dining room table. I walked over and picked them up. I ran my fingers over the smooth cellophane wrapping and ran the pack just beneath my nose catching again that vegetative fragrance. And then I tapped one partially out and pulled it the remainder of the way between my lips. Like the night before, it was now loosely dangling as I turned to the mirror to catch the full impression. I was excited - very excited - and oh so tempted to light it. But mom would be home momentarily and the agreement was one a day. Clearly I'd need to wait - and so with some reluctance I forced it back into its former residence - at least for a little while.
Lindsey, bless her, had dinner on the kitchen table - all but the fish that is - when I walked in the door. I took a quick glance toward the dining room table and noted that her cigarettes - the Marlboro Light 100's that is - appeared to have shifted since last evening. Not surprising I thought to myself.
I bussed the dishes after dinner as she poured two cups of coffee. And as I looked up from loading the dishwasher she sauntered over to the dining room table retrieving not only her pack but one of the several that I'd left around. Obviously she wasn't about to waste any time. She then waited antsily for me to return. I wasn't two seconds in the chair when she tapped cigarette number two out of her fresh pack. What was interesting though was that it already appeared to have a light lipstick mark on it - a rather usual way to come from the factory don't you think?
Unheard of for me, I actually hesitated a moment curious as to whether she'd now reach for the lighter - but she didn't so I pulled out a Red and fired up the lighter first extending it to her and then lustily back to me - of course never taking my eyes off of her. She accepted the light a little awkwardly - still afraid to completely release her fingers and allow the cigarette to do its own seeking - but all in all not a bad effort. She puffed smoke out the side as she'd seen me do countless times and then performed a minimal inhale. I watch as she fought immediate expelling and waited a good three seconds to exhale a small little jet. This kid was clearly into style.
Last night had been pure curiosity but tonight there was anticipation. I pulled off the light and the first inhale pretty okay - no coughing or anything - and for the first time was consciously aware of the taste. It was strange - certainly not delicious or anything - but then not totally repulsive either - just kind of thick and bitter. There was simply no other experience that I could compare it to. I was determined however to smoke the entire cigarette tonight. And with each puff a little more aggressive than the last, I did smoke the entire cigarette - and by the last two or three puffs I was inhaling completely - albeit the puffs weren't so big. I crushed it out pretty much as mom did.
I was dying to ask her about the experience but I wisely opted instead for simple observation. She did a more than respectable job of smoking a cigarette - especially it being only her second. My money already was on the pack lasting less than 20 days - not more. Over the course of the evening I smoked as usual which is generally around a half a pack between dinner and bed. And unlike as recently as two days ago, Lindsey was no longer oblivious. She watched hypnotically and clearly was mentally rehearsing for tomorrow's number three.
Laying in bed, my mind was a whirl. What can I say. This is plain fun. It's impossible to imagine that anyone could get hooked on that peculiar taste but it's just so cool that mom let's me smoke with her. The only thing is that just one a night seems a little ridiculous - but then I did give her my word. But she only said for the first pack - I guess we change the rules after that.
It's Wednesday after school and same old, same old. Dinner instructions, a little homework, three phone calls - and one that totally counts from Jared. I play with my pack and it's like talking to me. It's saying you really want one and if you did, you'd probably look even more experienced tonight. But then there's your darn word - and mom would smell smoke when she gets home in an hour. Of course I guess I could go out back but I don't know. Why the hell did I say just one? That was just plain stupid.
It seems like an eternity but mom finally gets home for dinner. She's just maybe 15 minutes later than usual which wouldn't usually bother me but tonight it does - and I knon darn well why. I rush us through dinner because I've been pussy footing around the house for nearly four hours now waiting for today's cigarette - and I don't want to wait any longer.
Boy is she impatient. Her cigarettes were sitting beside her when I got home along with an ashtray - but there was no sign of a violation. It looks like there are still just two cigarettes missing from the pack. I'm doing my dishwashing duties as I see her rifling through my purse. She pulls out my cigarettes for me but that isn't what she's really after - it's my lighter that she wants.
And I'm still drying my hands off as she's clumsily attempting a flame. This is further corroboration that she really hasn't been smoking behind my back - either that or she's a total klutz. With a two handed effort she ignites the lighter and then moves it slowly toward her cigarette as she attempts to coincidently steer the cigarette in the right direction with the other hand. The inhale however is not nearly so awkward. She fills her young lungs and exhales with precision - just a wisp drifting from her nostrils. And she smokes the remainder of cigarette three with equal aplomb. No coaching requested; no instructions given. Observation is the new teacher.
