Carly Starts

Scene One:

Two attractive and obviously fairly affluent teenage girls are in a heated discussion descending on the escalator at the local mall. The brunette is slipping into a parka over a tight fitting knit outfit as she addresses the radiant natural blonde:

Melinda: Look Carly, I need a cigarette just as bad as you do, but there’s no way fuckin’ way I’m gonna chance my Mom catching my ass again. No question she’d ground me this time for sure and I know damn well she’s coming back here to get her hair done this afternoon. I think her appointment is like somewhere in the next hour. If you need to go pose in the food pavilion, fine, but I just don’t dare. Not now anyhow. I’m going to the back exit. It’s on the far side from her stylist’s shop and if there’s one thing I can always count on, it’s for mom to never walk a step further than she has to. I’ll just meet you back here in fifteen.

Carly: Oh all right. But for Christ’s sake Melinda, I don’t need to cruise the Food Pavilion for effect. Maybe four years ago for kicks, but certainly not now. It just seems pretty fuckin’ stupid to go stand out in the cold like a couple of naughty little kids behind the barn when we could be sitting at a warm and comfortable table over a couple of steaming lattes.

Melinda: Don’t look now Carly but I still am the kid behind the barn. Just because your parents are completely cool about you smoking, doesn’t help me any. My mom’s still a hypocritical bitch about it. You can’t know how it drives me crazy to smell her smoking before I’m even out of bed in the morning and to know that I’ll have to sit around drinking coffee for an hour with her smoking one cigarette after another and it’ll be maybe hours until I can get some relief.

I don’t know how many times I’ve said to her that I’d be a lot better companion if she’d just let me smoke too and every time it’s the same thing. "Oh you have no idea how terrible this is. Having to smoke - not just wanting to. I never want you to have to experience that. If I so much as catch you even trying a cigarette I’ll ground you for a month." She doesn’t even seem to get that I’m as much as admitting that I already do smoke. Either that or she just doesn’t want to get it.

Carly: This is as far as I go baby. If you want to frizz your hair and ruin your boots be my guest, but this foyer is the end of the line for me.

Melinda: What the hell. I can’t imagine her coming in this way at all. This end of the mall is reserved for the aged and the balding - overalls with engine grease is the price of admission.

Carly: Spouting smoke with every syllable. I don’t get how you smoke those things. They seem so damned harsh to me.

Melinda: Look dear, unlike you I can’t smoke anytime and anywhere I want so when I can, I have to make it worthwhile. Now joining Carly on the bench she continues. Where was I? Oh yeah, so last week after a year and a half of not getting caught and trying to act disinterested in smoking, she caught me in the food pavilion with Emily. She was so shocked and so disappointed I swore to her that I was really just holding it and pretending since Emily was smoking. I also promised that I wouldn’t do it again and she backed off of the grounding. She did swear though that she would ground me for a month if she ever caught me again. And she damn well meant it.

Carly: God I’m glad I’m not you. Pausing for yet another lung challenging puff, a brief silence ensues followed by a pronounced hiss portending a generous exhale. Smoke accompanying every phrase, she continued. No way could I quit or even fake it and I’d detest sneaking around. Why do you suppose she’s being so tough on you?

Interviewer: ‘For God’s sake why didn’t I think of this earlier’ she intoned but with the audience for her commentary unspecified. Now speaking to them directly she recited ‘Our firm has been retained to conduct a study on teenage smoking - not so much upon the actual statistics - those are compiled by many agencies. Our assignment is to learn more about the ways in which teenagers or in many cases pre-teens begin smoking.’ Then in unrehearsed language she continued ‘For two weeks I’ve been trolling the hallways looking for candidates with limited success. Some are too busy and others won’t admit that they smoke - especially if their mom is with them - but I can tell at a glance that they smoke - even if their own mother can’t. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to come to these hide-aways to find smokers. Plus this way I can smoke too.’

