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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Tragedy · #1620524
Smoking can kill. Really?
"Smoking damages your health!"

A text like that is on many packets of cigarettes. During last times they added some more extra notes, basic truths that we all know, yet ignoring them when lighting the next cigarette. It doesn’t hurt me - so usual apology from a person, who cleans his lungs by coughing every morning. I don’t know, maybe not everyone coughs - I do it half an hour every morning.

If there had been notes like ‘Smoking can kill’ on the packs when I started to smoke, maybe I would have considered quitting much earlier. But - apparently not - teaching passed me as easy as the water leaves goose’s back.

"It can," I would answer then with a grin on my face. "So can the bus, if you’re not careful." My carefulness was the volleyball I used to play then. For balancing - so to say.

"Yes, it kills," I say now. And I do not mean lung-diseases.

*
Cigarette in the corner of mouth, so usual it was. I didn’t dare to smoke publicly close to my home. Didn’t matter that the school was left behind long time ago, I still had a bad feeling, when some teachers saw me with a cigarette. Ok - mostly I didn’t give a damn what they thought even in classes, but there were few of them I respected. And somehow - all these respected teachers lived in my home village…But in the other corner of Estonia it was so nice to walk and smoke, imagining how cool I was. "Cigarette makes me an adult." Thinking now, that opinion gives me the sad grin only.

Strange that you didn’t share that opinion. Yet we were best friends since childhood and I could tell that every crazy thing I tried or did, you did them, too. But why did you not keep on smoking? We did the very first cigarette together. There - in a potato-farm, when one of our classmates took out the pack of ‘Ekstra’ he had stolen from his father. We were hiding from teachers behind these muddy boxes and all the boys from our class did their first cigarettes. We stuck together then.

Change came the next morning, when we were driven to the farm again. Only a couple of boys didn’t have their own packages. Covering with their palms, everyone showed their treasures, secret smiles on their faces. None had ‘Ekstra’ anymore, all of us had had a trip to the local shoemaker store last night and the colors of fancy foreign cigarettes made us glad. ‘Marlboro’, ‘Camel’, and ‘Salem’ - I was modestly equipped with my ‘L&M’. But among those, who had no cigarettes, were you as well.

"I didn’t like it. No, I didn’t feel sick. I just didn’t like it," you answered to my questions when we were already on the field. Why, damn you?

Two years passed by and cigarette has become part of my outfit. I smoked with pleasure. Sometimes you watched me with your teasing smile, but that didn’t bother me. You looked at me the same way when I did the next stupid move while playing chess, or when I had another unsuccessful go at a beautiful girl. You smiled a lot at those occasions.

I looked around if there are some beautiful girls around and - damn you! - you smiled again.

"You better stop hoping! I’ve been here for a couple of weeks every summer, to my grandma’s, and I would tell you if there were any girls with whom you could be successful," you said quietly. Not because you wanted to keep it secret - you always talked like that. Calmly and quietly. I was the one running around and making myself look stupid - I knew it better. I already nodded, then…

I saw a lot of very beautiful girls during the last half an hour.

"What do you want to say with that?"

You just laughed.

"Actually - the weather is nasty and none has a wish to talk. Look at their faces!" you told when I was already over your last comment.

You were right. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and peoples’ attention didn’t seem to go further than the road under their feet. I tried smiling at them, but I only got one answer out of ten tries - even that didn’t count, that was only a questioning look in my direction. The others didn’t notice me at all. I inhaled the last puff from my cigarette and thrown its remains to recycle bin standing a bit away.

"Three points!" At least something good from my training.

"What, tomorrow back to army?" you asked after a while. I mumbled something. You took it as agreeing, because you already asked the next question. "You sorry you didn’t come to university, did you? You could be able to watch these beautiful girls every day, all the summer."

"You simply enjoy teasing me, don’t ya?"

"You can’t imagine," you smiled again.

I wanted to punch you, but you knew me too well and could jump away from me. The clouds high above us decided to explain their presence.

It started to pour warm summer rain. I tried to close my jacket automatically, but then I found that I had no jacket. I dropped my hands. Yet you - you didn’t believe the weather report last night and were just grinning under your big hood.

"You are lucky!"

"What!" There was a surprise on your face. "Is the soldier afraid of water?" I decided not to answer. Some houses later my sneakers were wet. "Gazebo. I just remembered that song," you said. I smiled - at least once you didn’t want to tease me. "I Like Chopin" was our favorite song for many years now.

"Yep! Let’s listen to it now and play a couple of fast games," I answered. "Nah! Not fast - I’m tired of winning thanks for your stupidity. It’s the last time you to learn how to play!"

It can’t be! You could get rid of your sarcasm only for a few minutes. I sought for a cigarette before it’d got wet, but I found the empty package in my pocket only. I crushed it and thrown away. Rising my gaze, I saw a little shop across the street. You noticed it, too. Maybe you felt sorry looking at me.

"Wait! I’ll get you one," you said, already running.

Sound of crash. Thump. Glass. Scream from a passer-by.

You were lying meters away. You didn’t move - and rain poured to your face. I felt bad in my stomach and I sat by the road, leaning my head to my knees.

"I like Chopin." That was my first thought. Your favorite song. My favorite song. Ours. And the beginning of chorus.

"Rainy days never say good bye…"

You didn’t say good bye.
© Copyright 2009 W. Hocares (lordofmagi at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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