Cross Cultural Experience, Part 1 | |
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This fictional account contains adult language and themes. If such language and themes offend you, please do not read further. Copyright 2000 by SSTORYMAN. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to reproduce this story in any form and for any purpose as long as this notice is reproduced and no financial remuneration is received, directly or indirectly, by the person reproducing it. Thanks to AZ-MAN and STOGIE-MAN for their support, ideas and encouragement. CROSS CULTURAL EXPERIENCE Prologue. The Mediterranean noon-day sun beat down on three teenage girls sitting by the fountain at the Piazza del Campo in Siena, Italy. One offered another a freshly lit cigarette. By her smile the first girl showed her friend she wanted her to have a puff. Giorgia Follone didn't disappoint. She accepted Francesca's cigarette and put it between her lips. But after dragging, rather than give it back, she smiled and said in Italian, "Voirre quello sigarette." Francesca nodded. She understood. Without comment she lit another for herself, letting Giorgia keep the first one. Francesca was pleased. She and Martina, the third girl, had been smoking for quite awhile, but Giorgia never showed serious interest. However, Francesca knew that eventually Giorgia would come around. It was inevitable that Giorgia would smoke. Now, by keeping the cigarette, Giorgia was at last acknowledging that she wanted to be a smoker, too. Francesca and Martina would no longer have to cajole her to take random puffs from their cigarettes. At long last, Giorgia was entering their world - the realm of those addicted to nicotine. Fourteen year old Giorgia confidently raised the cigarette to her red lips. She took another drag and inhaled easily. The process wasn't unfamiliar. She'd done it many times as a borrower. In the last few months she learned to enjoy stealing puffs from Francesca and Martina. It came naturally. Both Giorgia's parents smoked. So did her brothers. Almost everyone she knew was a smoker. For the young, dark-haired beauty it was never a question of if, but rather a question of when, she'd start smoking. And now, at last, she was ready. It was time. She'd keep this cigarette and smoke the whole thing. At last Giorgia Follone had decided she wanted to be a real smoker, like her friends and the rest of her family. A stream of smoke surged from the lips of the attractive, olive-skinned teenager. It rapidly dissipated in the mid-day breeze. Though Giorgia was only fourteen, her parents wouldn't mind. They wouldn't even be upset. Sooner or later they expected her to smoke. They started smoking as teens, as had her brothers. And someday soon, Gioriga knew, her little sister Federica would start as well. In Italy, smoking wasn't uncommon. It was almost expected. Everyone smoked, all the time, everywhere, adults and young teens. Most of Giorgia's friends at school already smoked, like Francesca and Martina, and more started every day. She drew again on the cigarette; yes, there was no doubt! She liked smoking. Francesca and Martina were right. It was wonderful. Benissimo! It was time for the girls to go. The three fourteen year olds wrapped their arms around each other's waists and walked across the piazza, laughing and talking as they smoked together. 1. Four Years Later: Welcome to the U. S. A. Lauren Martin fidgeted in the airport waiting area. She was nervous about hosting an Italian exchange student. The dean's office wanted her to room with this girl. She had no reason to refuse, since her roommate from last year had transferred to the state university. So here she was, at the airport, waiting for her new roommate. Lauren was a junior, but was apprehensive about meeting eighteen year old Giorgia Follone from Italy. "It's pronounced Georgia," she reminded herself. "Like the state." She sighed. She'd never known someone from another country. She knew nothing about Italy. But she'd be Giorgia's roommate for a year. She hoped the Italian girl would like college life in the United States. She also hoped she spoke good English. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The journey was pure hell. From her home in Siena, Giorgia's brother drove her to Florence to board a plane for Frankfurt. From Germany she traversed the Atlantic via Lufthansa to Chicago O'Hare. Everything was fine till she boarded the jet in Frankfurt. From there, the trip proved to be an unexpected torture! Giorgia had been smoking for four years. She regularly smoked over a pack a day. Her friends said the United States wasn't smoker-friendly. But she didn't know what that meant. She never imagined that Lufthansa Airlines, a German airline, for God's sake, was non-smoking on international flights. The nine hours from Frankfurt to Chicago were grueling, especially since the pretty eighteen year old didn't know she'd be unable to smoke on the plane. When they finally landed in Chicago, she was both jet-lagged and suffering serious nicotine deficiency! The moment Giorgia got off the plane she looked for someplace to smoke. Surely she could light up in Chicago's airport. It never occurred to her there'd be no place to smoke inside O'Hare. In vain she searched for a place to smoke in the disembarkation area. Nothing! The entire airport was a "zona non-fumatori!" Desperate, she nervously waited for her luggage, endured passport security, and suffered through U. S. customs. Each minute seemed like an eternity. Her eighteen year old body was in agony. She _really_ needed a cigarette! After customs she ran toward the exit, frantically glancing to and fro for a sign showing an area where smoking was permitted. Nothing! She boarded the train