(no subject)
I walked to the Beanery wearing maryn's sweater, with 'A Million Little Pieces' opened up the the ninety fourth page.
I ordered a 12 oz. House Coffee. $1.25 in quarters.
I took my House Coffee and sat down at a long table, at the end.
I wanted to sit alone.
I set my things down, took off my jacket, opened the book.
I sat, and I read, and I drank, and I thought. And I thought.
The sun was setting outside over Sencer's Butte, and I sat and I read and I drank and I thought.
It was almost four o'clock and I hadn't told anyone I had someting other than going straight home in mind.
I finished my 12 oz. House Coffee, I finished a section in the book.
An older woman and her physical therapist came and sat next to me.
I left and it was cold and my fingers were cold and I was thinking.
I walked up 24th and my head was filled with thoughts.
I noticed a man on his bicycle coming out from an alley.
As he rode past, he looked at me.
He smiled.
I smiled back.
It was genuine. It was real.
I'll remember that moment.
I continued walking.
It was cold, and the light was orange, and the sun was low.
I continued onto Fairmount.
I walked past a piece of land under construction.
I walked past a house I want to become my future home.
I walked under and overhanging of trees.
I was staring at the concrete sidewalk, and noticed an open book of matches.
A moment later i saw a pack of cigarettes.
Marlboro.
Light.
Filtered.
Open and mangled on the grass.
I don't know why, but i picked them up.
I picked them up and found 18 left from a pack of 20.
I picked them up and stuffed them into my bag.
I still don't know why.
There is nothing about smoking i found compelling.
But i did.
And i continued walking.
And for another 2 blocks I thought and talked to myself.
I knew I had matches in my room.
I knew I had 18 perfectly fine cigarettes in my bag.
I knew I had a choice.
I thought, and talked, and came to a conclusion, almost.
I took them out again at the corner of Walnut and Fairmount.
I looked at them.
I took a cigarette out.
I touched it.
All of my grandparents have been smokers, and many of my aunts and uncles.
But that was the closest to a cigarette I had ever been.
I heard a car coming from behind me, and remembered that my dad had just picked my sister up from the Y and were due home at any moment.
I quickly shoved them into my bag and whipped my head around.
It was a stranger.
I knew I had a choice.
I knew I was afraid.
I knew I could pull it off.
Bring them home.
Go up to my room.
Get the matches.
Go to my backyard while my mom had students and try one.
But I knew it wouldn't have ended at that.
I knew there was a chance i could become addicted.
A train wreck.
I was afraid.
I tossed them onto the ground and I ran.
I ran up Sunset Dr. and pressed my fingers up against the concrete wall of Charles and Betsy's old house.
I ran.
I got to my door and knocked.
It hurt my hands, my fingers were cold.
My mom opened the door and I was home.
I went up to my room.
I threw my things onto my bed and sat.
And thought.
I put my hands up to my face, and they smelled like cigarettes.
I was okay.
I didn't have a secret.
I ordered a 12 oz. House Coffee. $1.25 in quarters.
I took my House Coffee and sat down at a long table, at the end.
I wanted to sit alone.
I set my things down, took off my jacket, opened the book.
I sat, and I read, and I drank, and I thought. And I thought.
The sun was setting outside over Sencer's Butte, and I sat and I read and I drank and I thought.
It was almost four o'clock and I hadn't told anyone I had someting other than going straight home in mind.
I finished my 12 oz. House Coffee, I finished a section in the book.
An older woman and her physical therapist came and sat next to me.
I left and it was cold and my fingers were cold and I was thinking.
I walked up 24th and my head was filled with thoughts.
I noticed a man on his bicycle coming out from an alley.
As he rode past, he looked at me.
He smiled.
I smiled back.
It was genuine. It was real.
I'll remember that moment.
I continued walking.
It was cold, and the light was orange, and the sun was low.
I continued onto Fairmount.
I walked past a piece of land under construction.
I walked past a house I want to become my future home.
I walked under and overhanging of trees.
I was staring at the concrete sidewalk, and noticed an open book of matches.
A moment later i saw a pack of cigarettes.
Marlboro.
Light.
Filtered.
Open and mangled on the grass.
I don't know why, but i picked them up.
I picked them up and found 18 left from a pack of 20.
I picked them up and stuffed them into my bag.
I still don't know why.
There is nothing about smoking i found compelling.
But i did.
And i continued walking.
And for another 2 blocks I thought and talked to myself.
I knew I had matches in my room.
I knew I had 18 perfectly fine cigarettes in my bag.
I knew I had a choice.
I thought, and talked, and came to a conclusion, almost.
I took them out again at the corner of Walnut and Fairmount.
I looked at them.
I took a cigarette out.
I touched it.
All of my grandparents have been smokers, and many of my aunts and uncles.
But that was the closest to a cigarette I had ever been.
I heard a car coming from behind me, and remembered that my dad had just picked my sister up from the Y and were due home at any moment.
I quickly shoved them into my bag and whipped my head around.
It was a stranger.
I knew I had a choice.
I knew I was afraid.
I knew I could pull it off.
Bring them home.
Go up to my room.
Get the matches.
Go to my backyard while my mom had students and try one.
But I knew it wouldn't have ended at that.
I knew there was a chance i could become addicted.
A train wreck.
I was afraid.
I tossed them onto the ground and I ran.
I ran up Sunset Dr. and pressed my fingers up against the concrete wall of Charles and Betsy's old house.
I ran.
I got to my door and knocked.
It hurt my hands, my fingers were cold.
My mom opened the door and I was home.
I went up to my room.
I threw my things onto my bed and sat.
And thought.
I put my hands up to my face, and they smelled like cigarettes.
I was okay.
I didn't have a secret.