The Choice To Love

I hadn't been back in a year. Its been too long. So much has changed in a year. The house I grew up in is now occupied by strangers and the only blood relative left in town is an estranged brother. Yet,  it is home to me. The friends that remain are closer than blood and the people, the soil, the beaches, the cafes that raised me, linger. My trip back to the sun came at a perfect time for reelection.. the change is coming, the in-between season has arrived… the buds are brimming forth and I can smell the days ahead. Not sure what is coming or how it will all pan out, but I feel an overwhelming sense of relief that this hard time is passing. My heart is healthier now, my sense of self far more secure and my hope for the future is brighter than ever. 

Going back has refilled me with love, fuel to carry me onto the next. The hugs, full memories of times I felt most known and noticed, the eyes that will still look deep into mine, as if no time has passed, as if this moment is the only one that exists. The time and care put into the fresh baked biscuits it the morning, the hand whipped cream, the lemon curd made from scratch, it's all effortless, delivered to me in the kitchen on beautifully decorated trays and etched glass dishes, paired with tea, just the way I like it. Before I even left town I received a package I could smell from three feet away. I opened it to find fresh cut roses, long sprigs of lavender and branches of rosemary with a note that said, "…this is what awaits you." They chose to love me as their own, long ago.. they heard a distant call of one pointing them to me. I needed their love then, I needed their sweet voices of reason and their gentle guidance, I need them now. Their love for me is unearned, immovable, unchangeable and without regret. Such a love, such close attention paid at the moments needed most, has impacted my life far more than the ruling governments, the education I have received, the opportunities I've had to travel, the powerful voice of the media… this love has trumped all other voices in my life. This I know is true. 

Now I return to the city, once again, and long to give away all I have received. Only the road will show what is next and there too I hope to be one that loves and gives unabashedly. 

Long Awaited Meet and Greet

I met him outside. He had been so built up in my mind; this tall, familiar, comforting stranger that caused my head to turn. Never being one to get caught in a fantasy, I was shocked by the effect this man had on my imagination. What a strange feeling it was to wait outside for him. I felt as if I knew him, although, I did not. We only had months of distant attraction between us and a recent bombardment of text messages. Finally a face to face meeting, perhaps it could be considered a date. I had dreamt of this moment, filled with witty banter and possibly an overwhelming attraction shared by the two of us. Alas, there hung that looming hope, perhaps this is something real, perhaps this will turn into something lasting and true; perhaps I need to get to know him.

Stepping through the door in his entire six foot six inch splendor, stunning in his perfectly tailored, beautifully crafted pale grey summer weight suit; I noticed instantly his nervous energy. Leading me through the crowded streets of midtown Manhattan, he took the lead deciding which streets to cross and which lights to patiently wait for. Making comments about my city and commenting on the neighborhood as if I were the newbie; I found it quite endearing. Turning to enter the park to my regular favored spot, he stopped and gently guided me on to a further entrance. Laying out a blanket he chatted on boldly full of fumbles and mumbles.

The suiting jacket came off, the French cuffs were rolled up, socks and shoes discarded, he made himself comfortable exposing his perfectly sun browned skin. Situating myself on the blanket next to him, my shoes remained on, my stature much stiffer, I sat in puzzled amusement, something wasn't quite right. There was a familiarity about him, a comfort and ease about him that did not match his scattered dialogue or inappropriate over-sharing. Conversation was not easy or fluid as I had hoped. In fact he began to share of his family's dysfunction in detail. He let his heart leak out of the pain he'd experienced from his childhood, in front of me spilling out into a pool between us. He spoke of it with sarcastic tones as if it were all a joke. I was embarrassed by his nakedness, the brash bare reality of his situation. It was laid on me like a sack of dry bones. Though not what I was expecting during an afternoon picnic meeting this man for the first time, I felt for him, taking on his details like precious relics to be protected. He shot jabs at me too, using every piece of information I shared with him as ammo for his sarcasm. I realized, despite his cool demeanor, he must have been rambling out of nervousness. This conflicting confidence and unmistakable self doubt keep me confused. I left taken a back by his seeming insecurity.

I haven’t heard from him since, though the thought of him lingers. He remains a mystery and an unquenchable puzzle. Perhaps he will reach out again and we will give it another go. I can only pray he is more relaxed, a bit more himself. I wish to get a true glimpse of who he really is. If he does reach out again, I will make sure to bring a flask.

