Winter I hated the most. Winter, and days when rain pelted the ground in sheets too thick for space. Smoke curled, a yellow tsunami steam-rolling from the front seat towards the back where I sat with my sister. I made myself tiny as I could, imagining I was Houdini shackled underwater, holding my nose and practicing my escape. An hour into the drive I’d crack my window and sit on my knees to suck the moist air trickling in like a thief. Mother would turn around, the Pall Mall a fiery sixth finger. “Shut the goddamn window, Missy. It’s cold outside.” The smoke never bothered my sister; she wallowed in the fumes, a gill-breathing dragon. When we arrived at our destination, I’d tumble from the car, refilling myself with pure oxygen for the return trip. Later, my sister and Mother shared a special intimacy, talking on the patio and tapping ashes into coffee cans. I’d sit inside the cool kitchen and watch from the window. When Mother died last year, felled by a stroke induced by her pack-a-day habit, my sister kept smoking and started running charity 5ks. In her last race, the contestants lined up, waiting for the gun; I watched from the sidelines. The air smelled electric, reminding me of riding with rolled-down windows, the shimmering wind pummeling us in a furnace blast. I remembered those summer months and wondered if they saved me from worse -- though what could be crappier than living life tethered to an oxygen concentrator?
***
Inspired by the 52/250 A Year of Flash theme -- cigarette smoke in the car.
A little too close to home.
Peace, Linda
Posts
This is excellent, Linda. I loved every word, and there were so many incredible descriptions: An hour into the drive I’d crack my window and sit on my knees to suck the moist air trickling in like a thief. Mother would turn around, the Pall Mall a fiery sixth finger.
ReplyDeleteI remember cigarette smoke in the car too, but my mother drove with the window down so as not to smoke us out, but the smoke always blew back in at me, along with the cold air!
Great stuff-take care.
"...the moist air trickling in like a thief." I agree with Erin - what a perfectly portrayed description this is, and so many more throughout.
ReplyDeleteYou captured this so very well Linda, not surprisingly.
Since we're quoting, here's one I liked: "Later, my sister and Mother shared a special intimacy, talking on the patio and tapping ashes into coffee cans. I’d sit inside the cool kitchen and watch from the window."
ReplyDeleteLiked 'em all, actually, but these sentences speak a special truth. The loneliness of being the outsider, of one child having a closer relationship with a parent. That's a whole different topic you touch on here, but true.
My parents owned a Volkswagen Beetle. Three kids. Two smoking parents. Winter. We'd beg to open the window. Dad would say, "it's freezing out there, whaddya nuts?"
So we sat there and turned blue.
There's a community among smokers, that's for sure. If you don't smoke, or don't smoke anymore, then you are not in that tribe, not matter what else you may be.
ReplyDeleteGood, strong piece, Linda.
A good piece showing the horrors of second-hand smoke. Well done!
ReplyDeletegreat riff... I know people who do this and bitch to me about MY weight all with a cancer stick in their hand..
ReplyDeleteI am so allergic to cigarette smoke. I'm glad you wrote this to remind people that even though they enjoy their cigarette, others may not be able to tolerate it.
ReplyDeleteJeanette Cheezum
My goodness! This was how it was for me in family car! The windows would be shut, heat turned on high, and parents smoking while I fought not to throw up. Sister did not mind.
ReplyDeleteNeedless to say, I did not grow up to be a smoker. :)
Really loved this piece.
Beautifully heartfelt. I'm forever grateful my daughter didn't follow in my stead and smoke. Me? I have Emphysema at 45. Talk about a hard earned lesson.
ReplyDeleteYour words took me along for the ride. (Hugs)Indigo
Boy, did this bring back memories!
ReplyDeleteYou touched on so many conflicted emotions in such a short space. Wonderful!
Strong language in a short dose. Good medicine, Linda. I hate smoke, too.
ReplyDeleteGreat story as always. Great take on the prompt.
ReplyDelete"The Pall Mall like a sixth finger" - stunning.
ReplyDeleteAlso a pall mall that casts a pall...
Marc Nash
I just had a conversation about this with someone yesterday - smoking with children in the car. I am lucky enough to come from a long line of non-smokers.
ReplyDeleteSo many exquisite lines in this. Cathy picked out the one that struck me most. On the other side, watching, yet pulled in for the worst.
The mark of a fabulous writer you conjure the world in beautiful detail in short few words, such elegance of detail. Sometimes lose people in the stream of flash friday's, great that Marc Nash put me onto you. Well done
ReplyDeleteLinda, you have a gift for description that is astonishing. With single sentences you evoke a whole experience for this reader.
ReplyDelete"Winter, and days when rain pelted the ground in sheets too thick for space. "
Just one example from this piece, rich in so many.
Wonderful writing.
Hey all, thank you for reading. Guess I opened up some memories here, huh?
ReplyDeleteIndigo, my heart goes out to you -- my mother has the disease. I myself suffer from a form of asthma from smoke inhalation. Keep well...
Smoking has played such a central role in my life -- of my parents and sister, I am the only one who's never picked up the habit. No one smokes now, but cigarettes still continue to ravage my family -- cancer, emphysema, aneurysms in those who smoke, infertility, allergies, asthma, and constant colds in those exposed secondarily.
Nicotine is the most instantly addictive substance known to humankind. it relaxes at the same as it ennervates. By itself, it's not such a bad substance. BUT... couple with all the crap the manufacturers put into the tobacco, then inhaled (a very effective drug delivery system), you get cancer and other nasty ills on a stick.
Enough of my soap-boxing. Thank you all for responding. peace...
I hope parents everywhere read this and understand what their habit is doing to their children. Well done !
ReplyDeleteMy dad was in WWII and my parents had me late in their life ... Your story brought back that feeling of yesteryear for me... ESPECIALLY: "Mother would turn around, the Pall Mall a fiery sixth finger..."
ReplyDeleteThat might be my favorite sentence of the week.
The opening is absolutely perfect. The imagery is powerful, especially imagining a child trying to escape from the smoke.
ReplyDeleteI quit around six years ago, but I know it was too late because I can feel my breathing and asthma becoming worse. Smoking is one of my few true regrets, becuase unlike other mistakes, there really is nothing to be learned from it other than not to pass it on. And that is something I have at least, my daughter has never seen me smoke and I hope and hope that will help her not walk down the same path.
Anyway, back to the writing...as usual Linda, it was a privilege.
Thank you Lou for reading and your comments. Smoking is such a scourge, and I salute anyone who has quit - it is one of the most difficult things to ever do.
ReplyDeleteAnd it is never too late to quit. many of the effects are reversible over time. Peace, friend...