I Started Smoking Again

I started smoking, after work. Oh, you know, work, those cunts are enough to drive anyone back to the old tobacci, as they say. Maybe, I should get a new job rather than a new packet of smokes.

My addiction councillor, Jackie, says it might help to record my fails at quitting, so I can look back and use it somehow to stop smoking completely. 

I'm not really sure how that works, but assume more information will help somehow. I guess it’s gotto. Hey?

Jackie is pretty fierce. She has a take-no-prisoners attitude to addiction and her clients. 

Keep trying to stop! Never stop trying to stop, is the motto.

I say nervously, fingering my cigarette packet. I like it all. The smell. The taste. The feeling. Just holding it in my hand, I think. I like all of that. The packet. The lighter. Putting it to my lips. The action of the lighter. How I hold my head as the tip turns red. Inhaling, that lovely feeling. The smoke rising up off it, and swirling about my head. Inhaling the aroma. I like it all. 

The smoke swirling in the rays of the afternoon sun, when I sit out the back on my wicker chairs in the garden. I have taken photos of that, I have to admit. The beauty of that white smoke swirling in the rays making them visible to the eye.

I guess I am supposed to call the group and admit my failings?

That’s how it works, in Group Think, Jackie’s Quit Smoking Group. She guarantees success, one of the reasons I signed up, a guarantee, or your money back. That has to count for something.

Jackie is a treat with her green hair and her thick black rimmed glasses. She swears and drinks like a fish, which I really want to point out to her is, surely, against her ethos. The drinking. But I guess it is more do as I say, not as I do, that’s how the world works anyway, isn’t it.

When she calls me, she is always yelling into the phone. “James, James, is that you?”

“Yes.”

“James, James, speak up I can’t here you, the reception is bad here.”

“Yes, Jackie, it’s me.”

“James?”

“Yes.”

“James Matterhorn?”

“Yes, Jackie, it’s James Matterhorn here.”

“Oh, good, I’m glad I’ve got you James. I wasn’t sure I had the right number.”

“You have the right number,” I yell into the phone.

“Okay, okay, no need to yell, I’m on the same fucken planet as you James.”

“I thought it was the reception?”

“It’s not that bad, keep your pants on.”

“Okay.”

“We have a meeting of Group Think next Friday.”

“Is that the Friday coming up? Or is that the next one?”

“It’s the next one.”

“So, Friday week?”

“No James, next Friday. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Jackie I’m listening.”

“Friday 31st?”

“Um, er, ah, let me just find my phone. Now where did I put my phone?”

“The one you are talking into?”

“Oh yes. Ha ha. Goodness me. Now just a minute, where is my calendar.”

The call drops out.

The phone rings.

“It is next Friday the 31st, James, did you get that?”

“Yes Jackie, next Friday.’

“Yes, next Friday, isn’t that what I said?”

“Yes, Jackie it was what you said.”

“Well, I am fucken glad we have that sorted out. James. I’m talking to James, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Jackie, James here.”

“Just with all this ringing around, sometimes I’m not always sure.”

“No, I got it Jackie.”

“Abe won’t be coming, he’s dead.”

“What?”

“Yes, dead. Heart attack, from all accounts, on a table in a Greek restaurant smashing plates.”

“OMG! That’s terrible. Poor Abe.”

“Yes, indeed, went down like a bag of shit, from all accounts, dead before he hit the floor. Poor Abe.”

"Poor Abe."

“Anyway, everyone else with be there, Even Hatchet Betty, she’s out of hospital, the wounds have healed and the charges have been dismissed, so that’s good news.”

“Really? Is it?”

“Good news for Betty.”

“But what about the rest of us?”

“She’s just misunderstood.”

“I thought the problem was medical.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, James.”

“I thought the problem was that she stopped taking her anti-psychotic medicine.”

“Yes, well, she’s back on them now, James, and as gentle as a lamb.”

“Good to here.”

“So, can you bring a plate?”

“To Group Think?”

“Yes James.

“Next Friday?”

“James, I am pretty sure we have been over this.”

“I’m just wanting to be clear, Jackie.”

“Good habit to get into, James, don’t get me wrong.”

