Two Summers Past

I was smoking quite a bit during this summer, and putting on a sketch comedy review with some friends. Now that I'm thinking about it, we entitled the group/show "Everybody Smokes" because the whole group did, and it was a topic of conversation during a break. We had been tossing around a ton of ideas, but after someone had said it we knew right away that that's what we wanted to be called. It defined us, and it defined that summer.

I was working on that show during this particular memory, working on it at my friend's house (that I was practically an inhabitant of) with that friend. We were looking over a sketch he had written about Moses' conversation with God regarding the Ten Commandments. We were also discussing the many pros and sparse cons of going to the corner store to pick up 40s (40 oz bottles of malt liquor, Mickeys to be exact).

But these were fairly commonplace occurances, as the whole thing was. I guess I remember it for the way it felt. For a moment, I had stepped outside myself. I was gazing at my surroundings (while still telling Alex, my friend, that his sketch got too wordy towards the end and I didn't care if that was the point), and I was appreciating the moment I was in. The moment felt timeless.

So I lit a cigarette.

It was one of those perfect cigarettes. The inhale has just the right amount of burn to it. The weather was warm and a little humid, but only enough to remind you of the season. The air was embracing and almost encouraging me to keep doing what I was doing. The surroundings were familiar, but for a moment were more beautiful than normal. Alex lights one too, and we keep talking about the sketch, but we both know neither of our hearts are in it anymore. Eventually we both shut up and Alex puts on some music.

We both have a couple more cigarettes, largely in silence (save the music).

"You having another one?"
"Yep."
"Me too."

The whole "moment" couldn't have been longer than 20 minutes, but it was one of the more relaxing 20 minutes of my life. In a world with too many things to do, too many pressures and too many chances to screw up, the opportunity to have nothing on your plate except a number of cigarette butts and empty beer bottles was one of those small victories that can make you feel like maybe everything will be alright. You can watch the smoke hang in the air curling itself into oblivion and have an actual moment to yourself.

I'd be curious to know if Alex had felt that way too, if the moment was supernatural or an invention of my own overactive imagination. Either way, it was a smoking memory to treasure, and one of those "types of cigarettes" that I will truly miss.