Marlboro Letter
The cigarette quivered between my lips as I struck the white-headed match against the side of my shoe. Two matches went to waste. I tossed them into the ash tray in the middle of my dad’s bed, the same stale-smelling bed where he sexed it up with random women. She probably had long brown hair piled on top of her head, fire engine red nails, large fake boobs, and a skinny-ass body. A whore.
The white head of the match licked my shoe. With a satisfying crackle, the flame came to life, easing itself into a tamer, smaller fire. The familiar scent of sulfur filled the room. The flame danced rhythmically as I pinched the stick between my fingers, shaking back-and-forth for its life. It tickled the butt of the cancer stick, and I casted the match to the glass tray with the rest of its brothers.
I took a puff and allowed the smoke to dwell within me for a few seconds. It leaked out from my mouth, rising languidly into the smelly air. I tapped the ashes into the ash tray and hoped that the bed sheets would later reek of cig smoke. My dad deserved all the problems I could stir up, and if he didn’t want it, which I was sure he didn’t, then I would shove them down his throat. Hell, after he cheated on Mom with his new girlfriend, Marie, I would be ready to force any problem down his throat until he croaked.
Then again, my mom didn't deserve that kind of prize; she didn't do anything to prevent Rick from having custody over me. When we left the house to move into the cramped apartment, she merely stood at the steps with her arms crossed over her chest and her head tilted to one side. As we drove off, the helpless expression on her face didn't change. Mayna, on the other hand, had her own life. Because she was twenty-eight years old (and I was sixteen), she didn't have to deal with the custody crap, or Rick, for that matter. She had her own home, husband, and job.
I, on the other hand, shared an apartment, and I had no boyfriend or a job. I hardly had a life. Rick ruled it all. The only thing he really did for me (without knowing it) was earning money from his well-paying job, which he spent recklessly on an infinite supply of cigarettes. I snagged them quite often, and he never noticed.
"Casper!"
I sighed. Shit. I put out my cigarette and returned the ash tray to Rick's bedside table.
"CASPER!"
"What?" I yelled.
"Git over here," Rick bellowed.
A please wouldn't hurt now and then.
"What is it?"
Oh, that's what. Marie.
"Marie," said Rick "is moving in with us."
My mouth nearly dropped. It surprised me enough that she wanted to have a relationship with Rick, but the fact that she wanted to stay with us completely blew me away. We hardly had any space in our apartment for another resident.
"Hello, Casper," she replied kindly.
"Casper, go help Thom bring up our dinner," Rick commanded.
"Who?"
"Marie's son. Go!"
Do this. Do that. Damn.
As soon as I reached the stairs leading to our apartment floor, I spotted someone struggling up the steps with several bags of food in his arms.
“Need help?” I called.
The guy peered over his load and replied, “Sure.”
"Are you Thom?" I grabbed one of the three plastic bags from the guy's hands.
"Yeah. Are you the daughter of my mom's new boyfriend?"
"Unfortunately."
He stared at me with calm hazel eyes. "Why do you say that?"
Because my dad was a bastard. I didn't actually say that, or anything at all, so Thom left it at that.
"Finally!" Rick exclaimed. "What the hell took you so long?"
Thom opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. "It was a rhetorical question."
"Oh."
"Marie," said Rick "I'm glad you decided to buy Chinese takeout because I am sick of eating this bitch's crap." He motioned over to me. "I let her live in my apartment, and she can't even cook."
Marie gave me a sideways glance and smiled uncomfortably at Rick, who hogged the box of chow mien. "I'm sure it isn't that bad," she replied awkwardly.
Thom's gaze bounced between my dad and me. He appeared amused, but at the same time, I knew he understood why I previously said it was unfortunate to be Rick's daughter. Aside from the tacit acknowledgement and amusement, his face didn't show any other forms of emotion throughout dinner. Marie and my dad, on the other hand, kept the conversations flowing, but Thom and I had no part in them. I just wanted to finish the stir fry on my plate, dart out from the apartment, and have a smoke. The less talking I did, the quicker I could escape.