“Yes, Jackie.”

“Remember, just good habits, James.”

“Yes, just good habits.”

“Lovely. Next Friday then.”

"Yes."

I went and emptied the ashtray, as soon as I hung up the phone. I got a chill up my spine as I did. It was my shame. I didn’t tell Jackie. I’m not really sure why? Guilt. A sense of failure? Ego? I don’t know? All I knew is that I had until next Friday to stop smoking again. Could I go to a meeting while I was smoking? No. No, I couldn’t do that. Out of the question. 

I had a week to stop again.

Good Morning, Sunshine

I walked out onto my balcony to see what sort of day it was, hot or cold? It’s been warm, followed by cold, stormy and wet.

It’s been raining all morning. It is cool but muggy. Lovely.

No, I think Melbourne’s changeable weather is way over exaggerated.

Now, I had only just cracked open the coffin lid, as I stepped out onto my Juliet balcony, over looking my street, the day, the world.

That was as I stepped outside into the morning to discover it was a lovely day, 25, or so, and sunny, with a breeze. And with that, I was quite pleased.

It was early, 9.30am. Lovely.

What to do for the day? What indeed.

I made a promise to be more, to all of my friends. But life got in the way, as life has a habit of doing. We all haven't talked in so long, you know together, around the same table so to speak, but it doesn’t seem to matter, it’s as though no time has passed when we do get together. That’s what friends are.

I feel like we are always working now a days, it seems to be a given, a sign of being productive. I found a local news article that describes ways we can fill our lives with work rather than love. It's easier than it sounds, ha, ha. But then, we all look like we have already found the secret.

Work to live, that’s my motto, it was Australia’s motto once. Not live to work. We need to rediscover the dinner table laden with food and wine, surrounded by friends and long evenings to consume all of it. Forget the board table Australia and go home to your loved ones. The corporate world eats it’s young and leaves the carcass bleeding in its wake, don’t forget that.

I see the young kid from down the road jog passed in those little black shorts and that kind of uncoordinated way he has a jogging. He has a particular look on his face, when he jogs, kind of expressionless mannequin crossed with disappointment. I don’t know how old he is? I remember seeing him in his dark blue school uniform, but that was probably a few years ago now. It’s funny how we all jog in our 20s when we don’t need to and then we all sit on the couch in our 40s when we do need to jog. It has something to do with sex, 20 year olds get lots of sex, 40 year-olds not so much.

He’s probably 20 now and going to uni now. 2nd year. Isn’t that what they all do? Kids from trendy middle class families. Go to uni. I look down and spot a nearly unsmoked joint in the ashtray on my balcony wicker table. I slide it into my mouth and light it. I couldn’t quite remember when I left it there. I went to uni, of course, but that doesn’t lessen my argument, about modern youth. The joint is a good vintage, I inhale deeply and exhale up into the sky. The jogging kid, I guess, would have a uni girl friend who he’d study with. Eat lunch. Travel to campus with by public transport. I hoped he’d have a uni boyfriend too. One of each. Really enjoy his uni days. Attend protests. Arm around a girl. Arm around a boy. Get shit faced. I didn’t do any of that at uni. I just studied and felt miserable just about every day I went. I had no one with whom to get shit-faced.

I sat down on one of the wicker chairs. The sun was nice. I was thinking about what I’d do today, but now I didn’t care. I puffed some more on the joint. I blew the smoke into the air high above my head.

The sky was blue.

“Come on Nat, we haven’t got much time to get to the concert,” says Lachlan. “And I’ve heard Atomic Waste goes on right on time.”

“Oh Lachie, no band goes on on time, they just don’t.”

“They do, apparently Spiro the lead singer has OCD bad and he has to.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Nat, this is Ashleigh, he’s coming to the concert too.”

“Hi Ashleigh,” says Nat.

“Nice to meet you,” says Ashleigh.

“So, how do you two guys know each other?” asks Nat.

“We do the same European History tute,” says Lachlan.

“You studying Arts too, Ashleigh.”

“Arts/Law,” says Ashleigh.

“Does the Arts degree soften the Law?”

“Something like that,” says Ashleigh.

