there is something glamorous about her first cigarette. it happens in a restaurant parking lot, leaning against a forest green tailgate, each person holding a different cigarette in the crevice between their pointer and middle fingers.
the cigarette settles between her dry lips, sticking to the spongey skin as she leans towards the lighter and sucks her cheecks in, the nicotine and carcinogens burning the inside of her mouth. she peels the cigarette from between her lips, a steady stream of smoke billowing in front of her nose. there are words and laughter around her, but all she can hear are mumbles of incoherence. the sound of the burning paper is louder than she would have imagined.
she takes another drag on the cigarette, letting the smoke swirl in between her teeth before she swallows and then lets out a breath.
and the coughs.
it’s not at all glamorous, but no one seems to notice it as she presses the cigarette back between her lips, inhaling as she sucks in on the cigarette. the smoke burns her esophagus and her tongue tastes like dirt, but she likes it. the idea that she can do this - smoke this cigarette, be this person - it is intriguing to her.
she feels a little like a Hepburn dragging on the cigarette, but the moment begins to lose its glamour when her surroundings return. a car honks from the corner of the parking lot and the restaurants flourescent lights come back in to focus. the cigarette looks like burning death in between her fingers, but she continues to drag on it, feeling a little like a rebel amongst good people.
the cigarette burns down to its last drag and she lets it drop from between her fingers, pressing it in to the ground underneath her right toe.
a next destination is confirmed and they pile back in to their cars, the smell of the different cigarettes lingering with them. she can taste the carcinogens etched in to her tongue; can feel the smoke still settling in her lungs, and though she told herself she would never get addicted, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she’ll have another.
