Just practicing, Part 5

This fictional account contains adult language and themes.  If such language
and themes offend you, please do not read further.  The persons and events
described in this work are purely fictional.  Any similarity to actual
persons or events is strictly coincidental.  Copyright 2001 by SSTORYMAN.
All rights reserved.  Permission is hereby 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.

JUST PRACTICING

5.	The Decision.

   Fifteen minutes later she walked out the back door of the theater
building.  Sure enough, there stood Harriet Ginsburg, waiting for her as
promised.  "Ready?  There used to be a nice little coffee shop down on Front
Street.  If it's still there, let's pop in and chat there awhile.  Okay?"

   Megan nodded.  The lump in her throat made it impossible to speak.

   The coffee shop was crowded, filled with students on the way to, or coming
from, campus parties.  The dimly lit room was divided in two sections,
smoking and non-smoking.  Both were packed.  On a small stage, a guitarist
quietly performed over the din.

   "There's a table over there," Harriet pointed.  "I assume you want
smoking?"

   Megan didn't know what to say.  She was nervous, and she _did_ want a
cigarette.  But smoking with Harriet Ginsburg just seemed too weird.  So she
froze and said nothing.

   "Oh come on, dear," Harriet smiled graciously.  "No need to play shy.  I
saw how you smoked on stage, and right now I can see 'that look' in your
eyes.  You need to smoke, honey, and that's fine with me.  Let's sit over
there in smoking.  Come on."

   They settled in at a table in the corner of the smoking section.  No one
recognized Harriet.  She looked like any slightly eccentric, older female
college professor.  A waitress came to take their order.  Harriet ordered a
latte, and Megan asked for regular coffee, black.

   "Megan, I just had to talk with you.  It's uncanny how you played me.  You
clearly studied that PBS documentary with film from my early career at
Berkeley.  The way you paraded around the classroom in act three, you were my
spitting image!  I almost thought I was watching myself in a mirror," she
laughed pleasantly.

   "Thanks," Megan blushed.  "I did watch the video of that documentary a few
times."

   Harriet nodded.  "I thought so.  Lowdermilk said having you smoke during
the various monologues was his idea.  In most productions they don't let my
character smoke.  It's too politically incorrect these days.  But it was
brilliant how you pulled it off.  With the costumes and how you played me, it
looked for all the world like me in front of my Berkeley classes in the early
1970's."  She paused as the waitress brought the latte and coffee.  "I told
Ken - I mean, Dr. Lowdermilk - I want a copy of the picture he took.  Casting
you was brilliant, my dear, an excellent choice.  You looked just like I did
in those days, tall and wiry, and you talked and moved around just like me,
too."  She smiled.  "I'm sorry to go on like this."

   "No, don't apologize.  I'm just shell-shocked to be here listening to
you."  She grinned.  "It really was an honor to play you.  It's an even
cooler to actually meet you."

   "Oh, bullshit," Harriet laughed.  "I told you, I never got used to being
an idol.  I'm a college professor.  That's all.  I was just in the right
place at the right time.  I said and wrote a few things about feminist ideals
that captured the media's attention in the 70's and 80's.  That's all."  She
paused.  "Megan, please don't abstain on my account.  Go ahead and smoke."

   The coed fidgeted in her seat.  "Oh, it's okay.  I don't have to."

   Harriet looked over her bifocals and gave the nervous young woman a
perceptive smile.  "Honey, I've been there; done that.  I was a pack a day
girl for more years than I care to remember.  It won't bother me.  In fact, I
wouldn't mind joining you, if you don't mind."

   Megan's eyes widened.  "But, Dr. Lowdermilk said you quit!"

   "Oh God!  He said that, did he?  Well, listen, Megan, 'quitting' is a
relative term."  She laughed.  "By the 80's I couldn't smoke in my classroom
at Berkeley.  All the health shit put pressure on the faculty, and yes, I
finally did quit, at least officially.  But I really only stopped buying 'em.
I still enjoy having a cigarette occasionally.  I'd be honored if you'll let
an old woman smoke with you."