“So, you can explain the ethics of what you do to your clients…”

“Something like that.”

“Or, so you can justify draining the folks of their life savings when you draw up the legal papers.”

“I was hoping to work in public law after I graduate.”

“Is that because you don’t have the stomach for corporate world.”

“Hey Nat, you are being a bit aggressive,” says Lachlan.

“No, it’s okay,” says Ashleigh. “I’ve got choices to justify, if only to myself.”

“Oh, am I? Sorry,” says Nat.

“Don’t be,” says Ashleigh. “It’s good, I like robust discussions.”

“You know my parents are going through a messy divorce.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” says Ashleigh.

“Yeah, me too,” says Nat.

“I bought us a couple of joints for the walk to Rod Laver,” says Lachlan. “Let’s smoke them as we walk through the park.”

“Get them out,” says Nat.

“The joints?” questions Lachlan.

Ashleigh laughs.

“You guys,” says Nat.

Lachlan puts both joints in his mouth and lights them.

"Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars," says Nat.

Lachlan hands each of them a joint.

“Now Voyager,” says Ashleigh.

Lachlan exhales a huge cloud of smoke. “Nat is an old movie buff.”

“I study drama…” says Ashleigh.

“You study drama?” questions Nat.

“It’s my one indulgence,” says Ashleigh. “My one frivolity.”

“Frivolity,” asks Lachlan.

Nat hands her joint to Ashleigh. Ashleigh hands his joint to Lachlan.

“We just watched Now Voyager, my lecturer is a Bette Davis nut,” says Ashleigh.

“Is she the old chick with all the white makeup who fed the budgie to her sister?” asks Lachlan.

“Yes, Baby Jane,” says Nat.

Lachlan hands his joint to Nat. Ashleigh hands his joint to Lachlan.

“I’m not really into old movies,” says Lachlan.

“I find them interesting,” says Ashleigh. “It’s another world that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Exactly,” says Nat. “Great analogy.”

Nat and Lachlan hand both their joints to Ashleigh.

“Wow, hang on, are you guys trying to get me shit faced,” says Ashleigh.

“You catch on quick,” says Lachlan.

“I’d be into it,” says Nat. She smiles at Lachlan. Lachlan can’t help but smile as he looks from Nat to Ashleigh.

Ashleigh hands one of the joints to Nat.

The crowds started forming as they approach the stadium.

“Come on, lets go,” says Lachlan. He grabs Nat’s hand and Ashleigh’s hand and he runs them down the hill to the people milling around the entrance.

Nat and Ash take awkward last puffs on the joints and then throw them almost in unison onto the grass as they run past.

I chuckled a warm, nostalgic, chuckle to myself as I put the split out in the ashtray.

I was already imagining what Lachie, Nat and Ash got up to when they got home to Lachlan's place after the concert.

The Question

Finn asked Chris if he had been unfaithful. Finn just came out with it, in the kitchen as they made coffee.

Chris left the crab ointment on the bathroom bench and Finn had noticed it when he used the bathroom. Finn had had a shower, we’re not using soft language for Finn taking a dump.

Finn could see Chris was taken back, because he was.

“Finn?...” Chris’ eyes glassed over, as if they had already decided. “I never... no.” 

For the last year, since Angelo gave crabs to Chris, just occasionally Chris has felt something crawling on his skin. It had a really high ‘ick’ factor for him. In those moments, he puts the ointment on, for peace of mind, more so than anything else. He changes his sheets, washes his clothes and then he feels everything is fine. 

I don’t even really feel them, as such, Chris has said. It’s just a feeling, a passing shiver up my spine, I get sometimes.

Angelo still lives up the street. He's just finishing uni. But Chris hasn't, you know, not since he met Finn. Well, maybe that one time right at the beginning, but Chris counted it as before Finn, when he got the damn crabs.

“I know. I just wondered,” said Finn. He was quiet after that.

Chris suppressed the urge to confess. Brain kicked in. It was one of those red stop-light moments. Don't say anything. Count to ten. Do not question. Don't pull a face. Keep your mouth shut.

“I have only been with you,” said Chris. And that was true. He’d been with Angelo moments before he met Finn, but that still counted as before. Chris thinks he was still dealing with the crabs when he and Finn drunkenly hooked up that first time.

