Give it up
There is something deeply unsettling about doing something for the last time and even more so when every fibre of your being knows it won’t be your last. You convince others that you are serious – deadly serious that is – but deep within, there’s that niggling voice that tells you otherwise.
I’d been here before, of course, but the other times, mornings came with the intense yearning for a quick puff. One for the road… one for the courage to face work… one to take the edge off after being yelled at by the boss… one to get over the embarrassment of being caught staring at the hot fella fixing the photocopier… one to calm my nerves when he asked me to go for a drink… you get the picture!
This time was different though. I wasn’t moved by shock tactics. The stimulus was… well the resounding alarm bells in my head. I’d read that those with reduced lung capacity were not only at increased risk to get the Big C as I call it… not quite ever able to say its name, but now the virus, the other Big C, was gunning for me too!
It hardly seemed fair that they both wanted to get their pesky paws around me, and I figured this was it – sink or swim time.
My hand quivered as I removed the last one from inside the silver foil. Discarding the box as though it wouldn’t be my last seemed a little too irresponsible of me, so I made a sort of ceremony of it. I pressed the filter between my lips; the heady aroma of tobacco filled my nostrils. Boy, it smelled divine!
The worn lighter held me in anticipation as it struggled to ignite. I cupped my hands around it, willing it on, until at last the orange flame came into view. I held it to the tip and sucked in. Ah, yes! Its familiar rich taste coated my mouth. I swirled it in my mouth, savouring every vapour, until at last I drew it down into my lungs. Oh, how it slid like the sweetest honey down my throat.
I leaned my head back against the grotty garden bench as I exhaled through my nose. It was my sweet release! Each puff was like wrapping myself in a warm blanket. Who wouldn’t want to be wrapped in a velvet quilt? I chose not at that precise moment to dwell on the arguments against doing so. If this was going to be my supposed last, I was intent on enjoying it, regardless of the cold, hard facts.
A few brief draws followed by equally shallow exhalations was enough to have me weak at the knees. I, the blonde damsel, and Nico, the smouldering seducer, coursing through my veins.
How could I give this up? Having sucked the life out of it until it was a mere stub, I found myself oddly compelled to hold my index finger to my nose. The woody scent lingered. It was strangely comforting.
My sister’s words, ‘would you ever just give it up!’ circled around, on repeat, in my head. Mary Delahunty, who lived down the road, had given them up. Three months now according to her latest social media post. ‘Good for her,’ I managed to say, hiding my resentment.
‘Good for her,’ I sighed, getting into bed, satisfied that the first eight hours were extremely doable, while desperately trying to avoid the sinking feeling about the rest.