   Incredulous, Megan slowly opened her purse.  She put her pack of Marlboro
Lights 100's on the table along with her disposable lighter.

   "Ah, you don't smoke menthols," Harriet sighed.  "Too bad.  In the old
days I smoked Virginia Slims Menthols.  Now _there_ was a cigarette, though
Philip Morris completely co-opted the feminist movement with them.  I never
approved of their whole tennis thing.  It really pissed off both Billie Jean
and me."

   Seeing Megan's blank stare, she laughed.  "Never mind the prattling of an
old woman.  Give me one of those Marlboros."  She handed Harriet a cigarette,
took one herself, and clicked her lighter.  Harriet leaned in and caught the
light.  The gray-haired woman double-pumped and sucked smoke into her chest.

   "Thanks, dear.  Ah, this is very nice, even if it's not menthol."  She
pursed her lips to exhale a thick cloud of smoke.

   Still dazed, Megan flicked her lighter and lit up.  Like Harriet, she
double-pumped without thinking.

   Harriet smiled.  "I have to ask, Megan.  How did you know I always
double-pump to start a cigarette?  You do it just like I do.  But how did you
know that?  I'm pretty sure _that_ wasn't in the PBS documentary!"

   Blushing, Megan answered.  "I wasn't trying to mimic you.  I just started
doing it because I like it."  She nervously tapped an ash into the ashtray on
the table and took a sip of her latte.

   "Well, that makes sense.  You're a smoker.  But I must say, I'm amazed
young girls like you still smoke in this day and age.  How long have you been
smoking, dear?"

   Megan squirmed.  "Well, actually, I just learned.  I mean, I only started
because of the play.  I didn't smoke until Dr. Lowdermilk made me learn, so I
could play you."

   "Oh God!  Are you kidding?  I figured you for an experienced smoker,
someone who's been smoking a long time.  Ken Lowdermilk got you started?
That bastard!  He should be castrated for pushing an innocent young girl like
you into lifelong nicotine addiction."  She laughed, but Megan could tell it
was only partly tongue in cheek.

   "It isn't Dr. Lowdermilk's fault.  It's a long story.  I guess I tried a
little _too_ hard to learn.  Now I'm afraid it might be tougher than I
thought to quit.  But it's my fault, not his.  Once I tried it, I liked it.
Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'll quit after the play's over tomorrow."

   Harriet nodded as she drew on her cigarette.  "Smoking's a terrible habit,
dear.  If you can quit, then do it, for sure.  I've never been able to
completely shake it myself."

   Remembering what Mick said two days earlier, Megan interrupted.  "But if
you never completely quit, you must like it.  If you really thought it was
terrible, you wouldn't do it at all."

   Harriet laughed.  "Touché.  But I didn't say smoking's terrible, Megan.  I
said it's a terrible habit.  There's a big difference.  Smoking, as an
experience, is wonderful.  I still love it to death."  She paused, laughed at
her own joke, then hit on her cigarette.  "But the habit, doing it twenty or
more times a day, every day, that's the terrible part!  For most people it's
hard, even impossible, to indulge in moderation."  She lowered her voice.  "I
still smoke some every day.  I don't publicize it, because people disapprove
so.  I still have clout with the media as a feminist spokeswoman, and I don't
want to lose that credibility by incurring their politically correct wrath.
But smoking gets under your skin.  It's almost impossible to give up.  You
may not understand, because you haven't been smoking long enough to know what
I'm talking about."

   "No, I understand," Megan sighed.  "I _completely_ understand.  It didn't
take long.  And now I don't know if I can give it up or not.  And honestly, I
don't know if I really want to."

   Harriet reached out and touched the youngster's hand.  "Megan, you're
young.  If you can give it up, then do.  It's bad for you.  But on the other
hand, if you can't ...."  She paused and lifted the cigarette to her lips
again, pulling vigorously.  "Well, if you can't, then, what the hell, you
can't!  Know what I mean?"  She smiled warmly.