to Terminal 1, the United terminal, to re-check her bags on her last connecting flight. The airport train boarded inside the international terminal, so she still couldn't smoke. She considered ducking into a restroom to light up. But she knew Americans were serious about smoking restrictions. It wouldn't be good to begin her U. S. visit by being arrested for smoking at O'Hare Airport! At the ticketing level in the United terminal she pulled her bags out the front door. She saw more signs proclaiming it was another non-smoking area. Oh, no! Smoking was only allowed outside the baggage claim level, one floor down. By now Giorgia's cravings were at fever pitch. She hurled an epithet in Italian and went back inside. After dragging her bags down the escalator she got to the baggage claim level and burst through the exit door. A handful of smokers were gathered outside the entrance. Thank God! She could smoke! Her anticipation was intense. She _had_ to have one! After over nine hours, she couldn't wait another second! In no time she had a Marlboro Light 100 in her mouth, and a lighter in her hand. Before leaving Italy she'd switched to an American brand. Though they were expensive in Italy, she'd wanted to get used to American cigarettes before coming to the U. S. After touching the flame to the tobacco end, she sucked greedily. Thick, rich, smoke filled her mouth. She hungrily sucked the creamy substance deep into her famished lungs. A sublime sense of relief flowed through her entire body. Mother of God! It was so good! She followed her first inhale with a second colossal drag. Smoke escaped from her nostrils as she eagerly drew again. She sighed contentedly. Oh, God! Oh yes! This was what she wanted! No, it was more than that. This was what she needed! Her young body had to have nicotine, and she eagerly obeyed its uncompromising mandate as fast as she could. Following a third consecutive drag, she sucked more smoke inside and knocked an ash from her rapidly shrinking cigarette. She held the luscious deposit deep inside her eager lungs as long as she could, enjoying the wonderful feeling. Nicotine was mercifully pumping through her famished frame now, and it felt so good! She loved to smoke, and hated not being able to have a cigarette when she wanted one. Americans are stupid, she muttered, exhaling a long stream of smoke into the humid, late summer air. Why must Americans make life so miserable for smokers in their country? A rough voice abruptly interrupted the pretty Italian girl's musings. "Hey, young lady!" She whirled to see a large, middle-aged man wearing an expensive business suit. He looked mad. A large garment bag was slung over his shoulder; an oversized briefcase was under his arm. He was waiting for curbside pickup. "Do you mind putting that damn thing out?" It was a statement, not a question. Giorgia smiled courteously. "I'm sorry if my smoking offends you, sir," she said politely in halting English. "But I have been unable to smoke for quite some time. I believe this is a designated smoking area." The big man was unbending. "Look, I'm waiting for a ride," he complained bitterly. "And I don't give a damn if this is a smoking area. I don't intend to breathe your shitty second-hand smoke while I wait. Put that thing out, right this minute!" The ominous demand scared Giorgia. She glanced at the other smokers near the door. All of them were smoking as fast as possible. They visibly shrank back from this large, irate man in the business suit, and tried to look inconspicuous. Giorgia was closest to him; the other smokers clearly didn't want to be part of her developing quarrel. She cleared her throat and spoke cordially but firmly. "I am sorry if my smoking offends you, sir," she repeated, motioning to her burning cigarette. "But I believe I have the right to stand here and smoke if I want to do so. However, I'll try to blow my smoke away from you." "Look here, little lady," the man continued in a condescending, hostile tone. "I don't give a damn if the sign says you can smoke. Get rid of that thing! If you don't, I'll shove it up your ass." He glared menacingly. "Girlie, you're obviously a damn foreigner. Let me acquaint you with life in the United States. We don't put up with smokers' shit. Get used to it. Comprende?" Giorgia's hands shook. She tried to sound calm and collected. "I am complying with your country's legal requirements by limiting my smoking to an area outside the airport terminal," she patiently declared. "I do not want trouble. But if you touch me I will ask a law enforcement official to take appropriate action against you." She gulped and instinctively returned the cigarette to her lips for another drag. As she did, the big man took a menacing step in her direction. Giorgia braced for the worst. Suddenly a large black limousine pulled up to the curb. The man hesitated. "It's my ride," he said insolently. "You're damn lucky, honey. Next time, be more careful. I don't take kindly to people blowing smoke, so keep your filthy habit to yourself." He opened the back door of the limo and jumped in. Moments later the vehicle pulled away from the curb. Giorgia double-pumped. Along with nicotine, now adrenaline was coursing through her veins after the near-miss confrontation. Slowly but surely her rapid intake of smoke calmed her frayed nerves. She glanced at the other smokers. They averted their eyes. They were still scared. She sighed and shook her head. Why did people in the United States act like this? That big man was nothing but a bully. He knew he could intimidate smokers with no fear of retribution. No one would stand up to his bullying. Something was wrong with that. It was wrong that smokers had to smoke outside in the first place. It was