"I'm heading out."
As I dumped my dishes into the sink, Marie asked, "Where?"
"Out. Just out."
"She going to smoke," my dad told her as he glared at me.
I ignored him, grabbed a coat, bounded down the stairs, and plopped down on the wooden steps outside the shabby building. The Zippo and Marlboro box inside my pocket felt like home in my hand. As soon as I lit a cigarette, the slam of a door crashed behind me.
"Hey," said Thom, taking a seat next to me.
I nodded.
"Aren't you cold?"
"No, I'm used to the Bay Area chill."
"I've lived in California all my life, and I don't think I think I'll ever get used to it."
"Depends on where you live."
"I only live fifteen minutes away by car."
"Did your mom stay with you before she moved in with Rick?"
"Yeah, now I'm searching for a roommate to help me pay the mortgage and other bills."
"You got a house?"
"Yep, nothing fancy. It's a dinky, little two-story place."
A soft laugh escaped my lips.
"What's so funny?" he asked calmly.
Even in the darkness, I could spot the curious twinkle in his eyes.
"Who used the word 'dinky' nowadays?" I answered.
"I do. My dad does."
"He does?"
"Did."
I stared at him for a while. Then I realized what he meant. "Oh," I said. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "No, don't be."
A thin cloud of smoke hovered around us. Then it floated towards the starlit heavens.
"You smoke?" I asked.
"Used to. I quit after my dad passed away."
"Good for you."
That same amused look flashed in his eyes. "Are you being sarcastic?"
"No, I honestly mean 'good for you.'"
"Thanks, I guess. Hey, I never caught your name."
"Casper."
"As in Casper the ghost?"
"Yeah."
"Is that your real name?"
"Does it look like I'm shitting with you?"
"No, I guess not. Sorry."
I look a long drag and allowed the smoke to warm my insides.
After a while, I told Thom, "No, don't be."
PART 2
"Yoohoo! Casper!"
I examined the crowd of students in the parking lot for the source of the shrill voice. Teenagers itched to reach home or wherever it was that they went to after school nowadays; none of them seemed to be searching for me, so I continued walking, hoping a teacher didn't want to speak to me. Every time they called me after class, they discussed my poor performance, and I felt sick of the repetition.
"Casper, over here!"
I glanced around again and spotted a waving ecstatic woman dawdling by a sleek, silver BMW.
"Oh. Hi, Marie. What are you doing here?" I said, trudging toward her.
"I wanted to pick you up so that we can stop by the market to buy food to cook for dinner."
"Wait." I raised my eyebrows skeptically. "You want me to help you cook, even though Rick said my food tasted like shit?"
Marie flinched at the vulgarity as though I had slapped her. "I doubt it tastes bad."
I shrugged. "Whatever."
As I tossed my backpack into the trunk and slid into the car, I felt people's gazes burn into me. Why does the freak get the sweet ride? Who's the woman that picked her up? Marie and I weren't meant to be caught together in public; she was so gorgeous, and I was so--not. She didn't seem to mind that I accompanied her. In fact, she appeared pleased. From time to time, she glanced at me and shot me genuine smiles, and I almost felt guilty for calling her a whore.
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"The box says to add the pasta into the boiling water, and cook it for three minutes."
"Got it."
After Marie picked me up from school and drove to the market, I thought, 'What the hell. I might as well be nice to her.' She was, after all, trying to make up for Rick's jackass behavior, which would take up an extensive amount of effort because my father was one huge jackass. Marie didn't have to act kind to me; it wasn't like it would please Rick in any way if we ended up getting along. I felt pretty sure he was only in it for the sex.
"Casper, you can drain the pasta now."
"Oh, sure." I carried the heavy pot to the sink, aiming for the noodles to land in the blue colander.