   Megan nodded.  "Yes, I _do_ know.  And your sister?  Does she still smoke,
too?"

   "Linda?  Oh God, yes!  Linda never quit.  She still smokes a pack a day.
By the way, that girl who played Linda in the play?  Chelsea Cook?  She's
good.  Linda's roguishly bitchy, and Chelsea captured her perfectly.  Does
Chelsea smoke?  Or did she also learn just for her part?"

   Megan grinned.  "Oh no, Chelsea's a real smoker, all right.  She's the one
who coached me.  You could say she made me a smoker.  Despite my better
judgment, I might add."

   "Isn't that ironic?  My sister Linda got me started smoking in the 60's.
Now Chelsea, your sister in the play, got you started in real life."

   Megan smiled.  It was indeed ironic!  She took a long drag and inhaled the
cigarette smoke deep into her chest.  She liked Harriet.  She liked her
casual, almost unconcerned attitude about smoking.  And she liked smoking
with her.  "I tell you, Harriet.  I suspect Chelsea will turn out just like
your sister.  She'll never quit smoking, either.  I don't know if I'll be
able to or not, but I'm sure Chelsea will still be smoking when she's your
sister's age."

   Harriet looked at her watch.  "Soon we should go to Lowdermilk's party.
But first tell me a little more about yourself.  And what do you say we have
another cigarette while we talk?"

   She pushed her pack across the table.  "That works for me," she laughed.
"It seems like I always feel like having another cigarette.  Like you said,
what the hell?"

   "Right," Harriet agreed, picking up the lighter.  She put the second
cigarette in her mouth and lit Megan's next one before lighting up herself.
"What the hell!"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Sunday afternoon Megan left the theater by the back door at five thirty.
She was the last one to leave.  The third show didn't go so well.  That's
often how it is.  The energy and dynamism that drive the first two
performances somehow get lost by the third time through.  And in this case,
the third time was the last time.  But the audience gave her another standing
'o' at curtain call.  They seemed to enjoy it, though Megan felt it wasn't
her best effort.  Oh well.

   The campus was quiet.  There were few people out on the quadrangle Sunday
afternoon.  She set out on foot walking slowly, enjoying the slow-moving
feeling of the world around her.

   For several days she'd been thinking about this moment.  Now, it'd
arrived.  The play was over.  She no longer had any reason to 'practice'
smoking; she had no need to keep herself tuned up to effectively portray
Harriet Ginsburg, the smoker.  The only thing left now was real life; _her_
real life!

   Birds chirped in the trees bordering the sidewalk.  The sun shone
brightly.  There were no clouds in the sky.  It was a beautiful spring
afternoon.  She could hear cars in the distance on Front Street.  But there,
in her immediate world, no one else was around and, except for the birds
singing, there was almost no noise.

   She was alone.  That felt significant.  For the first time in weeks, no
one was watching her.  No one would see what she was about to do, _if_ she
did it.  If.  She paused.  If.  Only two letters, and yet such a big word!
If.  Such a very important word.

   Standing under a budding tree, she impulsively sat down on the grass to
savor the spring breeze.  The moment felt spiritual.  It was clear that
_this_ was her defining moment.  This would be her decision point.  How she
decided to respond might affect the entire rest of her life.

   And yet, in one sense, there _was_ no decision to be made.  She smiled as
she thought about this.  No; in reality she'd already made her decision.
She'd made it in several hundred, separate, small increments, in the many
individual choices she'd made in recent weeks.  Each time she'd lit up a
cigarette since she started rehearsals, she'd helped herself make the big,
monumental decision she was now mulling over.

