You Never Just Smoke One

It was threatening to rain when she left town. I didn't clock it or anything, or even make an estimate, but I'd guess the downpour started when she hit city limits, going about seventy, heading south and, I guessed, out of my life. I couldn't have been happier about the rain, and I couldn't be more conflicted about her leaving. Y'see, I had a thing for her. I wasn't necessarily carrying a torch, of course. I learned not to pull that stunt fairly early in life. Knowing the two of us, it's more apt to say I was carrying a lit cigarette; you know it's not going to last forever, and the slightest mishap could put it out, ruin it, and leave it worthless. But you still carry it, 'cause damned if it doesn't feel good.

I never really felt like I had a chance with her. We spent a lot of time together, as she slowly lost other friends in the area. She always said she was cutting herself off from them, but I quietly disagreed. You can't cut yourself off from someone who wants to keep you close; they just didn't. They said they'd had enough of her, despite her never being at the root of any problems, or at least not there alone. They didn't want to deal with her, there was too much "drama," blah blah blah... bullshit. They were afraid of her, because she made them feel things they would rather avoid, like children placing their hands on a hot stove.

Or maybe they weren't afraid. Maybe they really were just tired of the problems that seemed connected, inextricably, to her. I can't fault them. All I can do is take some blame from them, in that some of the problems, the ones right at the end, were my doing. I engineered the situation that led to them, knowingly and intentionally, and my devious plan for the greater good worked... for a little while, at least.

Unfortunately, while I set that plan into motion, I unknowingly lit that cigarette, and took the first deep drag...

Click, click, foomf, crackle, fffffffff...(hold it, hold it, hold it...)...ahhhh.

... and just like the first drag of the first cigarette you ever smoked, you poor, precancerous fool, it hurt, and it felt amazing, even though you knew you shouldn't.

So there I was, standing like an idiot with my cigarette dangling in the wind, when the plan I'd had all along actually worked. All the pieces fell into place, almost perfectly. The few loose ends, I thought, could be tied up neatly after a while. She was back where I thought she ought to be. Because I am who I am, I ground out the cigarette, but also because of who I am, I'm afraid I kept it, knowing I shouldn't, knowing it was a bad idea.

But the loose ends didn't get tied up. They frayed, because I never tried to tie them up myself; I let others tend to them. It may not have helped if I'd burnt them closed, or trimmed them, considering what happened eventually, but I'll always wonder. Things fell apart, and the center did not hold, and a small piece of mere anarchy was unleashed upon our little world. (Apologies, of course, to W.B. Yeats.) So I picked up those pieces as best I could. I had abandoned her before, left her all but alone, but I couldn't do it again despite the urgings of our once-mutual friends. I spent more and more time with her. It wasn't because I felt bad about what happened; I let go of what little control I had and things collapsed. C'est la vie, right? These things happen, such is life, best laid plans of mice and men, etc. I spent all the time with her I did because she deserved it; she still does. She's a good person, better than most of us will ever be. Or at least that's my opinion, and I dare anyone to argue with me on that score. But as I said, I spent more time with her, and a stupid, idealistic, hopeful fool, hiding somewhere in the depths of my cynical and bitter mind, found that damn cigarette and lit it back up.

Click, click, click, (come on, god dammit, come on) click, foomf, crackle...ffffff... (hold it... a bit longer this time...)...ahhhhhhhhhhh!

Have you ever re-lit a cigarette that's gone out? At first it's tough. It doesn't taste very good, and it's hard to burn the bits that are already, well, burnt. But once you get it going, get past the bad bit and into the good tobacco, it's almost like the previous smoke has made it better, stronger. It hits harder, but it's not painful anymore. It just feels good, now.

So here I am again, carrying a lit cigarette. Before long though, it becomes apparent that I'm smoking alone. Have been all along, really. Just ignored it the first time around. I guess the hopeful fool isn't hiding too far behind the laughing bastard after all. As I said before, I don't think I ever really had a chance. She's too good for me. I'd begun to see my future laid out before me and it wasn't pretty. To be honest, I ain't too pretty either, and she's beautiful. Again, my opinion, and again the dare to argue with it. Thus, there I was for a while, holding this cigarette, taking the occasional drag...

...fff...(not too deep this time, but hold it as long as you can)...ahhhhh...

...keeping it lit, enjoying it as much as I could, but not sure how long I could make it last, not sure if i wanted to keep smoking it at all. The taste had grown bittersweet with time.

Then, like so many others, the situation solved itself. She left, going back home, where she felt she needed to be. I encouraged her, just like I always have, always will. Because I am who I am, I ignored everything I felt. The things I feel never help a situation. I never even hinted, certainly didn't ask, didn't even wave that lit cigarette at her. There's no telling how that would have gone, though the cynical, laughing, mad bastard says, as he always does,

"Badly. Explosively, shatteringly, violently badly. Keep yourself to yourself."

So now she's gone, and the lit cigarette I've been nursing, off and on, for months, is almost dead. I'm going to go outside and finish it, smoke it down to the filter, and hurl it as far as I can, to burst on the concrete, and throw up a spray of tiny, burning orange stars, dying as suddenly and quickly as they were born. I'm going to throw my feelings with it, to explode, to go nova with the rest of the stars and be gone, done, ended forever. But I'm worried, and at the same time I'm somewhat excited, because of something every smoker knows:

You never, ever just smoke one.

...click.... click.......