Smoke Coming Down

Today, the Maker was not feeling too good. This morning he quit smoking. The expected symptoms of nicotine withdrawal were strong with him. And he had to match the urge to smoke with the strength of his resolve. He knew it would not be enough. And so he willed himself to contemplate the fear of death. If there was one thing he knew with a certainty it was that the smoking would kill him, sooner or later. He could feel it killing him every time he lighted up.

The Maker expected a storm coming. He worried especially if he would still be able to write well. His writing environment had always contained these elements: computer, cup of coffee, ash tray, lighter and pack of cigarettes. Now, he had only the computer. He would try a cup of coffee if only he were not sure this would lead him to surrender to at least a stick. And then he would tumble from then on. And so he had just the computer and a kind of emptiness inside him. Not only that, he began to worry if he was following the right track with this series. Clearly, he was feeling a strong bout of anxiety. He felt a vulnerability he had not felt in a long time. He longed for the old times.

"Don't think like that. Now is a good time to look on the bright side of things," Christina said, trying to placate the Maker and ease his obvious nervousness. She steered him to the nearest sofa. She knew this was a time when touch would count more than words and so she held him close to her resting his head on her single good breast. The Maker felt immediately better. In fact, he felt so good he began to feel excited. He had rested his right hand on the softness of Christina's mid-section. Now it began a gentle if slow descent. She began to enjoy it. It took some effort for her finally to cross her legs. "I think you are more in need of a friend than a lover" was what she said.

"Let's talk instead about smoking. Why would people actually risk their lives for it? Is it really that good?"

Christina and the Maker began deconstructing the act of smoking between themselves. Smoking is rolled tobacco lighted up then ingested by breathing. The smoke ingested is a cocktail of poison. Which was why you threw up the first time you smoked a whole stick. "How did you ever begin smoking?" Christina asked.

The Maker recalled a happy time decades ago when he played chaperone to his older sisters. Back then, everyone smoked. Them and their boyfriends, parents, brothers, sisters, uncles; smoke was everywhere. They knew it was cancerous but this was a careless time, everyone was in the prime of health. Death was something you worried about far, far into the future. We were invincible. The Maker turned to Christina and smiled. "I guess the future caught up with us."

"But what is it about smoking that gets you?" Christina asked, obviously persistent. The Maker was silent for a time until finally he blurted out, "Hollywood." All the old stars smoked: Eastwood, Sinatra, Bette Davis, Taylor, Burton, etc, even Castro and Che. We should not be surprised to find the Tobacco companies actually paid these stars to smoke on screen. It’s hard not to smoke if all our "idols" smoked.

"But what of the actual pleasure of smoking. Is it real? What are its constructs?"
The Maker recalled the actual feeling of smoke passing through his throat and into the lungs. He had to admit a nostalgia for that sensation now but still he wondered if that sensation was by itself actually pleasurable. Clearly, if at all pleasurable, it should not feel better or even equal to the pleasure he felt from Christina's fingers scratching the dandruff from his scalp. The pleasure of Christina's touch is logical. It could be translated into sex and/or love. "But smoking? What does it translate to?"

Finally the long silence. Seated together on the sofa, both fell into each other's bodies and felt the momentary sense of endless peacefulness that in time would yield to muscular discomfort or even a crick in the neck. But for now there was only the sense of being comfortably together. Finally, It is was Christina who said this: "Danger, excitement, adventure, time. Entropy. Decay. Death"

"We all deal with it in our own way. I truly hope you will get there. Quit."