She used to haggle with me: "If you clean your room, I'll stop smoking." She'd already switched to the longest, skinniest ciggarette she could find. They were well promoted as feminine products. I remember purples and pinks, names like "capris" or "virginia slims." I grew up with smoke. When it left, I searched it out. No gaps, I say, from childhood and adulthood. She must have sacroficed, time and sound. I rarely heard a thing from her room, and our walls were paper thin; mine was the next room over. But maybe she was always quiet. She asked me if the man who cooked with beer could be my stepfather. I said I didn't care; I didn't know the difference. Men come and go.
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allway aaron
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i like this, even though it is short. i like all the things that speak to me inbetween the words, whats unwritten speaks volumes.
couple of spelling errors;
ciggarette - should be cigarette
sacroficed - should be sacrificed
i especially like the lines;
I grew up with smoke. When it left, I searched it out. No gaps, I say, from childhood and adulthood.
it's like you were there when i started smoking...
nice write.
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