“Me too,” said Finn. “I’ve only been with you.” Chris guessed Finn felt he should add that, you know, in the spirit of the conversation.

“The cream is psychosomatic,” said Chris. “It is all in my head.”

“What is?”

“The crawling on my skin,” said Chris.

“The crawling on your skin?”

“Yes, not another man,” said Chris.

Finn laughed nervously. “Is that why the cream is on the bench?”

“Yes, that’s why the cream is on the bench.”

“What? Crab ointment?”

“Yes. I had a struggle to get rid of them once. And sometimes I feel them. Imagined, don’t worry. But…” Chris shook all over. “Yuk.”

“They can’t hurt you?”

“Have you ever had them?”

Finn blushed. “Yeah, sure, um...”

“How many times?”

“Oh, come on, you don’t expect me to admit to that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You might think less of me.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“How many times have you had them?”

“More than once,” said Finn. “Is that enough information?”

“So, bigger than a bread box?”

Finn laughed. “Yes, sure, let’s say that.”

“So many many times is what I am hearing?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t use quite so many manys.”

“So many times?”

“It doesn’t really sound much better.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Oh?” Finn looked crestfallen.

“Oh, Finn, I am kidding you.”

“Sure.”

“Yes, positive, I don’t care how many times you have had them, despite only ever having them once myself.”

“What?”

“It’s a joke.”

Finn inhaled noticeably. “My house mate used to call me pigpen, because of how many times I had them.”

“Oh.” Chris kept a blank face for as long as he could, but eventually he couldn’t help but smile. “Is that a Peanuts reference.”

“Yes.”

This Is It

This is it. There is nothing else. Only this. This is our shot, don't fuck it up. You don't get another shot at it. No. Never. No chance.

And when it is done?

It's over, all over, everything is over, never to come again, done, finished, final. Minute by minute. Life time by life time. Only what is coming, will come. The only thing you have control over is your positioning against the thing that comes.

You can choose what you get, to an extent, by a positive outlook, a cheery face to the world. The best way to face it is to be happy. Content. In a random world, chose life. Chose happiness and everything else will take care of itself. With some luck. But a good nature super charges luck, haven’t you heard?

Be happy. Make a life of it. As there is no going back, there is no revision, there is no practice run, there is no re-write, there is no chance to start again. Sorry to inform you. But, you must have known.

This is it! 

It is happening now.

It’s draining out of you now, draining away. Your life, even if you don’t notice, it is happening. Right now, ebbing away. Minute by minute, second by second, you are closer to the end than you were before, even if you don’t feel it.

“Do you think I look older?”

“Older than when?”

“Than five minutes ago?”

“Oh, darling.”

“This morning?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Than I did last year?”

“Well, if we are talking about last year?”

“Our photos from our trip to Amsterdam?”

“Five years ago?”

“Is it five years ago?”

“The last trip?”

“When you stood in the moonlight in that lime green cagoule?”

“You were smoking those long joints.”

“Do I look older now?”

“That was five years ago?

“My how the time disappears.”

“You are lovelier now…”

“That wasn’t the question?”

“What was the question?”

“Do I look older?”

“You are as beautiful now…”

“Than when we drove that Fiat around southern Europe?”

“Twenty years ago?”

“Than when Oliver was born?”

“He’s twenty one years old?”

“He got your good looks.”

“He looks so much like you that if we put a dress on him…”

“Do I look older now, than then?”

“When you were red faced and screaming as he slid out of you?”

“To think that big boy came out of me.”

“It is the only time I have ever believed in miracles.”

“Do I look older than that night on the dance floor?”

“When we met?”

“What was the song that was playing?”

“You sexy thing.”

“You sexy thing?”

“Ah yes, I remember it like yesterday.”

“Do I look older than that night?”

“You had a mass of blonde curls.” 

“You had long dark hair.”

“You were lovelier than the sun and the moon and all the flowers in between.”

“We danced together until dawn.”

“I loved you from the very moment we were introduced.”

“I think I loved you from that moment too.”

“That was thirty years ago.”

“Do I look older now than then?”

“No.”