One More Cigarette

Hot moisture hung in the air. The hotel parking lot wet from the afternoon rain. Standing by her car they shared a cigarette and said nothing. It was time to quit. Time to go. Time to move on. It was time. They both knew it. Yeah, before something they couldn’t undo happened. 

At first, they started meeting on Thursday afternoons then Tuesdays too, and Mondays if they could. Sometimes Saturdays if she was free.

It was time to leave. The traffic would be bad. She would be late. They both would be late. She needed time to shower and change. It was time for a change and she knew it. Brush her teeth, and get the smell out of her hair. Clean cloths.

They met almost a year earlier. Encounters like this are rare, she thought. It was happenstance really to meet someone like him at a place like that. Against the rules. Later they’d meet outside the building behind the wall, where no one could see them. 

Nights her skin would tighten and tingle at the thought. Then the guilt. Like a fast train traveling through the dark. Everyone asleep except her, fidgeting, restless, and guilt-ridden.

Their eyes locked at first sight of each other. She tried to ignore him. Stop the starring but that didn’t work. Meeting after meeting he distracted her. She watched as he poured his coffee, walked across the room, and pulled out a chair. She had to get a grip. The way he sat and sipped his coffee and oozed playfulness and intoxicating words. 

She stepped outside even though she had given up smoking way back. There had to be a reason to go out there besides trying to interrupt this obsession. A cigarette would calm her. For now, she’d smoke something lite, just at meetings. No big deal even though the smell would be noticed. 

Inside the meetings, his eyes pierced her. He starred. Almost constantly from the first day on. So impolitely bold and suggestive right out of the gate.

Every meeting was now on the calendar. She couldn’t get enough.

She needed those meetings, right? And so did he or why would he have been there?

Meetings came after late afternoons of pushing down the boredom of life with vodka on ice. It worked for a while. By nine she’d passed out or went out. The night would be long, her euphoria short. How long could this routine go on? Her husband upset after too many excuses and the accident when sirens blaring put a period on things.

She’d start over. New clothes, a new apartment. “Okay, I guess,” he said. “But what about the cigarettes? I hate cigarettes! What about the drinking?”. She’d go to meetings. In time things would be good, again. Time passed. And she passed… with flying colors. Vodka gone. Check. Cigarettes gone. Check. Husband happy. Things were better. Check.

It was the meetings. Going day in and day out was the trick. It took time but it worked. She was hardly ever bored.

But he was unreal. To meet someone like him at a place like that. All those people with all their stuff. No one that she really noticed. Faithfully attending two, or three times a week or more. Getting a hold on things. 

But now things were different. They met and their eyes met and time flew. Except for Wednesdays or Fridays and Sundays and some Saturdays. The meetings were a must of course. There was always coffee before. A quick smoke after.

After meetings, she’d go shopping to buy this or that. No big deal. Just stuff she wanted. Her husband never complained as long as evenings she was awake. And evenings when she didn’t smoke. He was happy. She was a little bored.

At first, looking forward to looking. Not a big deal. And then after meetings, she wanted a smoke and he did too. And they would talk for a few minutes. No big deal. That went on for a while.  Except the deal had to include making time to get home, shower and change.

Then one day he said, “let’s walk”. They did and they talked and they looked at each other and talked some more. Time enough for one more cigarette and then she’d leave. That was a Tuesday. Repeating the same that Thursday. Monday following the short walk to be more alone behind the wall was easy.  She had to leave with enough time to get home. To deal with the smell. Not a big deal.

Her husband was home most Saturdays. She’d say she needed a meeting but tried not to smoke.

Then one day behind the wall they kissed. His smokey taste good as candy. His smell on her. His hands on her. That was the following Monday.

Tuesday was the same and Thursday too. Behind the wall was safe. No one could see when he pressed her against the dirty cement. His smell was on her front. Dirt on her back.

Monday came again and things changed. He said let’s go somewhere. The lobby bar was dark, the room darker. Skipping the wall made time and less dirt. But now his smell was all over her. They shared a cigarette and stared at each other for a short while. Time, ticking.

That afternoon running late she rushed home.

Tuesday’s meeting was long and boring. She decided to go for a smoke. He did too. And then the room was dark and skipping the wall gave them a little more time and but then the rush to get home to get rid of the smell. Almost too late.

Thursday they skipped coffee. Skipped the meeting. Skipped the wall. The dark room was irresistible.

Friday she went shopping for a dress. That weekend she bought shoes.

Hours ticked by between meetings.  She smoked to pass the time.

Tuesday was the day she came home late in a smokey haze. His smell was all over her.  

Her husband was home.

Her excuse was, “It was the traffic.” 

They didn’t talk.

She knew he knew.

The night train rolled in. Everyone was asleep except her. Fidgeting, restless, and guilt-ridden.

Thursday afternoon she met him and they kissed. They shared a smoke and stared at each other. He cried. Then they lay in the dark sleepy room for the afternoon. They both knew it was time. Time for a change.

One more kiss. One more cigarette. The wet afternoon heat hung in the air. Time ticking.

They dressed, walked to her car, shared one more smoke, and said nothing.

She drove away. It was time for a shower and a change.