Tonight however I can't resist commenting. "So Lindsey, do you think that you'll be having a cigarette with me every night?" I begin. Of course I know the answer but I want to see if she does.
If you only knew I think to myself. I told Stacey about this this afternoon on the phone and she freaked. She's been smoking for months and her parents won't hear of it. She was so jealous that it just made me want to rush over and have one there and then. "Well, probably" I begin not wanting to appear too anxious. But then I decide to go fishing. "Some days I might not but other I might want to have two or three - I'm finding it really fun."
"I understand exactly what you're saying but we have agreed that you'll go slowly - twenty cigarettes in twenty days. You're still fine with that aren't you?" I knew that she was already tying her own noose but playing the game with her was just too irresistible. I could be extra lenient and say what the hell but hanging tough actually would be more likely to increase her desire - and initiate those early nicotine cravings.
"Oh, of course I am mom" I lied. The truth was that I'd just stubbed out this 24 hour period's cigarette and I already kind of wanted another one. Waiting until seven tomorrow night seemed like an eternity. "I'm cool with the rules but I might want to change them when the three weeks are over. We can talk about that then can't we?"
"Not a problem" I volunteered knowing full well that that conversation was no three weeks away. She wants it now but I'm not making it that easy on her. I can see the demons fighting already. She really wants to obey me but the affair with nicotine is starting and soon will be the only mistress served. She knows that I can audit her pack so she's a bit trapped there. Of course there are always scads of other open packs lying around. If she wants to cheat, that'll be easy - and I'll leave a partial pack of Reds on the counter to facilitate. Shit. I'm walking into a empty home after school and have four hours to wait for mom. One cigarette a day is stupid. I can probably smoke five and still not get hooked. This is dumb. And it's about all I thought about all day during classes. I even missed a no-brainer question in English because I'd tripped out.
My pack remains in the middle of the table and is calling out my name as I enter the house. Lindsey, wouldn't you like just one? I mean just one extra. But damn it - mom can count. And then I hear another voice - it's one of mom's packs of Reds - and a smile spreads all over my face. This she'll never know I think to myself. A loose book of matches, a flip-top pilfered Red and I'm already in the back yard. Four hours would probably be enough time to air out the house but why take a chance.
I find the match even more challenging than the lighter but after a few strikes it ignites and finds its way to the stealthy Red. This smoke more aggressively assaults my taste buds and needless to say my lungs but I know enough to drag lightly. The rush is quick and sustained by repetitive drags. The cigarette is history in almost no time at all and I'm feeling some guilty but more good. One a day like this each afternoon and I can probably make the Lights last the stupid three weeks.
Lindsey is in a spectacular mood tonight. Not only did she make excellent lasagna, she did the dishes as well allowing me first light up privileges. She didn't seem to mind as well -- which she certainly shouldn't have given that the count in my Reds pack had diminished by one. The only surprise was that the decrement was onlyone. And as she joins me for technical cigarette number four - actual count likely now five - she exhibits just a bit more grace in both lighting and smoking this cigarette. Smoking clearly agrees with her. What a shock!
Friday Stacey walks home from school with me. She's just discovered a new and compelling reason to hang out - my house is not a smoke free zone - or at least my back yard isn't. And this is a win-win for me. I can bum Marlboro Light 100's from Stacey and take no risk of getting caught by mom. We could even get away with smoking in the house since mom already knows that Stacey smokes. All I need to do is claim the butts to be hers. Who's to know, right?
We're having such a cool time together that the time just slips away. I've smoked four - no five - cigarettes with hardly even thinking about it. Making dinner is the furthest thing from my mind when I hear mom's car pull into the driveway. "Shit" I lost track of time. Stacey would you dump a few of the butts into the garden? I don't want to get busted in front of you.
Mom comes through the house and finds us out back - Stacey cigarette in hand and me obviously not. "A little bonding here" she says and her wink makes me think that I'm less clever than I thought. "Pizza in or pasta out?" she queries. Thinking that a post-dinner cigarette is more likely at home, I'm about to say "pizza-in" but Stacey says "pasta-out" quicker - and "pasta-out" it is.
