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Waiting to Exhale
By Diane E. Robertson
Amber waved her pack of cigarettes at me after our first day of high school. “Care for a smoke, Callie?”
I shook my head no as we walked toward the library. “That trip to visit your cousin this summer must’ve been something. Is she the one who introduced you to smoking?”
“Oh, come on,” Amber said. “It’s not like drugs or alcohol. Don’t you even want to try it?”
“No.” I watched as she inhaled like a pro. “Smoking is one habit I’ll never inherit.”
“But everybody does it.”
“Fine. They can stink up their clothes and hair. But I know the consequences. Mom used to brag about it, like she was a veteran. `Thirty years now,’ she’d say as she inhaled her daily pack. But then she got emphysema. ‘Say hello to your nonsmoking mother,’ she tells me now. And you know my dad’s story,” I continued. “How he puffed his way to a triple-bypass.”
Amber blew out smoke, and acted bored. “Yeah, I know.”
I wished that Amber would get a wake-up call. I had hoped we could ease into the big new world of high school together, but already she was changing. It seemed that we didn’t have as much to talk about on our walks anymore. As the warm weather turned into autumn, the thought of being left behind terrified me.
One day Amber said, “I’m going over to Jenny’s after school. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“OK.” I felt awful, so I hurried home where I could be alone with my tears. My parents wouldn’t return from work for hours. Maybe I could bury my feelings in food. As I hunted around the refrigerator for something delicious to eat, I spotted the carton of cigarettes that Mom now referred to as her “security blanket.” “I promise not to smoke again,” she told me. “I just feel better knowing they’re there.”
Right now I felt a little insecure myself. Something made me reach in and take a pack of Mom’s smokes. I felt ashamed, but more than anything, I wanted to fit in with my friends.
I went to my room and locked the door. Then I sat at my dressing table, opened the pack and pulled out a cigarette. Now I could add petty theft to my list of growing problems. I lit up, took a deep drag and silently counted to 10 while I fought not to cough. Then I exhaled, mesmerized by the grey cloud of smoke that floated out of my mouth. “Who are you?” I asked the image in the mirror. “Someone who sold herself out,” I answered. I practiced for a while, then aired out my room, shampooed my hair, and washed my smelly clothes.
The next day while Amber and I walked to the library, I mustered the courage to light up. Would this moment change my life?
“Hey,” she said. “You’re looking pretty cool, Callie.”
I smiled but said nothing. When we reached the library, we stood outside and finished our cancer sticks. I felt phony, like I was an actress.
“Hi, Callie,” said Dan as he walked by. He was in my algebra class and very cute. He seemed to look at me in a puzzled way, and then entered the library.
Minutes later Amber and I also went in for some serious homework time. We found a table near Dan, and I settled down and pulled out my books. Minutes later, as I wrestled with an equation, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and my heart raced for a few beats. “Hi, Dan. What’s happening?”
“I just wanted to tell you that you look like a totally different person when you smoke.”
My stomach flipped. But I sensed that he hadn’t intended it as a compliment. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it changes your whole personality.” He looked straight into my eyes, as if he really cared and was trying to help me.
I bit my lip and felt my face redden. “Thanks for sharing.”
Dan walked away and we never brought it up again. His remark haunted me though because I felt like he saw right through me. For a while I continued to imitate my friends, but over time I realized that smoking was not for me, and I found the strength to quit. Slowly I gravitated toward new friends with more common interests. It wasn’t easy, but I finally became comfortable with myself. I realized that being uncool was really pretty cool after all. |
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