"Be careful because you might--"
"Shit! Shitshitshit!"
"--splash."
I quickly dropped the heated pot on the counter. My whole body seemed to pulse along with the rapid pounding of my heart. My arm was on fire, and I wanted to shriek in pain.
"Calm down," Marie cooed.
She cradled my arm and ran it under a stream of cold water from the kitchen faucet.
"Stay here," she instructed.
She scurried out from the room and quickly returned with a tube of Colgate toothpaste in her hand. Without telling me what it was for, she squeezed a pea-sized ball of it onto her forefinger and rubbed it over my burn, which immediately felt cooler--and even slightly refreshed. My body continued to throb, and I could still sense the burning pain in my arm, but at least it felt better.
As Marie poured the remainder of the water and pasta into the colander, she asked, "Does it feel better?"
"Much." I stared at the white glob. "Thanks," I added.
"You're welcome," she answered, smiling. "My mom always put toothpaste on my burns when I was little."
"It sounds like you burned yourself a lot," I teased.
She laughed. "No, I'm just accident prone. Just ask Thom." As she began to prepare the sauce, she muttered, "That reminds me. Can you call Thom and invite him over for dinner? I'm sure he'd love this."
"Sure."
For the first time in a long time, I felt as though I was part of a family. My mom and sister hardly dropped in on Rick and I, and every time they called, I allowed Rick to handle them. I did not want to hear how spectacular their lives were because they did zilch to improve my shitty life, if that was what it was, with my so-called father.
Sometimes I wondered whether or not I would be able to obtain a new life. Most of the time I told myself, no way, but now there might actually be hope.
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"This is fettuccine pasta cooked with a summer salad consisting of tomatoes and basil. The light sauce is made of--"
"Marie, you're not on a cooking show," Rick interrupted.
Marie's bright, attractive face fell for a second, and I couldn't help but think, 'Do you now see what it feels like to be shot down by words every day, no matter how laborous your attempts are? You see now, don't you?'
With a retaliating smile, Marie replied, "You're right, hon. I suppose you don't need to know what it is to enjoy it."
The four of us--Marie, Rick, Thom, and I--speared our forks into the pasta and wound the delicately sauced noodles. As I masticated, I savored the savory revenge against the fettucine, whose water in which they were boiled burned my skin. Juices from the tomatoes and sauce gushed in my mouth and trickled down my throat. Wow.
"Wow," said Thom. "This is great. Mom, I knew you knew how to cook, but this is way better than anything else you made before."
Rick merely nodded in approval as he slowly chewed the pasta, undoubtedly in an attempt to relish it.
"Well," Marie said, beaming at me, "Casper helped me make it."
A horrible gagging noise emerged from Rick's mouth as he choked on the food. His watery eyes bulged out of the scarlet face. He thumped on his chest, and Marie and Thom jolted out from their seats to pound on his back. I slouched in my chair, half wishing Rick would drop dead at the dinner table. The other part of me nearly pitied him for the humiliation and his toad-like appearance. The commiseration didn't last long. When he managed to dislodge the entanglement of pasta, tomatoes, and basil, he accusingly pointed his finger at me as though I caused him to retch.
"You?" he croaked. "You helped Marie cook this food?"
"Yeah. So?" Knowing he wouldn't believe me, anger flooded my system.
Rick looked like he wanted to laugh, but he was still recovering from the choking. Instead, he grimaced from the pain in his throat and coughed.
"But you're just a piece of shit," he growled. Marie gasped, and Thom's eyes widened. "A piece of shit that's just as bad as my blackened lungs and your cowardly good fer nothing mother and sister."
An alarm sounded off within me, alerting me that Rick crossed an invisible line. I wasn't exactly pleased with my mom and sister, but that didn't stop me from feeling murderous about Rick's insult regarding two people I still love. I wanted to punch Rick, spit at his face, run away, and cry, all at the same time.
