Smoking’ Hot Babes

I used to be a most excellent quitter, but not anymore. I had a love-hate relationship with cigarettes for twenty-some years. I used to light up every morning and then quit every night, swearing to myself I would never touch another one. There were a few spells in there where I quit with every butt I ground out. I’ll bet I quit smoking an easy thousand times. The last time finally stuck.

We moved to Virginia Beach the summer after fifth grade, my mother, my sister and I. Mom had a boyfriend there, a Navy Pilot… you know how that goes. We were in an apartment complex with a pool. That very first day at the pool I met the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. I remember like it was yesterday; my shot nerves, leaving the town I’d lived my whole life in, starting a new school, wondering if I would have trouble making friends here. Our first conversation went like this:

”Hey.”

“Hey.”

”I’m Kim.”

”Chuck.”

”You new here?”

”Yea.”

”I’m going to have a cigarette. You smoke?”

”Yea.” (I had only tried smoking once, but I would have said yes to literally anything she asked me to do. I would have played Barbie with her, if that’s what she wanted me to do.)

”C’mon, then. Let’s go.”

That was the day I became a smoker. Kim and I were great friends all the way through high school. She was a bad influence on me the whole way, being the first to try everything, and then pulling me into it with her. We only ever kissed once, and the kiss was a let down for both of us, probably because it tasted like two ashtrays getting dumped into a bucket ;) Last time I saw Kim I had just quit college. She was fresh out of rehab. She still looked like a million bucks, although her eyes were a touch sadder. I truly hope she made it. God, did I adore her. There are a couple of stories inspired by her in my back catalog here on Prose, although the names were likely changed to protect the guilty. There are more stories too, ones that I will never tell.

So you see? It was a girl made me start, and it was a girl made me stop.

That last time, the time I finally really did quit, it was easy (but it was still damned hard). You see, Pooky-Bear had to quit. Cancer. Having that little bugger sneak up that close to you will do it every time. My winning quitting strategy went like this:

I laid a half a pack of Marlboro’s and a lighter on the kitchen table during a week of stay at home vacation from work. My project was going to be re-screening a very large screened-in back porch. I began work every morning at 7:00 am. Every time I had a hankering for a cigarette I grabbed a beer instead. By lunch time I was too drunk to climb the ladder, which was ok. There was always tomorrow. At the end of the week I had a beautifully screened porch, a raging hangover, and that half a pack of Marlboro’s was still lying on the kitchen table. In fact, they laid there for about two more weeks until I felt strong enough that I didn’t need their support. I have never felt the need for a cigarette again. Pooky-Bear flew through the surgeries and chemo just fine. She is now twenty-three years cancer free, and the same number of years smoke free. She didn’t need the beers, but then, she had her own incentive. Strong woman right there, kiddoes.

Strong enough to make a stronger man out of me… and one that would never quit her.