Stranger Who Flirts Via Text

‘Tortoise Boy’ has since become ‘Stranger Who Flirts Via Text.’ I’ve had two brief encounters and a fore of witty banter via text message.  He’s asked me to lunch twice, the day of, both to be denied. Now, today, finally, I will be meeting him for lunch, on the grass of central park; a brief lunch, during a busy work day. In roughly a half hour, I will finally be able to grasp a hold of the physical presence of this man. He is such a tantalizing mystery to me. Not sure what I make of him thus far, but am anxious to form an educated opinion. Stay tuned…

Dinner with The Man

I often hated the character of ‘Mr. Big’ in the Sex and The City series. I wondered why Carry kept going back to him, comparing every man she ever met to him...‘Mr. Big.’ Although, I thought him a royal ass-hole and a self centered jerk, I think I understand her draw to him. He was a man. He made decisions, he lead, he carried himself with maturity, and he took charge and wasn’t threatened by her strength.

Last night I had dinner with a dear friend of mine who is a bit older than me. We talked for three and a half hours and he asked me pointed questions digging to the heart of what I want in the world. He encouraged me and challenged me to jump, to risk, to believe that the fullest extent of life and love is worth grasping for. He pointed out things he sees in me that stand in my way, fears and doubts. I asked him questions too and he answered with surprising candor. I loved hearing from a man who knows what he wants in life and isn’t afraid to get it. There is something about his humble strength that puts me at ease and gives me the confidence to live fully.

Guy after guy, as much as I have adored aspects of their character, not one has held my respect like this man. I might have to wait for one such as this, and that I am willing to do... wait.

Tortoise Boy Returns

Remember Tortoise boy who stole my gaze from across the room? The one who friended me on facebook and kept me guessing? Well…after a long pause, I was reminded of his presence in the world. That original feeling that crept up the moment I saw him arose once again. A couple months back, while I was dating my last boyfriend, a friend of mine grabbed me at a baby shower, exclaiming that we must speak the moment we found some privacy. The moment we entered a cab leaving the party she loudly exclaimed that she’d found out from another woman at the party that Tortoise boy was moving to Brooklyn that very day.. AND that he’d been thinking of me ever since!

Of course he decides to pop back into my life, once again, while I am dating someone else! Stunned by this news I thought it just my luck to miss a possible.. maybe.. almost chance with him, again.  It didn’t help the uncertainty I was feeling about my last boyfriend or the tough topics that seemed to be coming up in our relationship at such a tender stage. This man that set my heart aflame with just a glance and a snarky comment, was soon to be living in my city, and apparently shared the same instantaneous attraction that I felt months prior.

Twisted in knots, the guilt for feeling such things for a man that was not my boyfriend, started to kill me. I couldn’t get him out of my head or the curiosity out of my heart. Afterall, I didn’t even know Tortoise Boy, we hadn’t even had a single thorough conversation. I worked hard to put him out of my mind and to concentrate on the existing relationship I was apart of. That worked well for a while, until Tortoise Boy decided to send me a happy little sarcastic note via facebook, making his presence known. I kindly and curtly responded, then didn’t hear from him again.. until Easter Sunday.

Exhausted from a day of cooking and hosting, I went to a night service at our church only to find out that he too was there. While speaking to someone else he came up behind me and threw his hands out in surprise so to say, “I’m Here!” I turned around with a startle and a smile saying hello and greeting him with a quick hug. We chatted for a while and shared witty banter. I couldn’t help the glaring observation that the same glee I experienced upon our initial meeting was just not there. I enjoyed his silly humor and was thankful for his bold jaunt across the room, but expected a much grander initial attraction. Before we parted he asked if I’d like to have lunch and got my digits.

In the same fashion as his previous introductions, there was a lengthy pause before I  received word from him again. When I did, it came in the form of a 5 text long text message nervously and sarcastically asking me to have lunch with him that afternoon, followed by all the reasons I would most likely say no. I responded with equal sarcasm, but clearly to the point, telling him I would love to have lunch, but a business meeting that afternoon was preventing me from having lunch with him. That text was followed up by a day full of text messages. I felt so awkward caught in the incessant banter of two people who don’t really know one another, but have clearly made assumptions of the other. I hate that my passion for this stranger has slowed almost to a screeching halt, but happy that reality is confronting fantasy. Perhaps one day I will actually find myself face to face with this man, getting a glimps into who he really is. Then and only then will my true passions and desires have a chance to reveal whether this man is for me or someone else. Let the games begin… again.