Before I could do anything, Marie grasped onto my wrist and tugged me away from the table and into my room. We sat on the edge of the bed inthe semidarkness; the moon streaming through the dusty window and the kitchen light were the only things that prevented the room from submerging completely into a sea of shadows. Marie rested a hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off because I didn't want her to feel me shake with lack of control.
"Your dad is just being a jerk. I--"
"He's always a frickin' jerk."
"Have you ever tried to make amends with him?"
I glared at her in the darkness, hoping I stared straight into her eyes. She seemed to feel my gaze; the sheets rustled as she squirmed in discomfort. The whole idea of making amends with Rick sickened me.
"Casper?"
"I want to be left alone."
I tried to make my voice as icy as possible, but knowing that Marie was only trying to console me caused my voice to break slightly.
She trudged out from the room without another word, while I plopped back into the lumpy mattress, sighing in exasperation. My chest felt heavy beneath the guilt, shame, and fury because, for some reason, I thought I let everyone down. Marie for not showing any interest in talking to Rick. Thom for losing it in front of him. And even Rick for acting exactly how he expected me to act. Sometimes it seemed like he was testing me to see my reaction, and it was almost like he wanted me to prove him wrong, to act calm for once, but I failed every time.
"Rick," I heard Marie sigh, as she did when something irked her. "Can't you talk to her?"
There was a pause, as though he considered the thought. Then: "No."
"Why not?"
He snorted in amusement and grumbled something about a tv show. A chair scraped against the linoleum. Marie leg out a huge sigh, and the sounds of a running faucet and clinking dishes drifted over to my room. There were a couple more scraping noises. Then the water ceased.
"Mom." It was Thom's voice. "I better go." Then he whispered something, but I couldn't catch a word of it. "See you later, Rick," he called. "Thanks for having me around."
I waited for the sound of a door slam, but it didn't come.
"Casper?"
I hopped up from my bed and spotted a figure at the doorway.
"Thom?"
"Yeah." He spoke in hushed tones as though he didn't want to be overheard.
"I thought you were leaving," I said in an equally quiet voice.
"Yeah, but I'm bringing you, too."
"To where?" Skepticism filled me to the brim.
"Out. Just out," he joked, clearly remembering what I said when I wanted a smoke during his first visit to the ratty apartment. I didn't laugh.
"It's a school night," I muttered.
"And I have work tomorrow. Look, Rick's not even paying attention; he's just watching tv. I already told my mom I'm taking you to--"
"Where?"
"Never mind. It's a surprise. Come on."
I saw him hold out his hand to me in the darkness, and it was almost like he planned to bring me into the light.
PART 3
Thom's bumbling car crawled through the exhausted streets of San Francisco in the middle of the moonlit night. The first few lines of a mellow electronic song trickled through the speakers, and Thom softly hummed along. I peered out the window, watching the strict, looming edifices and lonely, deserted sidewalks inch by. Above the tall buildings, in the far off distance, I could make out the friendly shadow of the Golden Gate Bridge, where a few moving miniscule lights glistened like stars.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
A veil of placidity shattered as the words shot through the comfortably warm air within the car. Even the music sounded timidly quiet compared to my seemingly loud voice, which didn't faze Thom at all. He continued driving as if I hadn't said anything; his passive facial expression and relaxed composure refused to falter. When a red light caused him to brake, he finally opened his mouth, all while refusing to glance in my direction.
"Casper, not to disappoint you--" I already began to feel my heart sink. "--but we're not going anywhere."
Green light. The car inched forward.
"Then why are you still driving?" I asked hotly, suddenly annoyed at Thom for convincing me to go with him.
He pretended not to hear me. "At this rate, you'll never go anywhere in life."
"That's deep," I retorted derisively.
Suddenly, Thom banked to the right and parked (illegally, I must add) on the side of the abandoned street. Sighing, he asked, "Why are you angry all the time?"