   From her purse she took a pack of cigarettes.  They were Virginia Slims
Menthols, the brand Harriet smoked in her heyday.  She bought them that
morning and smoked them during her final stage presentation that afternoon.
She smiled.  For historical accuracy she wanted to use them, and she liked
the minty, menthol taste of Harriet's old brand.  They were slimmer and
stronger than her Marlboro Lights 100's.  The menthol flavor was
distinctively different.  They were good, and full of nicotine, too.  She
sighed.  More and more, nicotine seemed to drive the veritable host of
incremental decisions she'd been making over the last days and weeks.

   She raised the unlit slim cigarette to her lips.  She was seated on what
could only be referred to as holy ground.  Yes, this was it.  This would be
her defining moment.  She paused to adequately savor its significance.  She
was about to make a proclamation, a statement, one to forever define who she
was and what she was about.  It would differentiate her for all time.  It
wasn't merely a statement about what she would become.  It was more like a
declaration about the identity she'd already assumed, if truth be told.

   She picked up her lighter and judiciously turned the wheel.  A dancing
flame appeared, but the gentle breeze extinguished it.  She smiled and
clicked the lighter again, this time shielding the flame with one hand to
protect it from the wind.  Slowly she raised her hands, bringing the fire up
to the slim cigarette that effortlessly dangled from her waiting mouth.  Her
lips waited.  Every fiber of her being waited, not for the fire, but for the
smoke which the fire would soon release for her pleasure.  Oh God, she wanted
it!  Yes, she wanted it inside her.  She wanted smoke!

   She touched the flickering flame to the dangling Slim.  As she did, the
cigarette ignited, and she felt smoke inside her mouth.  She smiled
involuntarily, which made the cigarette angle upwards.  She dragged, and the
suction lifted it further as her cheeks collapsed to increase her intake.
For a second she stopped; the cigarette dropped slightly and she inhaled a
first deposit of smoke into her waiting chest.  God, it felt _so_ nice!  The
interruption was brief, however, because immediately she applied more suction
to the burning cigarette.  As she did, thick, blue-gray smoke surged from her
nostrils, rewarding her sinus cavities with the presence of the rich,
mentholated substance she adored.  Again she breathed in, inhaling more
marvelous nicotine-filled smoke into her impatient body.  She repeated this a
third time, offering her greedy lungs more opportunity to take from the smoke
all the luscious nicotine she desired, wanted and, yes, needed!

   With her fingers in "V" formation, she took the cigarette from her lips,
still pulling more smoke into her chest.  She sighed and smiled.  Yes, _this_
was the moment!  This was the decision!  She was no longer just practicing.
No, now she was smoking, really smoking, and it was because she, Megan Ware,
was a smoker.  "Yes, I'm a smoker," she quietly whispered.  She giggled with
delight.  Yes, she _was_ a smoker.  Without any doubt she knew that the
descriptive term "smoker" definitely described and defined her.

   Christi was at her desk as Megan entered the room.  "Where the hell have
you been?  I got back from the theater over an hour ago.  God, it's six
thirty!  The dining hall closes soon.  We need to get going if we're eating
dinner tonight."

   "Yeah, I know," Megan pronounced with a contented grin.  "I've been
meditating on my future since the show ended."

   "What are you talking about?  Do you feel okay?"

   Megan sat down on her bed and gazed at her roommate.  "I feel great.
Really great, in fact.  Never better.  How about you, Christi?  How are you?"

   "Um, I'm fine, I guess, but what's going on?  You're confusing me!"

   "I made a decision this afternoon, Christi.  More precisely, I finally
completed making the decision that I've been in the process of making for
quite awhile now."

   "And that is?"

   Megan grinned.  "I worried what I'd do when the play was finally over.
You know?  I mean, about smoking.  Would I truly decide to quit, or instead
would I conclude that I wanted to keep on smoking?"

   "And?"

   "Smoking's bad for us, Christi.  That still bothers me.  We do terrible
shit to our lungs and bodies when we smoke.  But last night Harriet Ginsburg
said something.  It helped me put it in perspective.  She said, if you can't
stop, then you just have to say, what the hell?"  Megan laughed.  "So today I
decided to say, 'what the hell?'"

