Under Her Wing, Part 3

   Debbie walked out into the midday sun, glad for the break. It was such a
perfect summer day, the sort that made her think back on being a very young
child of no more than five or six. 
   At that time, summer meant swimming in the backyard pool, laying in the sun
and riding bicycles. And sweating, like she was now.
   But this time it was from nervousness. There was an half hour break between
seminars and most of the attendees were outside.
   It was unbelievable. Debbie had never seen so many high school students
smoking at one time. Just watching all of them was making her anxious. Not
only her friends, all of whom were of course taking the opportunity to light
up, but just about everyone at the morning session she'd been in.
   Her attention- too much of it, she had a feeling- had been taking by a tall,
lanky boy sitting in her row. According to the tag plastered to his Albany
River Rats t-shirt, his name was Kirk and he was a junior at Berlin High
School. He was currently roaming the grass in front of the Haskins English
Building, looking a little lost and lonely.
   His eyes were planted squarely on the ground, his head pivoting side to side
as though he'd lost something valuable.
   Debbie's nervousness became a live thing as he wandered directly towards
her.
   It wasn't until too late that she realised he was going to blunder right
into her.
   Kirk didn't look up in time. He barged into Debbie, knocking her flat  as he
reached out to catch her, his hand closing only on thin air.
   "Jesus, I'm sorry," Kirk stammered, bending down to help Debbie up.
   "Were you looking for something ?" Debbie asked, somehow not the least bit
angry about the fall.
   "Yeah," Kirk said, smiling. "I dropped my lighter this morning out here
before the seminar started."
   "You can borrow mine," Debbie said, realising that admitting she had a
lighter was a step away from admitting she was a smoker.
   Not that she was, not yet anyway.
   She managed to dig the lighter out of her backpack after struggling with the
zipper for what seemed like forever. While he waited, Kirk extracted a
Marlboro 100 from his pack. He put the cigarette between his lips and cupped
his hands around hers. The touch of skin on skin made Debbie that much more
nervous but she somehow managed to get the lighter- black as she'd imagined
it- to catch the first time. Kirk sucked hungrily on the cigarette.
   As he exhaled, he asked if she was going to join him.
   "Of course," she said, realising the moment of truth was here.
   Finding the pack of cigarettes was easier than finding the lighter had been.
She'd already removed the cellophane, stripping it away as soon as Sarah had
given them to her, just to ensure herself that she would be starting today.
   Excitement replaced nervousness. Debbie pulled a single cigarette from the
pack, held it to her lips with a miraculously not shaking left hand, and
closed her eyes as she flicked the lighter.
   It caught the first time, proving that even imaginary practise helped.
   She opened her eyes as she inhaled. Kirk was watching her with the obvious
appreciation of a fellow smoker. Debbie expected that appreciation would fade
as she coughed and gagged, certain that this real time version of her little
fantasy would never be so easy. But the smoke simply slid down her throat and
filled her lungs, bringing with it the barest tinge of-
   Euphoria was the word she would have used had she been writing about it.
   "That first one from the pack is always the best," Kirk said
matter-of-factly.
   Debbie exhaled, pursing her lips and unconsciously imitating Prissy's style.
   She let her hand drop, amazed at how weightless the cigarette seemed. As she
turned her wrist upwards reflexively, the cigarette squirted from between her
fingers and the relief at how easy this was going to be faded. She looked
down at the grass, sure the cigarette would go out, that she would be exposed
as a poser to Kirk, whose warm smile would certainly dim.
   But it didn't go out.
   Kirk reached down. He was so tall that it seemed impossible that his hand
would ever stretch all the way to the ground, but it did. He picked up the
cigarette, holding it between thumb and forefinger, burning end above his
wrist and facing towards him. He reached out slowly and she opened her lips.
He placed the end of the cigarette between her lips and she closed them
around it, letting them brush his fingers. She then pulled her lips down on
the cigarette and inhaled again, amazed when the cigarette didn't pop out of
her mouth.
   Again, the smoke slid easily down, bring that same rush she'd felt the first
time. The smoke trailing up from the end did sting her eyes vaguely, but
other than that the experience was perfect. This time she removed the
cigarette from her lips holding it a bit more carefully. Again she dropped
her hand down past her waist, wrist arched, and avoided losing her grip.
   "Thanks," she said, exhaling as she spoke.
   "Good thing that the grass isn't flammable," he said jokingly.
   Debbie was so busy being shocked by how easily smoking had come to her that
when Kirk asked if she wanted to have dinner at the pizza place two blocks
from the Inn, she said yes before she even had a chance to think about it.

   Gretchen was quite the tour guide, it turned out.
   It was only about two, but Ken was already exhausted. They'd gone hiking,
rented mountain bikes and ridden down to Shadow Lake and back, and toured the
small shopping district on foot. It turned out that his guide was in
remarkable shape for a girl who'd been smoking since she was fourteen- the
truth was that Ken had gotten rather out of shape himself sitting hunched
over a laptop ten hours a day and the workout was long overdue. Still, he
wasn't sure how a woman could smoke the way Gretchen did and still ride that
way.
   She was still nineteen and he wasn't- and she was still a smoker and he
wasn't- but Ken was starting to-
   Wish they'd sent him somewhere- hell, anywhere- other than Ranford, Vermont.
   They were standing outside the same pizza shop Debbie had agreed to a date
at.
   "Are you sure pizza is okay ?" Gretchen asked.
   Ken nodded. Right now his mouth was so dry and his stomach so empty that any
type of food and a beer to wash it down would be welcomed.
   The place was a little on the fancy side, but this was all going on the
expense account, so Ken didn't really care. Still, he wondered what the tab
was going to be when the lunch seating wasn't serve yourself.
   "Smoking, Gretchen ?" the waiter asked, smiling. Ken found himself absurdly
jealous of both the smile and the implied familiarity.
   She looked at Ken with puppy eyes that begged please.
   "Sure," he said, and they were lead to the very back of the restaurant. It
was dark-
   Romantic, Ken thought sourly. Sting was warbling mutedly in the background
about a lost love and a lost road. There were flickering candles on the table
and as they sat down Gretchen lit her cigarette from one of them.
   He watched her inhale deeply, studied the way her chest heaved slightly as
she satisfied her nicotine craving and-
   Ken felt an unmistakable stirring south of the border and knew immediately
that he was in trouble.
   Deep, dark, end of a career type trouble.
   "Is something wrong, Ken ?" Gretchen asked, her voice indicating real
concern.
   He tried to smile. His eyes were up to it but not the corners of his mouth.
   "I was just thinking about work," he said, not quite lying.
   She reached out with her free hand even as inhaled again on the long, white
cigarette. Inhaled sensuously as she patted his hand, making that faint
stirring a live thing. Her skin was warm and moist and electric.
   She spoke as she exhaled, sublime clouds of white smoke that drifted across
the table, not smelling the least bit odious.
   "I don't want to hear another word about work the rest of the day ?"
   "We're not done ?" he forced himself to say.
   She imitated a pout. Brought the cigarette, held below the table, back to
her lips and inhaled again, creating a furious disturbance in his underwear.
Again the chest heaved.
   "Only if you're not having a good time."
   There were lies that could not be told.
   I'll be fine, Ken told himself. I just need loser jeans.
   "I'm yours," he answered.
    
   

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