My eyebrows furrowed, and I clenched my fist. "I. Don't. Know." I felt defeated. "Do you think I want to feel like this all the frickin' time?"
Thom frowned and glanced at me.
"I used to savor it," I admitted. "I let the littlest things irritate me, and the anger collected . Then I launched it at Rick whenever he pissed me off." The words came to me easily now; I couldn't stop if I tried. "I wanted to hate, so I did. All I ever felt was fury; I stopped knowing how to express any other emotion.
"Brooding was my only hobby, so nobody ever wanted to be near me. After a while, I got tired of feeling mad 24/7, but I didn't know how to get rid of the anger--until I snagged some of Rick's cigarettes to irk him. At first, I thought it would help me forget all the anger, but it only made things worse. I began to smoke, and I got hooked.
"Rick knows about my bad habit, but he doesn't care. Half of me thinks I can quit any time; the other half wants me to continue smoking until Rick stops me to show that he really cares about me. A real dad would try to stop his kid, right?" A lump formed in the back of my throat. "Right?"
Suddenly, a wave of emotion drowned me, causing me to choke with tears. I couldn't remember the last time I cried; I couldn't recall how much your heart could hurt... Damn, did it hurt.
"Casper? Casper, please don't cry."
"Why does it matter to you whether I cry or not?" I blubbered between sobs. "I never understood why you bothered being nice to me in the first place. I was a dumb bitch who didn't know how to let people in, yet you went to talk to me on the first night we met, even though you knew I was angry. Usually most people stay away from others when they're mad."
A tiny smile crawled onto Thom's face as though I shared the most amusing joke. "The key word is 'was'. You were a dumb bitch who didn't know how to let people in, but you let me in, didn't you. You let my mom in, too."
He was right.
"I used to hate Marie, even before I met her."
Thom looked at me with keen eyes. I grew to enjoy his company so quickly because he listened to me and actually cared about what I said.
"Marie was just another whore in my mind," I continued. "Naturally, it shocked me when I heard she was moving in with Rick and I because she didn't seem like a permanent figure in his life." Ashamedly, I added, "I thought Rick would screw her a few times. Then he'd ditch her after he was tired of her. For once, it seems like he's looking inside a person."
"He must have seen something in your mom when he married her. Marriage is, after all, a huge commitment."
"He was probably different then. I--I don't know even know my own father."
Thom tilted his head and inspected me. The powerful gaze seemed to penetrate all the physical barriers around my thoughts, but I didn't care. Out of all people, I could trust this man with my opinions and feelings. He didn't judge me; he only helped me.
"Casper," he said, "do you know your dad well enough to say that being with my mom is good for him?"
"I'd like to say so, but Rick doesn't seem to have changed much. Marie doesn't seem to have much of an effect on him. He's like metal: totally unbendable."
A grin began to spread across Thom's face. "But when you heat up metal at a high temperature, it can be worked with. I didn't live with Rick before he met my mom, so I don't know what he was like before. But I bet he could change if you give him enough time--or if you speed up the process."
"What--"
"Just think about it."
With a smile from Thom and the roar of the engine, a light bulb flickered on in the back of my brain. I didn't want to feel angry anymore; I didn't want to hate anymore. I needed peace, and the cigarettes did not help like I thought they would... at least on my part.
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Smoke didn't fill Rick's room today. There were no white-headed matches tossed carelessly in the crystal ash tray--or out of it. Instead, a single Marlboro Reds pack with a piece of paper taped onto it lay in the middle of Rick's bed where, yes, he had sexed it up with random women and Marie. I just hoped Rick and Marie didn't just have sex in it, but they made love instead. She wasn't a whore, so she deserved better.
For once, I didn't shake with hunger for fire or smoke or anger. As I stared at the solitary pack of cigarettes on my father's bed, I knew I was doing the right thing--in a very strange fashion. I planned on trying to quit smoking, and I understood the difficulty of it. If Thom could do it, so could I. For about two years, I had stolen from Rick's endless supply of cancer sticks, most likely without my father's notice or care. I wanted to make it up to him either way.
