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Yesterday was my 35th day without a cigarette. �I awoke from a long, solid night of sleep feeling both refreshed and exhausted.� The hypnosis tapes I listen to when I am sleeping often leave me feeling this way.� Sometimes I�think it might actually be harmful to allow a computer to hypnotize me almost every night.� On the chance that it may actually be beneficial, I keep doing it.

I had only twenty minutes before I had to go to work. �I�drank in a glass of chocolate milk, ate some cereal, put some water in my hair, and changed my clothes. �I�arrived at work five minutes late. �

Things were going well when I arrived at the Butcher Shop. �My mom had just left. �Jeremy, Erica, and Jess had a handle on customers and they were keeping up with orders.� Curtis was in the back room cutting meet.� I greeted everyone and put on my apron.

From there on out,�I was tense.� I�couldnapos;t explain it.� Things continued to go well. �It was a fairly typical day.� Nothing went wrong.� No customers got pissed off or acted out passive aggressively against me.� There was this terrible feeling I couldnapos;t shake though and it made my day drag by slowly.� I was very relieved when�I got off work.

I knew it would happen early in the day, so I�was not surprised to hear myself say, "Yes," when Kory offered me a cigarette at the bar. �I was on my first drink, so it was not a decision of inebriation. �This was what my heart told me to do.� This is why I was trembling as I sat there and it was why�I was staring at Koryapos;s pack of cigarettes like I�wanted to fuck it.

I put the cigarette between my lips.�

I lit it.

I took in a deep, heavy drag.

Just like that. �It went so fast. �Life seemed different. �It was as the gears that work my brain were suddenly lubricated.� My arms moved more easily.� I felt elevated.

The taste was crisp and strong.� It tasted foreign in the same way that my first cigarette ever did.� Yet, it also tasted hauntingly familiar.� It tasted like high school, discovery, and freedom.� I was not disappointed.� I barely cared.� And then I�finished the cigarette.

Did they always burn that fast? I wondered silently.

By the time we left the bar,�I bummed another cigarette from Kory and then retreated briefly to my car for two full packs of cigarettes from my carton and the partial pack I had remaining from when I quit. �I gave Kory the two packs in exchange for the two cigarettes he had given me.� I�then smoked two more cigarettes while we sat there and drank beer for the next hour.

I decided not to smoke on my drive home. �I wanted to avoid getting cigarettes psychologically tied with my vehicle again.� I spent 35 days proving to myself that I�could drive and listen to music just as happily without a cigarette. �In fact, it was even better without a cigarette. �I wanted to keep that.� And I�did.

I�got home and told my mom that I�had smoked 4 cigarettes.� Part of the fun of smoking in high school was having a rebellious little secret. �I figured Iapos;d cut that possibility right out of the equation. �I ate dinner and told her that I�was going to a Halloween costume party at Cory Clarkapos;s house and that I�planned to continue smoking while I�was there.� Might as well make it worth it if I�have to start over anyway.

I arrived at Coryapos;s wearing a green Wawasee sweatshirt and a headset with a microphone. �I was a Wawasee Football�Coach.� It was the most inventive costume I�have worn in years.� I was happy about it. �I was also happy about the six pack of beer I had with me and the lit cigarette that was hanging from my lips.

I�entered Coryapos;s garage, which was extensively decorated from Halloween. �There were meatballs, hot dogs, chips, salsa, and a variety of other snacks.� Cory had a keg and a personal bar that was stocked with a variety of booze. �There was a fire burning outside and a crowd of people everywhere.� It was a pleasant party, and a surprisingly extravagant event. �I was happy to be there.

I�was greeted by Shauna Magid, who was wearing a penguin suit.� We complimented each othersapos; costumes and chatted for a while before I made the rounds to see everybody.� I�said hi to Cory and Whitney and thanked them for inviting me. �I also expressed my admiration for their set-up.� It was the real deal.� Goblins, fake chains, spider webs, and a giant kettle of punch.� Really a sight.

I saw Tim Hiatt and William Maule. �We talked about movie ideas, tripping, and the last times we saw each other.� All kind of people I vaguely recognized passed by and we had brief catching up sessions.� Denise Woodward, looking like a completely different person, pranced around in a frizzy ballerina dress.� Andy Shoemaker walked by, challenging my mind first to figure out who he was, and then to consider the supreme strangeness that we would one day end up at the same party when we were once bitter enemies, so long ago.

I sat down by Michelle Beck and Shauna to smoke a cigarette, but before I�could even light the thing I�spotted a familiar face off in the distance.� Couldnapos;t be.� I�thought.� Then I thought harder and realized that it was not at all unbelievable that he would be visiting Whitney and Cory.� No shit, I thought.� Ferd.

Ferd was friends with Bekah and Whitney back in the Ball State Days. �I would see him nearly every time I�visited Muncie, and we developed a fairly realistic friendship. �I say realistic, because it is often easier to develop only surface friendships with people who you donapos;t see that often. �We had a fairly good time tooling around to parties there. �I almost forgot what a� good time we all had together back then.

