1. An Innocent Start.
At first, being married to Jim was a dream, too good to be true. I mean,
we had it all, literally. He and I were college sweethearts. We got married
after graduation and, to top it off, Jim was selected in the first round of
the pro football draft that year. He was a spectacular college quarterback.
Scout drooled over him for two years before the draft. He signed a contract
that summer for an unbelievable amount of money, which included a big
signing bonus, and then went off to training camp, leaving me behind in our
fabulous new home. Yeah, we had it all.
Even Jim’s first two years holding a clipboard on the sidelines didn’t
seem so bad. He was learning, after all. His day in the sun would come
eventually. We were sure. Of course, it never did. That injury to his right
shoulder was more than he could overcome. His pro career was over and he
officially became a first round bust.
Even so, we had the money. Jim’s dad was a whiz with finances. His
investments meant neither of us ever had to work again. That wasn’t Jim,
though. He wanted to work. After his football career ended, he worked at
his dad’s financial planning firm a couple years. But we got tired of being
surrounded by people who only remembered Jim as a former football hero. So
we packed up and moved to a new city, a place where no one remembered his
glory days, a place he could make it on his own merits.
Ellie was born the year Jim had his shoulder injury. She was three when
we moved from Jim’s parents’ hometown. From the beginning Ellie was
precocious. She always seemed to get in trouble. As a stay-at-home mom, she
was all I could handle. We decided not to have more kids. We loved Ellie,
but I wasn’t sure I could handle more than one. Of course I never had to
work. The income from investing Jim’s football signing bonus let us have a
very comfortable lifestyle, and very soon his income as a financial planner
surpassed our investment income. Jim was as successful as a financial
planner/money manager as he’d ever been on the football field. His clients
loved him, Ellie loved him, and I loved him.
Then it happened. Ellie was 8 that year. I paid Jim an unexpected visit
at his office and found him screwing one of his female assistants. I felt
livid; livid and incredibly betrayed. We had a dream life, but in that
instant my dream became a nightmare. That night I threw Jim out of the
house and got myself the best divorce lawyer in town. My lawyer did some
investigating and discovered it wasn’t Jim’s first indiscretion. Behind my
back he’d apparently fucked girls all over town for years. Nearly everyone
but me knew all about it. I was devastated. My life crumbled and I fell
apart.
That was what got me smoking again. I started smoking in high school at
16, and smoked through the end of my second year in college. But once I was
dating Jim, the idealized college quarterback and big man on campus, he
gently urged me to quit. After all, he said, it was sort of bad for his
public image. So I did it, for him. He was right. It wasn’t good for a
highly visible college quarterback, a guy scouted by thirty pro football
teams, to be engaged to be married to a girl who always had a cigarette in
her hand. So I went from being a pack a day smoker, at least, to a total
non-smoker. It hurt like hell to quit. But I did it, like I said, for Jim.
My relapse occurred a week after I threw Jim out of our house. I got
together for drinks with Lisa that night. Lisa was a classic soccer mom.
Wendy, her daughter, was then and still is Ellie’s best friend. Lisa and I
got along great, except she never lost the bad habit I gave up. Lisa still
smoked. Well, that night I drank too much while bitching to Lisa about Jim.
In my inebriated state, I couldn’t stop staring at Lisa and her cigarettes.
Eventually I succumbed. I couldn’t help it. I asked Lisa for a cigarette.
She tried to dissuade me but I ignored her warnings. I thought, just one
won’t hurt. I was right. It didn’t hurt. Not at all. It felt great to smoke
after all those years. Too great. Soon I had a second cigarette, and then a
third. Well, you know what happened. I finished off almost an entire pack
with Lisa that night. By the next morning my old cravings were back and
badder than ever. After a few hours of internal struggle I ultimately waved
the white flag. I drove to a supermarket and bought myself a carton of my
old brand, Benson & Hedges Menthol 100’s, some disposable lighters and,
most significantly, half a dozen ashtrays. I was a smoker again.