It Is Finished

I cannot begin to ask the questions why. They’ve already been asked and there is no answer…something just wasn’t right. He was so kind to me. The gifts he gave me I will always cherish. I told him it’d be hard to ever date again, because he’d set such a high standard for me. How he’d accompany me home on the subway, all the way up uptown, and if not he’d pay for a cab. He sent me flowers to Scotland, the poems the songs the music he gifted me. His witty and engaging e-mails every morning and every night, I will miss them every day. Amongst all of the things he blessed me with, the greatest gift was the way he saw me. He did not subjectify me, which so many do.. he truly saw me for who I was and dug to find out more. The random nooks and crannies of my personality he cherished even the parts of me that confused him and caught him off guard. There is something so right about him and just not right about us. I cannot put my finger on it nor discern the reason.

We had the discussion last night. Something in me feels remorse, yet settled. We hunkered over candles at our favorite French café. We broke the fast with a glass of wine. We stared at each other with painful stares, we reminisced and I told him all the ways he’s impacted me. He told me he wasn’t a great friend and probably wouldn’t be in contact for a while. We spoke of all the things we never said and he prayed blessings over me before we parted. With tears in my eyes and pain hidden behind his, we hugged in the rain as he put me in a cab. It is finished.

He is away

He is gone this week, away on business. He is sick this week, a fever, a cough, an upset stomach and he is away. I meant to have a very somber, maybe tear-filled, possibly difficult talk with him on Sunday. But, it didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the timing, perhaps it was the fact that he is consoling his best friend, our mutual friend, who had just broken up with his girlfriend. I don’t know, but the words would not come, the moment didn’t lend to the discussion I felt we needed to have. Now he is sick, he is in some hotel in California feeling horrible, telling me that he has a hard time receiving, but from me it seems so much easier. We’ve been conversing over e-mail. I love his beautiful off the cuff prose and I hate that he is sick. I feel tortured in this purgatory of love, some form of love and this eminent looming separation. The close and tender care is still there, although, an end seems inevitable.

The Doldrums

I told him I was feeling “yellow light” about our relationship. I expressed openly that I felt he was running too far ahead in his mind, too fast. I feared he was picturing me with a ring on my finger in the first month! Now it has been three months and I feel as if our relationship has not progressed at all. He still barely touches me, and I too take his queue and barely feel comfortable touching him. We share about our lives and write lovely prose to one another daily.. but I don’t sense any emotional depth developing. He feels like a really good friend. We see each other just about once a week. Maybe two times in a weekend and we sit across tables at restaurants and talk. He tells me he misses me via text and sometimes I think.. I just don’t miss him.

A month ago I had sent him an early e-mail joking about showing up unannounced at his apartment and how I pictured him hunched over his computer fast at work, with his mother’s recipe for cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. As if he was waiting for me, hoping I’d show up. That night when we’d planned to hang out, I showed up at his apt. and there were cinnamon rolls baking in the oven.

On Valentines Day, I was in Scotland, Edinburgh, to be exact, visiting a friend. This would have been the very first Valentine’s Day that I would actually have a valentine and possibly a date. He made me the sweetest hand typed valentine encased in the envelope of a “Modern Love” by David Bowie 45 record. He gave it to me before I left on my trip. Once the 14^th of February arrived, so did a bouquet of deep red tulips.. IN SCOTLAND!

On my return from this trip across the sea, arriving at Newark airport, looking quite a fright after a very early, very long flight, I dizzily exited the terminal looking for the air Tran only to find him standing there with a sign, with my name on it, waiting to greet me and take me home.

It is now almost a month later and so far from his sweet attempts at showing his affection. I thought we were unmoored, in a good way, detached from the harbor prepared to let the current take us away. Maybe we hit stagnant waters; maybe we drifted into the unseen doldrums. I am seeing him tonight, after not seeing him for a week and next week he is away on business. I am curious to see if my affection is enflamed by his absence or if this slow stream screeches to a halt. Only God knows the path of the currents.