wrong that people like the big man could harass smokers with no fear of reprisal. The whole American system was crazy! Giorgia sucked more smoke into her lungs, basking in the welcome relief of ingesting nicotine while she brooded. Why didn't American smokers stand up to protest ridiculous laws that forbade smoking in public buildings? Bullies wouldn't try such tactics without stupid laws discriminating against smokers in the first place. Were the smokers in America so few, and was their influence so weak, that their opinions meant nothing? She didn't understand. None of this could happen in Italy, she assured herself. Their government didn't meddle with smokers. And if it did, people ignored it. In Italy she could light up even in most non-smoking areas, and no one cared. By the time she finished her cigarette, she felt better. But she chained into a second one, just in case. She didn't know when she'd be able to smoke again. As she started her second Marlboro, she pondered further. This country was crazy. She wouldn't let them get away with it. She resolved never to apologize for smoking in the United States. A fiendish smirk enveloped her pretty face. She would work to convert as many Americans as possible into becoming smokers, like herself, and encourage them to be combative. With more militant smokers, she reasoned, perhaps something could be done about the ludicrous anti-smoking laws and the stupid people who belittled smokers in this country! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lauren smiled at the young Italian girl disembarking from the connecting flight. "Hi. You must be Giorgia Follone. I'm Lauren Martin. Welcome to college life in the United States!" "Ah, grazie," Giorgia smiled back. Immediately she blushed. "I'm sorry. I mean, thank you. I must remember to speak English." "Gosh, you speak well," Lauren gushed with enthusiasm. Though the short, lovely black-haired woman had a strong but charming Italian accent, she was easy to understand. Lauren knew right away this lovely woman with the enchanting accent would mesmerize American males. "You speak like a native," she added graciously. Giorgia beamed. "I have studied English many years," she said timidly. "I try hard." The American girl evaluated Giorgia Follone. She was gorgeous, a Mediterranean beauty, slender, short, with an olive complexion and jet black short curly hair. Her black eyes sparkled when she spoke. She had an infectious smile. Lauren liked her new roommate. "Let's get your bags and head to campus," she offered. "Orientation starts tomorrow. I'm an R. A., so I'll be around the next few days, too. Classes begin next week. Today I'll show you around the college grounds, show you our room, and introduce you to some people." "Grazie," Giorgia repeated. "I'd like that very much." After getting the bags, the two women left the terminal. While walking to the parking garage they talked easily; there was an instant bond between them. Giorgia appreciated the friendliness of her pretty American friend. But Giorgia hoped Lauren smoked. It'd make things easier for both of them if she did. Well, she smiled, I'll find out soon enough. Lauren put Giorgia's bags in the trunk of her car. She got behind the wheel as Giorgia slid into the passenger seat. Giorgia carefully smelled the automobile's interior. It didn't smell like a smoker's car. That was not a good sign! Then she checked out her new friend. Lauren was very cute, taller than she expected, with long blond hair and a pretty face. She had an easy-going manner. Giorgia liked Lauren, too. But it was time to find out if her new friend was a smoker. The Italian girl flashed a beguiling smile. "Lauren, do you mind if I have a cigarette?" Her polite tone was more persuasive due to the charming Italian accent. "You see, I was unable to smoke on my airplane flight," she went on, batting her eyes. "I would very much like to smoke now, if you don't mind." Lauren startled. It never occurred to her this girl smoked. Damn the dean's office! Of course, they probably didn't know. All the same, she was pissed. She didn't smoke, and she wasn't crazy about someone smoking in her car. But she didn't know how to say 'no' to her new Italian friend. She didn't want to seem impolite. So she took a deep breath and spoke. "Uh, I guess it's okay this time," she said hesitantly. "If you really need to, then I suppose I don't mind." She hoped Giorgia would sense her reluctance and withdraw the request. Giorgia knew Lauren was merely being polite. But she'd decided never to give in to American anti-smoking prejudices. "Ah, grazie," she smiled broadly. She opened her leather purse and withdrew a pack of Marlboro Lights 100's as she cracked her window. "You are very kind to let me smoke in your car, Lauren. I take it that you yourself do not smoke?" "Uh, no," Lauren replied, disappointed that Giorgia was going to smoke despite her unenthusiastic acquiescence. The pretty Italian lit up, took a drag and inhaled. "But that's okay," Lauren continued aloud without conviction. "Go right ahead if you want." "Grazie, I will," Giorgia smiled, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the open window. "You see, in my country, in Italy, it is very common for young people to smoke. So I am surprised you do not, Lauren. Am I to understand that it is not so common in your country?" Lauren laughed. "Oh, well, sure, lots of kids smoke, especially in college. It's just that, well, smoking is considered politically incorrect in our country these days." "Politically incorrect?" Giorgia frowned. "Scusi. I am afraid I do not understand the meaning of this English expression." Lauren nodded. She had to be careful using American slang. "It means people disapprove of you around