Her soliloquy requiring no answer, she continued ‘Here’s the deal. I’d really like to interview the two of you for my survey. We can conduct the interview either of two ways. You can simply tell me your story as best you recall it or I can ask you a set of structured questions. The technique is up to you. All I need first is your ages. Are you willing to help me?

Carly: Sure. I’m seventeen and I think the story will be a lot easier if I just tell it if that’s okay with you. Gives me time for another cigarette or two that way as well. But I said seventeen - she repeated as she watched the woman write down twenty four.

Interviewer: I know you did but that’s how I record seventeen. My client has some legal complications in interviewing those underage so we just add seven years to everyone to make it look kosher. I like stories better than questions so please begin. Do you mind if I use my tape recorder?

Carly: Nodding agreement she began. The day that I turned thirteen my folks sat me down and gave me this amazing lecture. I was all primed to be locked up in nunnery until I turned twenty and instead what they said was that teen years are the hardest you’ll ever encounter and I’d be faced with a lot of hard choices. Drinking. Smoking. Sex. Drugs. Friends. Education. Eventually even career and family. And that I should be careful in the choices that I made because I would be the one that would have to live with them. (She takes a measure drag and pauses before continuing, exhaling with each word.) And that they’d always be there to help me with them. I was just kind of dumbfounded. At first I didn’t quite know what to make of it all. They weren’t even things I’d thought about much.

That night in bed I just lied there awake mulling it all over and what I kept coming back to was smoking. None of the other things was of any immediate interest but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that my parents might actually allow me to smoke. They hadn’t said so but on the other hand they hadn’t said this was like something I absolutely couldn’t do and after all, they both smoked. Until that point I’d been neither an advocate nor a foe - just basically disinterested. Uncontested permission however to engage in a restrictive, adult behavior was a bit seductive. For several days I thought of little else and then it kind of faded away. It was soccer season and I was smart enough to know that the two wouldn’t mix very well.

It wasn’t until the next fall - eighth grade - and Jenny Battle’s Halloween party that the issue really resurfaced. Jenny, Alicia, and I think it was Sherry Finders were whispering a lot and as they headed out the back door Jenny called back to me to come with them and so of course I did. We went back by their guest house and Alicia pulls out a mostly full pack of Parliaments. Jenny and Sherry each take one so I do too. Alicia and Jenny don’t hesitate at all in lighting up and both look like they know what they’re doing. Raised in a household of smokers I know the difference between inhaling and not and both of them are obviously inhaling.

For Sherry and me it was a different matter. We both managed to get the cigarettes lit but we pretty much played with them. I took several puffs but I knew enough not to try and inhale. Sherry wasn’t so bright. She did try to inhale and coughed her fool head off. The four of us snuck out a couple of more times that night. Later I attempted successfully a little inhale but it was pretty meager and damn near stuck in my throat. Sherry kept trying too hard and actually got sick to her stomach.

For the next month or so Alicia and I would walk home with Jenny to her empty house. Alicia managed to successfully pilfer cigarettes from a variety of her careless kin. Sometimes her sister’s Parliaments, sometimes her Mom’s Salems, and other times her Dad’s Winstons. At that point it didn’t matter much. We weren’t very discriminating. Just like Melinda last week, we got a little brazen and often now just sat by the pool - now empty for the winter.

One day however it turns out that Jenny’s mom had apparently stayed home sick. The three of us are sitting poolside like three ingenues and lo and behold she sticks her head out the window and says sarcastically "Oh girls, I’m so sorry. The maid is off today and I don’t know how to blend the Margaritas". Just as our shock begins to turn to giggles she turns really icy and says "You should come in now Jenny and by the way girls, I’ll be calling your parents too."

Thank God I had the presence of mind to yell back up at Mrs. Battle. I said "Please don’t call until tomorrow. I’d rather handle this myself." And she nodded affirmatively. At my request, Alicia slipped me three cigarettes and an extra book of matches as we parted. The walk home was slow and methodical. I had some quick decisions to make. I could play the "I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again" game or I could be straight.

