I quit smoking for the first time 19 years ago. Being battered with PSAs after every doctor’s visit and cough in front of the family will get anybody to quit anything. I started again two winters ago.
Money got tighter and tighter, I didn’t want the misses to start working again, but she knew as much as I did that she had to.
She started serving at Dee’s Diner, and I struggled more and more getting labor work in town. Winter made everything slow down here.
It’s kind of funny to think about, in order to support my wife and daughter, I had to spend less time with them. The wife was fine working days at the diner, as her mom lived down the way and always watched our kid, but it hurt me.
The strain of distance stung. Every time I pressed down on the gas, it hurt my heart. Every county line I passed squeezed my throat. Every new state I visited kicked me in the gut. So, I started smoking again.
Smoking preoccupies. With nothing to focus on besides gears, the wheel and the road, a cigarette was a much-needed distraction. So I smoked. And smoked. And smoked, like I used to all those years ago.
My wife knew when I came back from my first trip. She smelled it on that thick flannel jacket I wore year round. She accepted it. She didn’t give me another PSA on lung cancer and the disastrous effects smoking has on your teeth. She knew I needed it.
Smoking brought me back home, each drag was a trip through my memories. With each journey lasting longer than the last. There were less fixated thoughts and more wandering ones.
My family’s faces were fading, and believe it or not, that was a good thing.
They were bonding, making memories to remember forever, and I was driving this damn truck. Went from buying packs to buying cartons. They lasted less and less during my drives, but it was a necessary evil.
Smoking kills. Maybe that’s why I started again. There are a lot of reasons why I did. I don’t mention that I’ll light a smoke and won’t put my lips to it. Sometimes real late I let it burn down on its own. The smell would keep me up like a warm cup of coffee.
And when it burned the cigarette closer and closer to its butt, my fingers were waiting. The burning ash touched my fingers, jolting me awake and reminding me that if it wasn’t going to kill me today, it’d catch up to me eventually.
Ian Saunders | The Oswegonian