here if you smoke. Because it's bad for your health, you know." "Ah," Giorgia smiled. "I understand. Americans are obsessed with good health. Isn't that right? You have health clubs and low calorie foods and many other things like these. So you do not approve of cigarettes for that reason?" "Yeah, I guess," Lauren admitted. "I wouldn't call it an obsession, but you're right. People in our country frown on anything that's bad for their health." "I find that curious," Giorgia objected. She drew thoughtfully on her cigarette. She pulled more smoke in her lungs, deeper this time. "A better focus would be - how do you say? - the right focus is for the enjoyment." She exhaled from her nostrils. "Do you understand?" Lauren shook her head. She didn't understand. She involuntarily waved her hand in front of her face to re-direct some of the ambient smoke. Giorgia smiled. She was eager to present her views. "This is what I mean. I enjoy smoking. It is very pleasant for me. But I do not worry what will happen in fifty years. We Italians - we Europeans - focus on enjoying life today. We do not much worry about other things the way you do in America. If smoking is pleasant for us, then why shouldn't we? We enjoy it. Besides, we never know what tomorrow will bring. We pay attention to enjoying today." She grinned. "In my country, all people my age smoke cigarettes. It is commonly accepted." "That's weird," Lauren frowned. "Don't get me wrong. Lots of kids our age smoke here. It's just that our society doesn't approve of it. We try to discourage it." "You discourage people from doing things which bring them pleasure?" The disbelief was evident in her voice. "You have a very strange country, Lauren." She took a last hit from her cigarette and threw it out the car window. "Very strange. I confess I do not understand." Lauren smiled. "We just have different priorities here. I'm not saying ours are better or worse than yours in Italy. They're just different. But you'll get used to them." "I'm not sure I will," Giorgia sighed. "But I will try to adjust." The campus was forty minutes from the airport. At the dorm they put Giorgia's things in their room, and Lauren walked her to the dean's office to meet with people on details of her one year visit. Then it was back to the dorm. "This is a very nice room," Giorgia admired, slowly walking around its perimeter. "In my country university dormitories are much older and not as nice as this." "Well, it isn't plush," Lauren admitted. "But I guess it's okay." Giorgia frowned. "What does this mean, plush?" "I'm sorry. I mean, it's not fancy. But I'm an R. A. - a resident advisor in the dorm - and our room's bigger than most. I'm sort of responsible for looking out for the students on our floor, especially freshman." "I am a freshman," Giorgia remarked happily. "Does that mean you will be responsible for looking out for me, too?" "I guess so," she laughed. She liked the quick wit of this cheerful Italian girl. "Wonderful," Giorgia said with a wry smile. "And will I be permitted to smoke my cigarettes here in our dormitory room?" Lauren froze. She'd momentarily forgotten about the smoking thing. Once again, she had a decision to make. What should she say? "Well, there's no rule against smoking in this dorm," she said slowly. "So I guess it's up to me. Do you smoke much?" Giorgia hastily told a half-truth as she smiled reassuringly. "I smoke only a little. But I would very much enjoy being able to smoke in our room when I am in the mood, Lauren. I will try to make it not bother you." "Thanks," she smiled. "I'd appreciate that." Giorgia brightened. "So, it is okay, then?" Without waiting for Lauren's answer, she opened her purse and reached for a cigarette. "Because I would like one right now." "Uh, there's no ashtray," Lauren lamely objected. "Ah, don't worry," Giorgia said, lighting up. "I have one in my suitcase," she added, with her cigarette dangling from her pert little mouth. "I am prepared." Streams of smoke escaped from her lips as she opened her bag. "Here," she said proudly, putting a large glass ashtray on the table. "Lauren, I want you to understand. Smoking makes me happy. Even though I smoke, I promise I will be a good roommate for you. It will be multo buono, as we say in Italian." "Yeah, I'm sure we'll get along," Lauren reluctantly agreed. She was uncertain if she was reassuring Giorgia or herself. She sighed. She wasn't happy, but guessed she'd eventually get used to having a roommate who smoked. And she did. Despite the Italian girl's habit, the girls became fast friends. Orientation was over soon, classes started, and Giorgia's American college experience began. The first weeks went well. She liked her classes and quickly fit in with girls in her dorm. But mostly she enjoyed Lauren. They spent lots of time together. Lauren got used to the smoking in the room. After a few days she hardly noticed it. Despite her original assurance, however, Giorgia smoked more than "just a little." She purposely took advantage of Lauren's failure to object. In no time she was at her usual pack a day allocation, smoking most of the cigarettes in their dorm room. Giorgia was amazed by all the non-smoking areas on campus. But with some adjustment she was able to smoke as much as she needed - indeed, as much as she wanted - with little trouble. She missed being able to smoke during her classes, which she could do back home in Italy. But the campus dining halls and most restaurants had smoking areas. She adjusted to life as an American smoker. Both roommates were Catholic. Many young urban Italians have become disassociated from the church. But not Giorgia. She found a local parish church to attend mass and weekly confession. Lauren was thrilled. Her family