What I really needed to do was quickly decide which way I wanted to go - not so much with my explanation but with smoking itself. If I copped a plea and just continued to smoke eventually I’d get busted again. Might it not be better just to face the music now - particularly given that the tune might not be harsh? The conversation of several months ago loomed heavily and I was banking upon my interpretation being right - that they would support my decisions even if they might not agree with them - and certainly smoking had to be the most minor infraction of those aforementioned.

On the other hand this could be a perfect opportunity to quit. Just declare that this had been a little social lark with my friends and that it didn’t mean anything. That way the apology would be sincere. I felt very confused by the issue and knew that I needed a few minutes to come to a decision. I detoured over to this little wading pond park that would certainly provide solitude on an early January afternoon and found the place to myself. One table was under cover and out of the wind so I settled there. As the argument raged within I felt the need for something to quiet my anxiety. Reaching in my pocket for my Parliament stash, resolution seemed literally at hand.

When I got home Mom was in the kitchen making dinner with of course a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. I sat down at the table and did the smalltalk thing for ten or fifteen minutes until she took a break, poured herself a glass of white wine, and sat down with me. As she reached for her cigarettes I jumped in "Would you mind if I had a cigarette too?" She did flinch but so subtly that if I hadn’t been watching closely I’d never have noticed. "Sure" she monotoned and handed me the one she’d just removed while reaching for another herself. She offered me a light which I accepted, inhaling moderately and exhaling competently. It was now her turn to observe me.

"Seems like we have something to talk about here" was all she said as we both smoked in silence for what was perhaps a minute but seemed like an hour. For the first time, watching her I recognized that my style was not my own. It was hers. Every move and reflex of mine I’d borrowed from her. I wondered if she was seeing the same thing in me.

Slowly completing a very extensive exhale and realizing that the story was mine to tell, I finally began to speak. Little wispets of smoke still emerging from my nostrils, I told her about the past two months at Jenny’s and about Jenny’s mom planning to call. I also reminded her of the thirteenth birthday conversation. Mom just listened not really saying anything until we’d both snuffed out our cigarettes.

She was clearly struggling to pull her thoughts together and make certain that the words were on target. "Let me get clear on what just happened here" she began. "You’ve just asked me for a single cigarette and smoked it in front of me. You’ve confessed that you’ve been smoking for at least a couple of months now and watching you would affirm that. It feels like I’m looking in a time warped mirror. You’ve also reminded me of our thirteenth birthday chat. Are you asking permission to smoke or are you simply informing me that you intend to smoke? I’m a little confused." To which I replied - not being entirely clear myself - that it was more like seeking permission.

"So here’s how it is" she said. "First and foremost I want you to think about the gravity of your decision - and it is in the end going to be your decision. I want you to think about whether you want to be known as a smoker and want to be identified with that crowd. I want you to think about how this will impact your athletics because it is certain to. I want you to look at me and see how helpless I am to quit. I don’t think I could if I wanted to and since I don’t think I could, I don’t even allow wanting to come up on my radar screen. I want you to think seriously about these things. Smoking is a vocation, not an avocation.

There’s no question that the smart thing to do is quit right now before you’re in too deep although frankly having just watched you smoke a cigarette it may be too late for that already. If you decide you want to accept the risks and there are many or if you feel you’ve already passed the point of no return, then we’ll not make you out as a criminal. You’ll enjoy the same rights as your father and me. You can smoke when and where you wish and we’ll not criticize you. We’re hardly in a position to do so. And by the way in any case I’ll call Mrs. Battle before she calls here and tell her that you’ve come clean with me. I would ask one thing. No more cigarettes this evening. I sincerely do want you to think about what you’re getting in to before making a final decision.

Well by now you could have pushed me over with a feather. It’d been almost too easy. So easy that now she was making me think rather than defy. I’d been planning to take a walk with the last two Parliaments if she’d said no or smoke them at home if she said yes. Now I’d committed to not smoking that evening. I tried doing homework but it was futile. All I could think about was wanting to smoke yet recognizing the validity of all the deterrents that Mom mentioned. I did still want to play soccer and many of the smokers around school were real lowlifes. I actually convinced myself that she was right and that enough was enough. I could always start later. And went to bed on that note.