Just A Taste

http://dontsmokemusic.com/mix/

Me and my lady have been together for a year now. And it is because of this past year that I can say with confidence that love exists. Gross I know, but you can benifit!

Behind every great love story; is even greater music.

So here is my love playlist for the last year: my LOVELIST if you will.

Facebook bombarded me with this piece of information today. My first love has now been with his current girlfriend for a year now and he has displayed his love for her through a beautiful mix that I must say, touches me in all those deep parts and places that he once awakened in me. I probably should not have downloaded this mix. I probably shouldn't be listening to it right now or letting my mind go to all the weepy sad places it is going. But, I did love this man. I loved all the little intricate details that I knew of him in the short time we were together. I was sad to loose him, circumstances changed and our young love was not strong enough to survive a distant move. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever feel the same intensity of love and desire again. I like to think my mom was right when she said to me, "Honey, he was just an appetizer. Just a taste of the real thing."

Mornings

mornings - frank o'hara

I've got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death

in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe

chills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow

At night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutes

I miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine

although I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you'd be proud of

the parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle

what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it

is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone

Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I'll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go

Chapter Two

Three weeks we were separated. In the beginning it was so hard. We’d had the DTR (Define the Relationship) discussion. We had decided we wanted to take a swing at this thing and thus it began. Only, Christmas arrived and with it, the two of us traveling apart for three weeks. I could tell he didn’t want to start this relationship off with endless text messages; phone calls every night, and incessant communication. So we shared sparse communication and watched our anticipation rise.

Finally he returned to the city. My heart beat rapidly at the thought of our reunion. He asked if I could meet him up for dinner, he had a plan. I arrived at his house and we exchanged an awkward hug, the presence of our two bodies finally meeting again was filled with electric intensity. He stiffened up and barely could bring himself to touch me. We went out to dinner. He’d chosen a Venezuelan restaurant with blood orange walls and bobble head shrines adding to the décor. I loved it. I felt as if the atmosphere was so very us... whatever “us” might be. We chatted rapidly about the screen play he is writing and about the places I’d visited. We laughed out loud at the inside jokes that had already begun to form. We ventured back to his place for Manhattans and a couple folk songs played on his guitar. I decided that there was something to this, something special and unique about this man. The anticipation and excitement of something so brand new, it filled me with awe.

Three months now, spent with him, quickly approaches. We have now shoved off, unmoored in this relationship; to use his terminology. It is a strange place to be. No longer any need for frivolous flirtations. The immediate mystery is gone, but overshadowed by the ever increasing understanding that there is just so much more to know and learn about one another. He has taken me on so many dates that we now cherish the moments spent just doing life in the comfort of our homes. We are learning to rest together; a whole new phase. Friday night we plan to tuck away in a coffee shop and write. I still get nervous with each new chapter. Just beginning to get used to the last. But I have decided not to fret, not to fear the unknown, but to embrace the change and see where it might take us. I actually think I might like this chapter better than the last. Only time will tell the length of this novel. For now, I sit pretty just beginning Chapter two.

To love...

Glorious Fear

I am afraid of commitment. Afraid with the kind of fear that closely attaches itself to the deepest desires of my heart. I can’t even think about it; so I run away from it. I have never dated anyone longer than three months. Many of these men have been such wonderful, generous, loving men that their ultimate desire for marriage has scared me shitless. The close and almost tangible reality that I could quite possibly marry one of these men, if I wanted to, has sent me runaway bride style, galloping away on the back of a horse wearing a big white fluffy wedding dress. Not quite, but hopefully you get the picture.

Once, I went on a few dates with a friend and actually enjoyed the dating experience until he told me of a conversation he had with a close friend of his, “I told him you were perfect except for the fact that you aren’t athletic, haha. Do you play tennis?” I knew then and there he was boldly picturing me in a tight white tennis outfit, wearing the four karat diamond he’d put on my finger, while I beat him at the sport on an early Saturday morning. We never went out again. My last boyfriend was so kind, caring and loving that I couldn’t let him be that for me anymore. It all seemed too close to the real thing; grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner before a long talk and a long make out session on his futon, three nights a week!