   Christi brightened.  "So does this mean you're not quitting?"

   "That's looking at it backwards.  No, I'm not quitting.  But that's way
too negative.  No, I decided I want to keep being what I've been practicing
to be.  I practiced for it, and now I've arrived.  I'm officially a smoker,
Christi.  For good.  Probably forever.  I decided.  This is it."

   Her roommate clapped for joy.  "Wow!  That's great, Megan.  Great for me,
I mean, because this means you won't be mad about me smoking in our room."

   Megan nodded and smiled.  "And great for me, too, Christi.  The fact that
you want to keep smoking was one factor I took into account, but just a small
one.  The main thing was, I've been approaching smoking like I was practicing
for a part in a play.  And of course I was.  But I didn't realize exactly
_what_ part I was preparing for."

   Christi frowned.  "I don't get it."

   "See, I'm no longer practicing to be Harriet Ginsburg, a woman who happens
to be a smoker.  I didn't recognize it, but that's not the only role I was
rehearing for.  Without realizing it, I was also practicing to play the part
of Megan Ware for the rest of my life.  Do you get it?  Like Harriet
Ginsburg, Megan Ware is a smoker.  I was meant to be a smoker, and _that's_
the part I'm playing now.  I smoke.  I'm a smoker."

   She slipped a Virginia Slim into her lips.  "I thought I was just
practicing, rehearsing for a part to be played out on a stage.  But I was
really doing something else, something much more important.  I was practicing
for life; for my life as a smoker."  She clicked her lighter, and the burning
cigarette dangled from her lips as she continued.  "That's the role I want to
play from now on.  I want to be a smoker, and I will be.  Like every other
role I ever played, I intend to play it well."  She tipped her head and
forcefully exhaled a dense stream of silky, white smoke.

   Christi grinned.  "You made your decision, all right.  So you're not mad
Chelsea won?"

   "Winning versus losing isn't how I want to think about it," she laughed.
"I don't lose if I decide to do something I want to do, something I need,
because it's part of who I am.  I need to smoke now, and I like it.  So I'm
going to smoke, without apology.  No longer am I just practicing, except to
the extent I'm working on being who I am, and that's a smoker."

   Christi looked at her watch.  "This is all great, but if we don't get to
the dining hall, there won't be any food left."  She smiled.  "Mick called.
He wants to meet us.  You're supposed to call him.  Did the fact that he
smokes have anything to do with your decision to give in?"

   "No," Megan assertively replied, exhaling a stream of smoke.  "Well, maybe
a little," she admitted somewhat reluctantly.  "Mick and I talked about the
whole subject at the cast party.  I like him, and he likes me.  But he
doesn't want me to do anything I'm uncomfortable with.  He wants to be with
me, whether or not I smoke.  So there's no pressure either way.  But I
decided I'm uncomfortable _not_ being a smoker."  She raised her Slim to her
lips for a hit.  "I was wrong about that.  Chelsea Cook didn't make me a
smoker.  Neither did Dr. Lowdermilk, or Harriet Ginsburg.  No, the person who
made me a smoker is me.  It's my decision, and I'm going to smoke."  She
exhaled again.  "We should go eat.  I'll call Mick."

   Christi smiled.  "And the time it takes to make the phone call will be
just enough time for you to finish your cigarette."

   Megan nodded.  "I'm going to love practicing to play the role of Megan
Ware, the smoker," she sighed contentedly.  "It's a role I think I can play
really well, too!"

   After calling Mick to arrange to meet in the dining hall, the freshmen
roommates headed to dinner.  Now Megan was playing her new role.  She eagerly
looked forward to perfecting it.

   "Hey Christi," she smiled as they entered the dining hall.  "Remind me
that I need to buy a carton of cigarettes on the way home.  Both in theater
and in smoking, practice makes perfect!"

THE END

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