The next morning the decision felt right. Smoking was a complication that I just didn’t need. I even told Jenny that at school the next day. She was blown away that I’d choose not to after being given permission. So all day long I felt rather proud of myself. After school since we were no longer smoking behind the shed, I went straight home. For the first time all day I was now feeling a little edgy but was sure that it would pass. It didn’t. I was really bitchy all night and even worse the next day. Another day passed and it was clear that I was already experiencing serious withdrawal.

I gave Jenny a call that evening only to find out that she was already off probation and was over at Alicia’s. Jenny had told me at school that day that when her mom called Alicia’s mom, her reaction to the news was "Big Wow. Like of course I know she smokes." That night Jenny and her mom sat down for a talk kind of like the one my mom and I had and brokered an interim solution. Jenny’s mom didn’t give her outright permission to smoke but also told her she wouldn’t forbid it. Kind of a "don’t ask, don’t tell" approach. Letting Jenny spend the night at Alicia’s was just another way of telling Jenny that the decision was now hers. I went to bed envisioning my friends laughing and smoking in Alicia’s bedroom. It was not a quieting thought.

Saturday morning I awoke to those confluent ambient smells - fresh coffee and mom’s cigarette. I say mom’s because dad heads for the golf course at some ungodly hour and it’s now well past nine. I splash a little water on my face, pour a cup of coffee, and join mom at the table. I’m in really serious pain even before I sit down. I sip the coffee and make some small talk. I read about the Bulls win and take another sip. I reach for the cereal box and my hand casually grazes against mom’s pack of Camel Light 100’s. It feels warm, even erotic to the touch. I prolong the contact a microsecond too long.

I play with my cereal. It isn’t food that I want. My fingers are nervously tapping out some nameless rhythm on the table top because when stilled they’re a little shaky. I glance up from the sports page furtively coincident with each inhale she takes. I even move my head a little toward her exhales that are clearly otherwise directed. I go for the coffee pot and ask mom if she needs a refill. In doing so, I hear the sound of my own voice as shrill and breaking. As apparently she does as well.

I spill coffee on the table cloth trying to fill her cup and let out an uncharacteristic ‘shit’. I get a paper towel, wipe it up, and pelt it angrily toward the sink. I sigh - audibly. As I sit back down, my eyes still hypnotically affixed to the Camels, she pushes them in my direction. "I know that look" she said a little wistfully. "You really need a cigarette, don’t you honey?"

I can’t remember ever feeling quite that same sense of relief. I said "thank you" - not "thanks" but "thank you - I guess I really do need one". And that was it. I was just shy of my fourteenth birthday and at that moment it needn’t be spoken that it was not a single cigarette that I was accepting - it was admission that my decision was already behind me.

The rest of the day we hung out together. I certainly didn’t try to keep pace with her but I still probably had six or seven cigarettes that afternoon. There was absolutely no editorializing. She made it clear that it was my choice when to or when not to smoke. The one thing most notable however was that we not only polished off her original pack, by late afternoon a second pack was history. This was usually not a problem since she kept three cartons in the pantry but somehow she was now down to just a couple of packs.

Since dad was going straight from the course to his poker game we’d already decided to go out for a bite but now we had a restocking mission as well. As we drove to the store, she surprised me a little by asking me what my brand was. I laughed out "up until now, anything I can bum but preferably not menthol". I started to volunteer Marlboro Lights or Parliaments but these Camel Lights had actually been just fine. It would also guarantee an always ample supply so I suggested that I stick with her brand for now. She seemed somehow pleased with the decision and said she’d get an extra carton each week in that case.

An extra carton per week seemed pretty ridiculous to me since I smoked maybe two packs a week but then I knew she was just playing it safe. Running out of cigarettes was not a risk mom ever took. And by the end of that next summer it turned out that her forecast was pretty much right on. By the end of that first boys and bikini summer, a full pack was a light day. And as you can see four years later I still haven’t switched brands.

