"I Quit!"

“I quit!” Thus came the outburst.

“I QUIT!” he repeated, louder and more insistent. The day was promising to move from the mundane to the decidedly unusual.

It had started blandly and boringly enough. After morning coffee, cereal, and just passing time, I escape from my apartment taking a walk across the street to the local store. I spot a frog hopping hesitantly away in front of me, lemming-wise to the end of the sidewalk. I clear a frog in my throat in solidarity.

I’m looking forward to meeting my friend downtown in a few hours' time. I decide to head off early, noticing the frog disappearing from view under an obliging bush.

I’m downtown. The guy is sitting on a bench, which is back-to-back with another. I cough a little which also serves as a polite signal of intent to sit next to him as I take an edge. After a few moments of doing nothing in particular - scrolling my phone, a daydream, a bit of people-watching, I'm shaken out of my reverie by the guy saying, “I quit!”

I turn in response, an involuntary reflex. He is just looking straight ahead and says it again, louder, “I QUIT! I QUIT!” There’s someone else on the adjoining bench who doesn’t turn… I guess it’s a form of politeness, not staring, or a defense. He now looks at me, slightly quieter, but much more intensely, and says it again, “I quit!” 

He looks into and through me, he does not avert his gaze. I’m stared out. I don’t really know what to do.

“I QUIT! YOU CHECK”, another loud proclamation. Am I being invited to authenticate his claim?

Now he’s looking straight ahead, into space, into nothing. I assume the guy has problems but I won’t judge or condemn; crazy or drunk or something in between I’m not hazarding a guess. I don’t know his story, who am I to judge? There’s also something about him though. I’m intrigued, almost compelled. I can’t help but ask, “You quit what?”

He turns directly to me. There’s a pause. I’m unnerved, I admit. He answers, “Smoking…”

Relief. He's not someone who’s going to throw himself off a bridge or anything. So I answer, “Well done! I… I guess that was… difficult?”

“No. Not difficult. At all.”

The staccato delivery and the morsel of information he provided got me hooked in. Come on, tell me more! I’m wanting an answer. I have to ask.

“How long have you… quit?”

“40 years.”

“Oh. Er, wow, er, well done,” I say unconvincingly. Are you being a wise guy?

I know abstention is something to be proud of, but forty years later, out of context and outside of your own circle? Whatever’s going on here I feel this encounter is now over. I’ve been polite – like to think not nosey - not dismissive. I'm done.

He persists, “I QUIT! YOU CHECK.”

He’s still looking directly at me. With urgency.

“Yes, I know, I heard you.”

I’m still in my seat.

“Everyone should quit”

“I agree,” I say figuring this note of consensus makes for a dignified exit; but before I can hoof myself onto my hind legs, he continues, “YOU should quit too…”

Ok. It's time to go, I've told myself enough times. I’m definitely uncomfortable, but also feel he's not a threat. At least that’s something. I sense it, somehow.

“No worries, I don’t smoke,” I say as I rise to my feet, “not since a teenager.”

“You must quit, quit it all. Check.”

His upturned head and his gaze, as I tower above him, add sincerity to the urgency of his request.

“Don’t worry pal, I don’t even take a crafty drag, draw, toke, nothing. Not even with friends, parties…drunk or sober!”

I try to make light. To depart with humor on good terms, to take my steps away in good conscience.

“I QUIT, YOU CHECK”, he says it yet again. He’s truly caught me, throwing out his words like a net to my fish. Neither the person behind nor passers-by still bat an eyelid. Is everyone like this these days, all inured against peculiarity, and especially to people?

I don’t want to offend so I’m giving him eye contact seeking some signal, some form of permission to step away; the goodbye must be amicable and by consent. He's staring hard.

Still maintaining eye contact I say, “It’s ok, I honestly don’t partake. Not one bit.”

I’m about to free myself even though my legs feel like stone, “Er, anyways, well done again. I have to go, erm, my friend is waiting for me. Nice meeting you.”

Lame, I know.

“I QUIT! I QUIT! YOU CHECK.!”

I wave goodbye and break away at last. I Don’t smoke, don’t do drugs, booze moderately, why was I locked in? Check what? I'm giving him the time of day not just out of politeness though, he looked…familiar. Maybe it was his oddness or force of personality that held me. One thing I immediately agree in my head… I’m not getting stuck like this again - with anyone!

I'm walking. I turn and take an anxious look over my shoulder, relieved to see he is not following me. I look again towards the seat. He’s no longer there and someone is already in his place. I quicken my pace as I head off, just in case.

************************************************************

The next day, I pick up my local newspaper. It’s the weekend, I’m off work. I’m looking forward to tonight’s poker game with friends. Nothing heavy. The pot is small. It’s just fun. A couple of beers only, maybe a chaser. Lots of coffee and cookies. Quit it all, what was he talking about?

It’s time for my weekend treat - a leisurely stop at the local café and a cake with my coffee. No trip downtown. No hustle and bustle, no hassles from salesmen, beggars, random oddballs. It’s going to be just me and my paper. I’m an old young man I muse, as I’ve been told, the only guy amongst my pals who still regularly reads a newspaper. I flick through, part dreamily, part lost in thought. Scanning. I stop at a few points of interest, flipping through quickly but then something grabs me. My blood runs cold and my eyes widen.

It’s him. The guy from yesterday. His picture staring me in the face. The headline shakes me to my proverbial core.

“Larger than life character dies with a warning.”

"Local character and retired restaurateur Mr. Pete McCabe has passed away from lung cancer. Long-time readers will recall that Mr. McCabe was a prominent supporter of the smoking ban, in contrast to his fellow businessmen in the hospitality trade claiming that any smoking, including passive smoking, was a danger for staff – himself included - who shouldn’t have to ensure it. He had quit the habit 20 years beforehand, making it a 40-year period of abstention. His diagnosis several months ago saw him publicized in this paper once more warning of the dangers of passive smoking - in addition to his old long-time habit - both of which he claimed were the likely cause of his condition. 'To everyone, I would say not only ‘quit’, but quit it all. Avoid smoky environments. Don’t allow smoking in your home, from guests, family, anyone. Keep away from smoky places, don't smoke in the first place, and quit now if you do.' "

"Mr. McCabe passed away surrounded by his family on Monday."

On Monday. Today is Saturday, I saw the guy yesterday. The biggest frog is in my throat as I pick up my phone to text my friends. I figure I’ll tell them everything in person later. I gather the best amount of composure that I can muster. Quite what and how I am going to tell them tonight is beyond me. But right now there is something I must tell them, at least digitally. My fingers glide over the phone:

"Hi guys, we’re at mine tonight for the game… can I just ask that the three of you who like a smoke, could you not, please. Sorry, got a bit of a cough, don’t want to make it worse.”

I make a mental note to ring my doctor for an appointment after the weekend. I even put it in my phone diary. I clear another frog, maybe there's been too many of them lately. I’ll request a chest X-ray. A check on my throat and chest, for sure.

I look at the picture of Mr. McCabe once more.

That intense look.

I take a thought.

"I quit! Quit it all. Check."