I thought this one was different. I have been seeing him for a little over a month now and I’m enjoying him so much.. I didn’t think that fear had the same hold anymore. My boldness and ease has amazed me. Even after he declared his intentions for me, stating his desire to know me better, after he told me that he wasn’t dating for recreational purposes but ultimately wanted a life long committed relationship. Even then I didn’t freak.. I hung in there and was honest with him. This thing, this relationship has been a breath of fresh air and just so easy.

Until... he decided to surprise me last week. “Hey, you free tonight? I have an idea that might just be crazy enough to work. Meet me at the Barnes and Nobel on W. 66^th a little before 7:30. OH and you might wanna dress up a little bit.” I was so excited all day long, filled with anticipation and wonder. I could not believe this man was surprising me... on a Wednesday…was it my birthday? As soon as I met up with him, saw him wearing a tie, hearing him say the words, “We are going to the Opera,” my heart went numb, cold even. I freaked. We did have a lovely time, but that draw to him, that uncontrollable, untouchable attraction for him slipped away. All day I felt as if there was a humming bird trapped in my rib cage, and there, in his presence, in all of his kind, thoughtful, creative generosity, that bird seemed to break free and fly away.

The days following, I took some time to evaluate my own heart and mind, my past, my own fears and desires so closely connected they are hard to tell apart. I decided not to run away. I decided to just stay, to calm down and wait; to stick around until the next date. Slowly but surely the days leading up to our next encounter, that desire filled anticipation came back, this time with less fear. I am choosing to walk on and press in, to see where this leads me, without fear and without restraint. I will let those desires rise and I won’t gallop away from them, even if I do freak out.

Appropriate

He told me he was surprising me tonight and I needed to be a little dressed up. I told him I wasn't going to have time to go home and change.

I sent him this image and asked him if my attire was appropriate. He responded by saying he thought the dress was a little edgy, but the hat totally pulled it together.

I cannot wait to see where he takes me!

cheers to 2010!

Happy New Year! Thank you for being such devoted supporters through 2009. Here's to a new year filled with Life, Love, Relationships and New York City! Cheers!

Love in the new year

Misses and Kisses

How can I miss someone I barely even know? I don’t miss people. Sounds strange, cold hearted maybe; alas, it’s true. I think of people often and wish they were near, but I don’t miss them, long for them. I think I am just used to people leaving or being far away. Some of my closest friends have never lived on the same continent as me. I supposed I have those I miss, but I miss them in a fleeting thought, lonely lost letter type of way. When someone pops into my brain and I remember my love for them, I stop and I write them a note, send them a text, or send up a prayer for their well being. Soft sighs, slight smile, on with my day. My heart hurts with a deep down ache I am not accustomed to. I don’t like it, but it stirs hope in me. I don’t know what to do with this anxious, needy, giddy, longing that is grabbing at my gut! I want him to pursue me, and he is.. But I must restrain my excitement, I musn’t tell him how I feel, I must just keep it locked up inside.. for now. I need to nail my ass to the seat and wait, sit in the tension and the squirmy, uneasy, happiness that is creeping up inside me. All in due time, all in due time.

Time will discern

“J, will you have coffee with me six times a week plz?” His spare texts make my cheeks warm. I sit in anticipation for his witty banter and sarcastic tones. He makes me laugh. I am intrigued by every story and turn of the conversation. We’ve gone out a couple times now, and each evening a reservation has been made, the time has been watched closely and every door is open ahead of me. I even caught him intentionally walking on the street side of the sidewalk. Pleasantly surprised by his gentlemanly behavior, I welcome it warmly. Our conversation on any given date consists of topics ranging from Orwellian non-fiction to the art of whisky cocktails. He digs up a side of me that has lain dormant and dead for so long. After all, I tend not to lean the conversation towards, mise-en-scene or the commodification of human life with just anyone; most of my friends just don’t swing that way. I’ve found myself growing frustrated, his presence inspires me to create again. I want to display that artist in me, I want to wear it through my clothes and hang it on my walls, but feel stuck in the place I am in. This frustration has been closely coupled with excitement, anticipation for an outlet, a new phase of life, turning back to those things that once brought me so much joy. Much too early on in this thing... dare I say relationship? We’ve talked about screen plays we want to write and films we’d love to make. Possibly, quite possibly, could we do this together? Time will tell the tale. Time will discern the outcome.