Marie didn't know what I was doing; she wouldn't understand. I told her I would take a nap. (She knew about the little escapade Thom and I had late last night, so she dismissed me without hesitation.) Instead of a tempting half-hour with my creaky bed, I wrote Rick a letter. Part of me believed he would read it and take it to consideration. Another part of me thought he wouldn't give a shit. I hoped the first part was correct.
When I emerged out from the bedroom, Marie spotted me from the kitchen where she prepared dinner.
"I couldn't sleep," I said.
She shook her head and smiled, almost all-knowingly.
"Uh, do you need help with the food?" I asked guiltily.
"No, no. I'm fine. Don't you have homework?"
I didn't have the heart to tell her I hardly did my assignments, so I trudged into my room to make it seem like I would do them. As I sat at my desk, clean of empty cigarette packets, I stared at my messy stack of textbooks and homework papers. This was how life started. This was how my older sister escaped Rick. This was how Rick made enough money to keep us alive. He kept me alive. Why? He hated me. Right?
As I opened my math book to the assigned homework page, I heard the click of the door lock. My heartbeat quickened, and I immediately thought about the Marboro and the letter. I listened intently to the sounds outside my room, not daring to breathe as I did so. I anticipated Rick's footsteps in the short hallway, but he was busy greeting Marie in the kitchen. At least they made each other happy. Otherwise, my letter was somewhat pointless. Finally, after a "how was your day" and a couple noisy kisses, Rick's heavy footsteps graced the wooden floor in the hall. He passed by my room without a glance, but I didn't expect one. After a few seconds, I heard the slight creak of his bed, some rustling, the crisp sounds of paper, more rustling, then nothing. I stared at the set of numbers in front of me and waited.
What if my letter was just a bunch of shit to Rick? All my efforts and Thom's therapeutic conversations would be thrown away.
Suddenly, I heard the groan of an old spring mattress and soft footsteps. My head snapped up from the textbook to my door, where I spotted Rick leaning against the frame. Initially his eyes were hard with years of disgust and resistance, but they slowly melted into two twin pools, swirling with what seemed to be guilt. "I'm sorry," they seemed to say. Bags sagged beneath his dark eyes. Various wrinkles decorated his face, and shiny gray hairs snaked among stiff, black hairs. Signs tobacco abuse never looked more evident than now: Rick was worn down like an overly worn sweater, nothing at all like a 46-year old father should be. They should vaguely have old age reflected in their skin, but if this was the father I had, then I had to accept it.
Rick took a small step away from the door frame and shoved his hands in his pockets, where I heard the soft crinkle of paper. With a small, curt nod, he excused himself and strolled casually--almost lightheartedly--into the brightly-lit kitchen. The nod was enough for me; it sent a huge wave of relief over me, and damn, did it feel good.
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Later that night, after a halcyon dinner with my dad and my (hopefully) future mom, I sat in my room, thinking about my letter. Did I say all the things I needed to say? What did Rick think of it? Did it compensate for all the years absent of affection between Rick and I? Nah, "affection" sounded too strong at this moment in time. I supposed Rick and I would just have to get better at this father-daughter thing, but the letter taped onto that unopened Marlboro box acted as the first step towards a beginning of a new and hopefully better relationship.
The words I felt, etched onto that piece of paper would remain inside me for as long as I lived.
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Dear Rick,
I quit. I quit smoking, and I quit being angry at you. Ever since I met Marie and Thom, I realized I couldn't act like this toward you forever. As hard as it might have been to say before, I'm now ready to tell you I'm sorry for everything. I could list all the things I'm sorry about, and I couldn't write everything I'm thankful for, but I'm pretty sure you have an idea of all that. I'm just extremely glad you met Marie.
Sorry and thanks.
Your daughter,
Casper