was Irish Catholic, and she too was devout. She liked having a roommate with the same faith. Weekly confession was new to her, but she followed Giorgia's lead. Living with the devoted Italian girl encouraged Lauren's own faith. Lauren was pre-med, while Giorgia's classes were all introductory level, since technically she was a freshman. The roommates had no classes in common, but Lauren liked hanging out with the young Italian all the same. Each day Giorgia was amazed by some new aspect of American college life. Lauren loved sharing the joy of discovery with her perky new friend. Giorgia frequently teased Lauren about not smoking. She yearned for a friendship like the one she had with her girlfriends back home in Italy, where they all smoked together. She fondly recalled the way Francesca and Martina got her to smoke by repeatedly urging her to take an occasional puff. Giorgia lightheartedly tried to shame Lauren into doing the same. If she'd try it, there was a good chance she'd like it, and Giorgia would have someone to smoke with. But though Lauren tolerated her roommate's habit, she never was willing to try it herself. She always begged off, claiming she wasn't interested. Good-natured prodding did no good. Reluctantly Giorgia concluded she had little hope of persuading Lauren. But she wanted an "amica fumatori," a smoking buddy. If it couldn't be her roommate, there were other girls in the dorm. She befriended two freshmen, Brigit and Libby, who smoked. She began spending time in their room. That bothered Lauren. Giorgia went to the dining hall with her new friends and sat with them in the smoking section, without inviting Lauren. Giorgia liked to sit and smoke after meals with her new friends. It wasn't that Lauren wouldn't sit there, but she was clearly the one added only as an afterthought. Lauren grew jealous of her roommate's new pals. That surprised Giorgia, because Lauren had many other friends of her own. But she seemed to prefer being with her. The truth was, Giorgia liked being around Brigit and Libby better; they smoked. She liked being with smokers more than non-smokers, and she enjoyed stimulating her new friends' budding habits. Both Libby and Brigit were relative neophytes, but hanging out with the heavier smoking Giorgia increased their consumption. That thrilled Giorgia. She wanted to replicate her smoking commitment in her new friends, and Brigit and Libby proved to be willing subjects. They soon turned into hard-core smokers. Under Giorgia's tutelage, they began to light up more often, take longer drags, and inhale deeper. They developed a militancy about smokers' rights that pleased Giorgia. She hated the wimpy, apologetic attitude of most American smokers. In all this, Lauren felt left out. Giorgia wanted to talk about her obvious unhappiness, but decided to let Lauren to speak first. She did, coming home from evening mass one Saturday. "You're spending lots more time with Libby and Brigit," she casually observed as they walked the streets in the twilight. "It's 'cause I don't smoke, isn't it?" Giorgia nodded. ""Sono spiacente," she mumbled in Italian. "I'm so sorry," she added in English. "You're right, Lauren. You and I are good friends. But in Italy I spend time with my girlfriends Francesca and Martina because we can smoke together. I can smoke with Brigit and Libby, but I cannot with you. There is something special in having friends who smoke. Because you do not, Lauren, you cannot understand." She smiled warmly. "I am sorry. I do not mean to leave you out or insult you. You are my very special American friend." Lauren nodded. "You're important to me. At confession tonight, I confessed my jealousy of Brigit and Libby. It's crazy, but it bothers me. My last roommate was my best friend on campus. We did everything together. I lost her when she transferred. I don't want to lose you." Giorgia was touched. "Lauren, I am honored by your sentiment. But you will lose me after this year anyway. I am only in the United States for one year. I return to Italy in May next year." She almost reminded Lauren she could solve the problem by learning to smoke. But the moment was too sensitive. "And anyway, you have many friends besides me." "I know," Lauren sighed. "But a roommate's special. I'm jealous. Giorgia, please don't lock me out just because I don't smoke like you do." "I will never lock you out, as you say," Giorgia tenderly assured her. "But there exists a special bond, a special communion, among smokers. I have that with Brigit and Libby. I fear you will never understand, Lauren, until you decide to smoke with us. This is your own choice." "Yeah, I know. Giorgia, do you ever think about quitting? It's a dumb habit, you know." The Italian bristled. "Smoking is _not_ dumb! It gives me pleasure. You do not smoke, so you cannot realize this. I will help you learn to smoke if you want, so you can find out." "Yeah, I'm sure you would," Lauren smiled sardonically. "But I'm not ready for that. In the meantime, just invite me to dinner when you go with Brigit and Libby. Okay?" Giorgia gave her a spontaneous hug. As quickly as it rose up, Giorgia's anger was gone. "I _will_ remember to invite you," she purred. "I promise. Never before have I had a good friend who didn't smoke. You are definitely my good friend." Giorgia kept her promise. She began including Lauren when she ate with Brigit and Libby. In the coming days the four girls spent most mealtimes together. Giorgia wanted to increase the pressure on Lauren, so she purposely smoked more often in their room to acclimate her to ambient smoke. Being immersed in a smoke-filled room no longer troubled Lauren. Giorgia knew that was a good sign. But then a second change in their relationship occurred, one