Rushmore at midnight

2009.12.7 Rushmore at Midnight

Before Monday: We’d met several times before; a friend of a friend type thing. Each meeting, we hit it off, chatting on and on about the tortures of writing and our oddly similar taste in obscure films. Yet, time and time again, no effort was made to connect beyond these random sightings. Until..

Monday: “Meet me at Sunshine Theater, Friday night. A midnight showing of Rushmore with me and a friend.”

Appearances might state our differences. I work in finance, graduated from NYU with vast, frustrating ambitions. He moved to New York out of high school to write for a tech savvy blog site. He’s casual and rides his skateboard to work. I’ve had dapper and distinguished men of style introduce me to international, elite art clubs; I’ve been taken to fancy dinners and intellectual talks at the Yale Club. However, the prospect of Rushmore at midnight had me twisted with anticipation unlike any of the suave dates previous. This man somehow (most likely without realizing it) found the key to my heart and turned the key.

Friday: Rushing through the day exhausted, I made it just in time. Meeting and greeting me outside, he handed me a ticket as we hurried to our seats. Stated fact, I love Wes Anderson and had never seen this, the film that brought his vast recognition. It was perfect, impeccable, I cried throughout with tears of laughter. By the end I was soo thoroughly pleased, I wished it wouldn’t end. He and his sister walked me to the train. Passing Christmas trees, I expressed my love and he admitted he hasn’t had one since moving to the city. Forty minutes later, I received a text from him thanking me for coming out and telling me he had purchased a Christmas tree on his walk home.

Saturday: Waking up early I’d promised my roommates I’d participate in a kitchen cleaning overhaul. Nine hours later, my roommates had been long gone as I was left to finish the job. Having three cocktail parties on the docket for the night, I decided not to bear the thought of putting on a dress and heels to traipse into the snow for these parties. I sent a text instead. “I am so embarrassed; I forgot to pay you back for the film last night. When will I see you again to pay you back?” An immediate response followed. “I’m not worried about the price of the ticket, only hurt. When are you free?” Elated, I responded, I’d canceled my other plans and was free that night. We had dinner, talked for two hours and went to view another film.

Two dates in one weekend. I must like this guy. I do like him. I just really like him. I am enticed to hope this could be the beginning of something great.

Smoke

Dear Mr. Grennan taught me how to smoke. He moved my fingers to grip the cigar, clipped the tip, he told me to breathe in to help the fire catch, “Don’t inhale!...well, just enough, then release the smoke.” Gorm, the Norwegian Lumberjack, was there too, and my friend Mary. She and I spent the weekend in LA with these two friends. They introduced us to Guinness and gave us our first puff. Plumes of musk rose from Cuban cigars and a Norwegian pipe, we sat on the roof of Angeles Temple with the Foursquare cross glowing behind us. We had a view of the city in the warm summer air and a reminder of a great female preacher that fed the poor and saw the lame walk. She started a movement in the building I now sat atop learning to smoke and drink, respectably, with the boys.. and Mary.

Following that night I’d meet back up with Mr. Grennan and smoke cigars on the beach, or along cobble stone walks whenever he’d come to town. It was a ritual, a tradition, I enjoyed it. I haven’t smoked much since I moved to the east coast, but the guys always find it sexy, cool, their eyes get wide then small as they grin and nod their heads in approval. I don’t care much what they think, but I find it interesting. Is it really still considered cool to smoke? This weekend I shared a cigar on a roof top, over looking the city with friends, and then again the next night, I shared a minty French cigarette, as I took a stroll along the Brooklyn promenade, I enjoyed each one, each flavoring my memories.

I was raised to hate the smell of smoke. My grandparents smoked, my uncles and aunts smoked. The addiction ripped through my family and clings to them still. My papa died a horribly, slow and painful death caused by his beloved “cancer sticks.” Cigarettes clouded my childhood. Although, I remember about a year or two after he died, someone close to me on the street lit up right behind me. They practically blew the smoke in my face, a disgusting gesture. However, instead of my normal rage induced response, I was instantly taken back to my papa.. my grandfather that loved me and called me his favorite. The memory was so fresh, it felt real and present. I do not enjoy when people blow their hazardous debris in my face, but I do enjoy that familiar smell, the taste, it reminds me and strangely comforts me. I do not promote the habit, but I do enjoy making the decision, on occasion, to enjoy a smoke, perhaps on a damp night or a memorable evening.