But I digress. Back to the store. Along with some other groceries, she bought four cartons and two three packs of Bic Lighters. She tossed one pack of lighters in with the groceries and the other she just handed to me over the clerk’s disapproving stare. We put the groceries into the car and walked across the parking lot to Amelio’s - well you know Amelio’s - it’s a pretty decent little Italian place. The maitre de knows well enough to give mom a smoking table without asking so seating was instant. The smoking section was decidedly underpopulated - yet another decided benefit we smoker’s are afforded.

I was already growing a little uncomfortable. If mom intended to let me smoke - and I suspected that she did, the public setting was making me a little apprehensive; if she didn’t, then that would be an issue too. True to form she left the decision entirely up to me. She flipped a cigarette out of the pack and had it lit in that single motion perfected over the years. Cigarette toggling unsupported on her lips between hard pulls and relaxed respites, smoke billowed forth then out to the cosmos.

In somewhat afterthought fashion she spun the pack toward me with a couple of filters centripetally released in the process. There was no decision - no hesitation. I removed one as nonchalantly as a thirteen year old novice could pull off, took it to my lips, and leaned forth into my mom’s proffered flame. In salutatory mimicry, I too took several long pulls before retracting the cigarette from my lips. Like mother, like daughter. I too contributed a shapely white cloud to the receptive void. And it was at that precise moment that I first experienced "the stare".

These two guys -maybe in their early twenties - couldn’t take their eyes off of me - or maybe us. Mom looked pretty hot too but somehow I felt like main tent. Every time I took a puff they’d glance over. I asked mom if she noticed them looking and she said of course. "Get use to it. You’re attractive and you’re young. The first is the cake and the second the frosting for guys with the fetish." She then proceeded to explain to me that attractive women smoking was a huge turn on for some guys and these two were apparently aficionados.

What came next was hysterical. Mom later told me that I got this weird grin on my face as I turned toward them, took an immense drag, open mouth inhaled, and stared at them a full ten seconds before letting out a mile long exhale. Mom totally cracked up and the guys both turned bright red. If I’d still had any lingering doubts about smoking - which I probably didn’t, this new found form of male manipulation was certainly the clincher.

When dad got home that night, mom and I were back at the kitchen table. She was on maybe her third glass of wine and I on my third Diet Coke. We were also well on the way to polishing off our third pack of cigarettes of the day. Dad was so incredibly cool. He didn’t say a word. He told us about his day and then waited for us to tell about ours. We somehow managed to talk for five or ten minutes about the day without mentioning the main event but it was as subtle as an elephant in the living room. Eventually I volunteered the obvious - that I’d decided to start smoking - and he simply smiled. At the time it didn’t connect why he was so supportive.

With a blithe "Maybe we’ll see you around school this fall" they returned to the foyer. The Interviewer maintained a rather stern look and said "That was a very mean thing to do to my son." She held her expression just long enough for the girls to freeze frame then exploded into laughter. As she said "gotcha" the three laughed for ten minutes before Carly concluded.

So that’s how simple starting was. In a matter of a single day I went from a teenage sneak to a fully accepted adult smoker at home. It’s not like there wasn’t a price though. That spring I survived soccer tryouts, but I loss my striker’s role. Heavy sprints and heavy smoking don’t complement each other well. Since I still love sports though I found that I could still play soft pitch well enough to participate. Our coach is Kara’s mom, Mrs. Larson. She’s as cool as my folks even though she doesn’t smoke anymore. She accommodated our big bats by putting me at first base and Kara behind the plate. Wind doesn’t matter so much at those slots.

Interviewer: "Well I must say that’s one of the most mellow stories I’ve ever encountered. No yelling. No screaming. Pretty much basic acceptance of your decision. I’m sure I’ll have some follow up questions for you later but let me switch gears for a bit. And what about you, young lady," she said addressing Melinda, "is your tale pretty much the same?"