that bothered Lauren even more than the friendship with Brigit and Libby. It was a man! Guys on campus were noticing the beautiful Italian girl. Her sultry Mediterranean looks and charming accent drew them like flies. One in particular caught Giorgia's fancy, a tall, muscular junior named Steve Warner. One reason she liked Steve was because he smoked. One evening after dinner in the dining hall, Giorgia confided to the other girls she had no interest in a man who wasn't a real smoker. "Oh God, I know," sighed Brigit. "Now that I smoke, I can't stand going out with a guy who doesn't. I like having cigarettes when I'm out. It's part of the ambiance. Don't you think?" Libby chimed in. "I agree. I went home last weekend to see my old boyfriend. He never started smoking like I did, and God, now we have nothing in common! The asshole flinched every time I lit up!" She drew pensively on her cigarette. "I won't date any guy unless he doesn't care if I smoke. Actually, I prefer one who likes to smoke as much as I do," she giggled. "Si," Giorgia nodded. Her black eyes flashed. "I agree one hundred percent. No offense, Lauren. You are our friend, even though you do not smoke. But I would not date a man who does not smoke. Ever! It is something I must share with someone I love." "But what if he just doesn't care?" Lauren interrupted. "What if he doesn't smoke, but it doesn't bother him that you do?" "That is not enough," Giorgia said with conviction, reaching for another Marlboro. She lit up, took it from her lips and used it to emphasize and underline her words. Her hands moved rapidly as she spoke. "I do not know how to be anything but a smoker. I have been smoking since I was fourteen. It is who I am. If I love a man, we do not have to feel the same way about everything. But important things must be shared. That is true amore'. There can be no bond between us if a man does not enjoy smoking in the same way that I do!" Brigit grinned enthusiastically. "God, you know what? I _like_ that philosophy! Like you, Giorgia, I'll _never_ quit. I love smoking _way_ too much to stop." The pretty freshman girl smiled at Libby and took her hand. "I'm glad we both filled out our roommate questionnaires and said we wanted to live with a smoker," she sighed. "It makes everything easier." She batted her eyelashes at Libby and grinned. "It's more fun, too." Lauren grew prickly. She changed the subject. "Steve Warner's cute. I've known him since freshman year. You'll have a good time with him, Giorgia. He's a hunk." Giorgia hesitated. "What does that mean? Hunk?" "It means he's a nice piece of ass," Brigit slyly explained. "It means Steve's good looking and, I'd guess, great in bed, too. A good fuck!" She giggled. It was Giorgia's turn to laugh. "I agree that Steve is very good looking. He is a hunk, then. I will go out with this hunk, and we will see what happens." Steve and Giorgia went out Friday night. And Saturday night. Sunday they studied together. Steve was smitten by the beautiful young Italian's charm and sophistication. She in turn found him funny, interesting, considerate and (not unimportant) good looking. Her interest in him was greater because he smoked. But he was a mere social smoker, as Giorgia soon realized. She resolved to manipulate him into a higher level of commitment. She turned on the same charm she'd used successfully on Libby and Brigit. She wanted a boyfriend committed to the habit, one who was militant, and she guessed Steve would be a willing pupil. She was right. As frequently happens at the start of a relationship, they hung out together all the time, including at meals. Giorgia had four or five cigarettes with her coffee after eating, but Steve smoked only occasionally. She made fun of his sporadic smoking, teasing him and urging him to light up more. "I am a smoker," she pouted in her best Italian accent. "But clearly, my bambino, you are not. You never smoke with me. If you love me, please have another cigarette." With stars in his eyes, Steve did. Within a week he was smoking almost as much as Giorgia. His random habit hardened into the addiction of a confirmed smoker. Giorgia was delighted by this rapid transformation, and encouraged him to smoke even more, which he did. Lauren saw what Giorgia was doing. She was flabbergasted that Steve offered no resistance. He let nicotine addiction sink its hooks in him ever deeper. Lauren knew why he acquiesced. It was intoxicating being with the beautiful, charming Italian girl. She was more important to him than controlling (or not controlling) his budding habit. Lauren watched Steve's romantic attachment to Giorgia increase in tandem with his mounting addiction. Smoking represented a bond with her that she didn't share. Just as she resented Giorgia's camaraderie with Brigit and Libby, she resented her new relationship with Steve. She was losing Giorgia all over again. She didn't fully understand why, but she grew more and more jealous, and began plotting ways to get more of Giorgia's undivided attention. Lauren didn't really understand her reaction. It wasn't sexual desire; at least, she didn't think so. She'd never been with a woman, and didn't think her interest in her roommate was overtly sexual. She had to admit, though, Giorgia was extraordinarily gorgeous. The elegant Italian was the closest thing to lesbian temptation she'd ever felt. She was attractive, mysterious, and enthralling. But none of it explained her uncontrollable envy. Brigit and Libby smoked, and Giorgia preferred them. Steve, too, shared Giorgia's attraction to the filthy habit. It was part of why Giorgia loved him. It was also why Lauren grew to hate him. Lauren knew she could solve the problem by smoking herself. But she'd always turned down that