When�I moved to Muncie for school in 2004, I think it was shocking how much I had changed.� Things stayed the same for a while.��Bekah, Whitney, Ferd, and I had a good time together.��I stayed at their house very often - much more than I�ever stayed in my own dorm.��I spent most of that time drunk or on drugs, though.��I was unclean, and I�was a mess.� It could be said that Ferd saw me unraveling at that time.��I donapos;t think he thought much of it.� I�think he saw some of the same things in Bekah.� Whatever it was, the two of us began to feel like he was challenging out ways.� I�donapos;t think it would be an exaggeration to say that we lashed out against him for this. �We became unkind to Ferd and treated him like children might treat a teacher they donapos;t like. �It was unfortunate, because we had all been pretty good friends.� That ended.

I�moved away from Muncie as a failure and returned only a few times, mostly uninvited, to puke on things and let my drunk friends wreak havoc on that house. �Bekah was having her own territorial disputes with her roommates, and by the end of 2004 we had both fallen out of favor there.� I�canapos;t speak for Bekahapos;s situation, but all my negative encounters there were my own doing. �I saw Ferd one last time in 2005, when�I showed up in Muncie high on crack with friends who I�knew were unwelcome there.� We had been out all night, driving around like maniacs, and we finally landed in Muncie because I�knew Whitney and Ferd were having a party the following night.

We crashed out in their house for a few hours and then were kicked out of the house before the party started, on suspicion of being rotten people.� That was the last I saw or talked to Ferd.

Knowing this, I�approached him at Coryapos;s party, and extended a hand of friendship. �I�was surprised and happy to see him, and he seemed generally happy to see me as well. We mentioned nothing of the past.�� We spoke the catching up small talk of two people who will never be close again - a handshake to temporarily bridge the space between us that contains years of negative energy.� I�think we both stand out to each other as a reminder of a time weapos;d rather not think about too much.� His college plans didnapos;t work out as he had envisioned either, and he cut the Muncie thing off later in 2005.� Though the only reasons we still recognized each other are rooted in an empty landscape of misguided hopes and haunted memories, it was a pleasant reunion.� I�think we were both surprised to see each other vaguely content with our lives.

After talking to Ferd, I wandered around the party and recognized a few more faces which I�could associate with him.� His buddy, Scottie B., dressed as The Hamburglar, was standing over by Brett Ehmen.� The two of them were engaged in a game of flippy-cup with some other party goers.� I�later saw two girls named Lindsey and Morgan, who�I recognized from Muncie. �They were dressed as Pink Ladies. I wasnapos;t sure which was which, but one was helping guide the other one to a car, as she stumbled around, barely able to register her footing.� I remember similar scenes from Muncie.� Bekah, Whit, Ferd, and�I used to go to their house to sit and play card games.� They had Absolut Vodka magazine advertisements lining their ceiling, and a big recycling bing for beer cans. �They probably wouldapos;ve been my age then.� It was haunting to see them again; Spectres of the past masquerading around in the present, as if there was nothing weird about it at all.

Teddy got his camera out and started flashing it all around, taking professional quality pictures of drunks in celebration.� The flashbulb combined with the strobe light in the corner were getting my brain irritated something fierce. �The loud music had my head ringing. �I realized that I had only had two beers and I didnapos;t feel like drinking anymore. �A headache developed and I wandered around with it for a while before deciding it was time to leave.� It was getting too weird and heavy anyway, wandering around all these faces from the past, totally unsure of where to stand amongst them.

I smoked a cigarette as I drove home.� Fuck it.� I�thought.� Iapos;m not going to psychologically relink smoking with my car.� As I finished smoking,�I�took the open pack beside me and began dropping the remaining cigarettes out the window one-by-one until they were gone.� I have quit smoking I repeated as each one was caught by the night air.� It felt ceremonial.

I woke up today feeling fine.� The want was not present.� I�do not feel hollow and negative like I�had thought.� I�do not feel like I�need to smoke a cigarette.� I have gone all day without one. �

As I drove home from dinner at my grandpaapos;s this evening,�a had a realization.� Now is the time.

A week or two after my dad died, I�began smoking one cigarette from his last pack each night.� It was sort of a twisted, ritualistic way of honoring him. �Iapos;m all about� personal ceremonies and attaching meaning to moments and objects.� Each cigarette was like a forgotten moment, a bonding experience that never occurred.� A few minutes of time that dad didnapos;t get to have.� When I got sick in September, and ultimately quit smoking, there were two cigarettes left.� I knew all along that I�didnapos;t want to get rid of them.� They were his and they would be the last two times I could celebrate him this way.

Go back to cigarettes last night made me realize that I�really donapos;t want to smoke anymore.� The first few felt wonderful, tasted wonderful, and were a delight.� The rest felt smoked out of necessity.� They were joyless, useless, and even a little annoying.� Why smoke now.� I thought a few times.

Thatapos;s the right mindset to get in to quit for good.� If the attraction is gone, so then is the desire.� Nothing has made more sense.� This addiction is over.�

I�have decided to close my evening tonight by going outside with my last carton of cigarettes and burning it as I smoke my dadapos;s final two cigarettes.� One for him.� One for me. �And that is all there will ever be.


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