Fucking amusing I think to myself. What a coincidence - not! -that Stacey is suddenly a visitor. Talk about a perfect literal and figurative smokescreen. This timetable isn't speedy, it's mercurial. I wonder just how long I should play it out. The last thing I need to do is fake reticence and then have Lindsey have second thoughts. The train is headed in the right direction - maybe I should just get onboard.
I light a cigarette as we pull out of the driveway as does Stacey. You could call Lindsey fidgety - that is if you're into understatement. Double the discomfort as we both smoke while waiting for dinner to come. And when it did John Madden couldn't have scarfed it down any quicker than Lindsey. She knew where she wanted to go. She'd slipped her cigarettes into her purse as we left and she wasted no time in retrieving them. She was half way through her cigarette before either of us had finished our meal. Of course that just meant more discomfort as we lingered over two or three post dinner cigarettes. She was going to lose either way.
Okay, it's been less than a week but the facts are in - I love smoking. Oh, I don't exactly mean that I love the taste and I'm certainly not hooked or anything - not in just a week - but it's unbelievably cool - so fucking adult - to be able to sit around with my girlfriends and mom and smoke. It's all that I want to do right now. It so pissed me off when they were both smoking and I wasn't but now I am and this cigarette is kind of tasting good - it really is nice after a meal.
Mom and Stacey have barely finished and lit up when I'm crushing out a well spent 100 - I bet I got fifteen puffs from it. The problem is now though that that was today's official cigarette. I'm done for the day. Oh well - they'll finish in a few minutes, we'll drop Stacey off at her house, and I'll be okay for the rest of the night. Maybe.
Wrong. They've each had a second post-dinner cigarette and now they're having a THIRD!!! My mood is turning black and I'm about to demand that we leave when mom looks at me and says. "You wouldn't want to have a second cigarette tonight would you?" and I'm doing a full nose exhale before the words are fully out of her mouth. What this means I don't really know but this isn't the time to discuss it. Just enjoy.
I do enjoy that second cigarette - sitting in the restaurant and getting occasional stares - some clearly disapproving but some likely not so - especially from two guys back in the corner. Such fun. Again and again that word comes back - smoking is just plain fun. I'm on the verge of negotiating for yet one more when mom signals that it's time to go. We drop off a now perfumed and heavy duty gum chewing Stacey and mom tells her to drop by anytime. That sounds encouraging to me.
I knew that this first pack was unlikely to see week three but frankly I'm surprised at the rapid uptake. Then again, why should I be. How many teenage girls from smoking friendly environments given the opportunity to smoke, wouldn't do it? Not many, I suspect. I have a choice to make tonight - pursue the game or drop it. I see nothing to be gained by the former. In fact, the latter is fairer and more humane. If I suspend any rules, she'll seek her own level - if that's one a day (fat chance), it's one a day - more likely it will be significant.
Once we get home I'll have two choices - no make that three. One is to go to bed immediately so I won't be tempted, a second is to come clean with mom about wanting the rules changed - and after all she did kind of change them tonight - and the third is to cheat. I wouldn't like myself much for that but hey; it's better than not smoking. I think I'll stick my toe in number two. I'm going crazy now with mom smoking in the car.
"Want to stay up and chat with me for a while" I offer as we walk in the house. Her response is tentative but affirmative. Of course I understand her dilemma. With nothing but ice tea for dinner I'm in a need of a small glass of wine. Occasionally I offer one to Lindsey as well and I do so now. Her answer is slow and deliberate.
"Thanks a lot mom but actually what I'd really like is one more cigarette. Do you suppose I could have that instead?"
And I respond understandingly "How about if you have both?" The next couple of hours were coming of age. In a matter of days Lindsey had transformed. Of course she wasn't physically addicted to nicotine but that's seldom the issue. It is psychological addiction that's so powerful with cigarettes. It's the ritual, the camaraderie, the bonding sisterhood, the mother and daughterhood, the naughty and forbidden sorority which so easily seduces and which, once it captures, for all your years never totally loosens its reigns.
A week ago smoking was curious but unimportant; today it is fundamental to who I am. Mom knows that. Of course she does. It's the same many times over for her. She probably knew that I would be a smoker. I probably knew it too. Some might call my quick fall destitution; I prefer to think of it as destiny. Thanks mom.