answer. It was a stupid habit. Her mother had preached against it since she was a child. Why was it _so_ damn important to Giorgia? She said she'd never understand till she tried it. She wanted her to smoke; Lauren knew it. She was irritatingly unapologetic about it. Giorgia wanted her to experience nicotine's power over committed smokers. Lauren had refused, because she afraid. She feared Giorgia was right, that smoking would be as alluring as she promised. If she tried it, she feared she'd get hooked, just as everyone else had surrendered to it, totally and without reservation. That didn't fit Lauren's plan to go to medical school. One night when Giorgia was out with Steve, Lauren knew she had to decide. Unless she tried it and surrendered, like Giorgia, Libby, Brigit and Steve, there'd forever be an indissoluble barrier between her and her roommate. Put that way, the decision was easy. She had to teach herself to smoke, at least a little. She didn't have to _be_ a smoker, she consoled herself. She just had to learn how to join in the activity with Giorgia and the others. Giorgia always left open packs of cigarettes in their room. A half-empty pack of Marlboro Lights 100's lay on her desk that night. She'd never miss one, Lauren knew. It was a perfect chance to smoke. Nervous though she was, she was more afraid of losing Giorgia's friendship. With trembling fingers she withdrew a cigarette from her roommate's pack. She looked at it. It was long and white. She sniffed it. It didn't smell bad. She'd seen the almost fanatical dedication these things instilled in their devotees. She'd seen how smokers couldn't wait to light up and suck hard on a cigarette, pulling smoke deep into their famished lungs. She'd seen their rapturous and idyllic satisfaction each time they had one. She didn't get it. But that devotion and its associated satisfaction were oddly alluring, tempting. It must be wonderful to love something that much, she mused. It must be fabulous to want to smoke so bad that you endure criticism, even hardship, for the sublime pleasure of having another cigarette. Giorgia and the others loved it. She had to know why. She raised the unlit cigarette to her lips and pretended to puff. It felt light as air in her fingers, and lighter still between her lips. It was easy to draw on. The taste wasn't bad. Of course, it wasn't burning! She felt uneasy, but reminded herself Giorgia loved smoking. Learning to smoke will make us closer, she repeated aloud. With that motivation, she took a disposable lighter from Giorgia's desk and began her bold experiment. Giorgia had invited her to smoke many times, but she had no idea how to do it. Somehow she successfully lit the cigarette. She'd seen Giorgia light up hundreds of times, so she simply did what Giorgia did. After it was lit, she bravely took a long, hard, almost violent drag, and inhaled the smoke deep into her virgin lungs. That was a mistake. Her response shouldn't have surprised, but it did. She'd been around ambient smoke, but inhaling it was different. She coughed lightly, then violently. That reflex increased the stinging in her windpipe, sinuses and lungs, making the inhaled smoke go deeper inside. Her coughing intensified and her eyes watered. For a moment she thought she'd throw up. She put the burning cigarette down in a nearby ashtray and rubbed her eyes while she choked. Something was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. She continued to gag as the last bits of inhaled smoke escaped her beleaguered lungs. This was not fun! Slowly she composed herself. Her hands were shaking. She knew smoking was something you had to get used to, but she didn't expect this. The cigarette still burned in the ashtray. Reluctantly she picked it up and tapped the lengthening ash from the burning end. Despite the unpleasantness, she was determined to try again. She wanted to be closer to Giorgia. Raising it to her lips with wobbling fingers, she took another puff. It wasn't as long, but she again made the mistake of inhaling. A second time her lungs reacted dreadfully. Coughing began anew as bursts of smoke squirted from her mouth and nostrils. In addition to the hacking, her head was buzzing and she felt queasy. It wasn't working! Suddenly she heard a knock at the door. "Who is it?" Lauren gasped. She crushed the mostly unsmoked cigarette in the ashtray. "Who is it?" she repeated. "It's Brigit," came a voice through the door. "Are you okay in there?" "Uh, yeah," she wheezed. She didn't want anyone to see her, least of all Brigit. "Let me in," came the reply. "You sound like you're dyin' in there." Lauren knew Brigit wouldn't give up. She waved her hand in the air, vainly trying to dissipate the ambient smoke floating in the room. "Just a second," she pleaded. She opened the door. Brigit stood there, her face reflecting concern. "Oh my God," she gasped. "You're white as a sheet, Lauren. Are you okay?" Lauren stumbled to her bed to sit down. "Yeah, I'm fine," she whispered with as much assurance as she could muster. "It's allergies," she lied. "Sometimes I start coughing and sneezing and can't stop." Brigit was a tall, slender girl with long brown hair. She didn't believe the bogus story. She plopped down on Giorgia's bed and stared into Lauren's eyes. "You look like shit," she said simply. "You should take medicine if it's an allergy problem." Lauren had no allergy medicine, because she had no allergies. "I'm fine," she said stubbornly. "Don't worry about me." Despite her bravado, she coughed a couple more times. "Let's get a drink of water," Brigit recommended. "Come with me to the bathroom." Then she smiled. "I won't take no for an answer," she warned. "Let's go." Resigned, Lauren walked to the door. Brigit let Lauren leave and followed. As she did, she saw a cigarette inexpertly crushed in the ashtray. The smell of fresh tobacco smoke was in the air. She smiled wryly. She guessed what'd happened. Lauren was smoking! It explained the coughing, her embarrassment and her pale face. She considered confronting her, but decided not to. After all, she reasoned, it wasn't _her_ business if Lauren wanted to try smoking. Not long ago Brigit herself first experimented with cigarettes. A strange excitement and anticipation made her smile. The thought of her R. A. smoking was delicious! She decided Lauren needed space, perhaps a little reassurance, and an opportunity to save face. She followed her to the bathroom. Lauren gulped several glasses of water before returning to the dorm room. The burning in her lungs was gone. Her nose and eyes were no longer running. She smiled as they got back to her room. "I'm fine," she smiled weakly standing at the door. "Thanks." "I'll come in, if you don't mind," Brigit insisted. Lauren shrugged and let the pretty freshman walk in ahead of her. There was a smile on Brigit's face. Without acknowledging what she suspected, she wanted to give some encouragement. "Actually, I stopped by because I ran out of cigarettes," she lied. "I was going to bum a couple from Giorgia. Do you know if she has an open pack?" Lauren hesitated. "Uh, yeah. There's one on her desk." Brigit casually sauntered over and picked it up. "Ah, Marlboro Lights 100's. I used to smoke these myself. Now I smoke menthols. Newports, actually," she added, as if the older girl understood the significance of what she was talking about. "I wouldn't know about that," Lauren countered quickly. Brigit nonchalantly shook a cigarette from Giorgia's pack. Instead of taking it with her, she put it in her mouth, picked up the lighter from the desk, and lit up. "Ah, that tastes _so_ fuckin' good," she sighed contentedly, turning her head to give Lauren a perfect profile of a combined nose and mouth exhale. "Lauren, you simply can't imagine how wonderful it is to light up a cigarette when you haven't smoked in awhile." She took a second drag. "You're really missing out by not smoking," she added, pausing to exhale another stream of smoke into the air. "Yeah, that's what Giorgia says." The memory of her coughing fit was fresh in her mind. Brigit sat on Giorgia's bed and brushed her bangs from her face. "I started last spring," she said pleasantly. "One of my girlfriends wanted me to try it. She really kept after me. At first, I was afraid. I'd heard the shit about how bad smoking is for you. But the more I watched my girlfriend smoke, the more I saw she really enjoyed her cigarettes." She took a long, luxurious drag on the all-white cigarette. "I had to find out what I was missing," she explained with apparent satisfaction, pausing to release another perfect exhale in twin streams through her nostrils. "I didn't like it at first. But after I tried it a few times, I knew it was something I had to keep doing. Now I'm so glad I started," she offered congenially. "Really, you should try it, too." Lauren feared Brigit saw through her lame allergy story. Why else the pep talk? Despite the unsolicited testimonial, the last thing Lauren wanted was to smoke again. Her throat and lungs ached. "I told Giorgia I'd think about it," she lied, though she'd done no such thing. "What did your parents say when you started smoking?" She changed the subject to deflect attention from her situation. Brigit frowned. "That was a bummer," she admitted. "My mom and dad went ape-shit. But I was eighteen, so there was nothing they could do. I was old enough to buy cigarettes if I wanted. I didn't need their permission. But it's a bone of contention with my mother especially." "That's what I worry about," Lauren said, satisfied she'd turned the tables. "My mom would _not_ be happy if I started smoking. She'd be upset. She wouldn't approve." "Parents never understand," Brigit countered. "Don't let them run your life, Lauren. Experiment. Give it a try; see what you think." She grinned. "It'd be great to have another smoker on our floor. Plus, when we go to dinner in the dining hall, you could smoke with us instead of feeling left out." Ouch! That hurt. But Lauren recovered. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for it," she said with a wry smile. "Some people are smokers; others aren't. I think I'm in the 'aren't' category." Brigit considered arguing, but she'd already said more than she meant to. To maintain credibility, she took another cigarette from Giorgia's pack, slipped it in her pocket, and headed to the door. "I'm glad you feel better, Lauren. You have real bad allergies," she added with a grin." She paused. "Look, I _am_ encouraging you to smoke. But the choice is yours, of course." "Of course," she smiled. She watched Brigit go down the hall trailing smoke as she went. Later that night Brigit intercepted Giorgia. She told her she though Lauren was smoking. Giorgia was delighted, but mistakenly assumed she should do nothing. She figured if nature took its course Lauren's experimenting would turn her into a smoker. It was a strategic mistake. Lauren didn't want to try it again. But Giorgia didn't know that. So she waited, not realizing Lauren would make no more progress without some intervention. Meanwhile, Lauren was now sure she wasn't cut out to be a smoker. She gave up, not realizing she'd just tried to do too much too fast. She searched for a another way to compete for Giorgia's attention. She still wanted to be her best and closest friend. If she couldn't make it happen by smoking, what alternative was there? She wasn't sure, but she'd think of something. |
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