Ellie was furious at me. She didn’t understand, but then, non-smokers
never do, do they? I tried to explain it was her dad’s fault, not mine. I
told Ellie I needed comfort in the aftermath of Jim’s betrayal, and that my
cigarettes were always there for me. They always had been. So dependable,
so loyal, so incredibly reliable. In high school and college I relied on
cigarettes to get me through stressful times. They never let me down. Once
Jim and I began dating I instead relied on him to support me. But he was
gone, I explained, so I begged my daughter to have some compassion. I was
brutally honest with 8 year old Ellie that night. Lots of things would be
harder now that her dad was gone. I needed the comfort my cigarettes so
faithfully provided me. I was sorry it made her unhappy but it couldn’t be
helped. I was a smoker again, and that was that.
In the ensuing weeks and months Ellie unsuccessfully tried playing the
health card. She didn’t want me to die. She was afraid smoking would kill
me. She didn’t want to lose me. Blah, blah, blah. I did my best to answer
her honest objections. After all, I pointed out, her friend Wendy’s mom
Lisa smoked and she’d been a regular smoker for as long as we’d known them.
Lisa was the picture of good health, upbeat, outgoing and attractive.
Nothing would happen to me because I fell off the wagon and started
smoking; at least not for many, many years and probably never.
After a while Ellie realized I wouldn’t back down. By the time her 9th
birthday rolled around she finally quit lecturing me about smoking. I was
relieved. I still wasn’t exactly happy about being a smoker again, but I
was still in no condition to give it up. The divorce proceedings with Jim
seemed to stretch out forever. We still weren’t done finalizing our
property settlement or his support obligation. I didn’t stand a chance of
giving up my `comforters,’ as I called my faithful cigarettes, while our
legal haggling continued. Even when it was over, which happened when Ellie
was 9 and a half, I still had neither the will nor the desire to give them
up. My `comforters’ were with me to stay. I knew it. I told Ellie it was
the way it was. It took awhile, but eventually she seemed to accept it as
part of our new life.
Jim still lived in town. Part of our struggle to resolve our differences
involved his visitation rights. Ellie wanted nothing to do with him. It
broke Jim’s heart. He loved her dearly, but she blamed him for destroying
our happy home. I took secret comfort from her bitterness, though I tried
to dissuade her from feeling that way. Jerk or not, he was still her
father. But Ellie was intractable. She didn’t cooperate for a long time,
which led Jim’s lawyer and mine back to court over and over. By the end,
Jim and I were actually on relatively cordial terms. Even though he was
living with another woman, I’d gotten over him at last.
But then Jim launched a battle for legal custody despite, or maybe
because of, Ellie’s stubborn refusal to visit him every other weekend. He
thought if he got her away from my influence he’d win back her affections.
I tried to tell him I wasn’t the problem. It was all Ellie. But he didn’t
believe me. It set the stage for my first hint that Ellie’s feelings about
my smoking had begun to change.
It was a summer afternoon. I wasn’t home. Ellie was 10. We’d lived alone
for two years. A social worker from juvenile court paid an unexpected
visit. Jim’s lawyer knew I wouldn’t be there. I know they planned it so the
social worker could talk to Ellie without me. She was a matronly woman,
Ellie said later, sympathetic and likable. She introduced herself to Ellie
and asked if she could come in. Ellie told her she had to check and see if
I was home first.
Once inside, Ellie collected all my ashtrays and hid them. In the past
we talked about the negative way the authorities felt about my smoking, so
Ellie suspected the social worker was searching for something negative like
my smoking to report on. Ellie was sure the lady was looking for evidence
that I smoked around her. Of course, I did smoke around Ellie all the time.
It was impractical not to. But Ellie understood, and she covered for me
that day. After she hid my ashtrays, she invited the social worker in and
told her I wasn’t home. The lady proceeded to ask Ellie about our living
conditions, did she have enough to eat, did I keep the house clean, that
sort of thing. She specifically asked her if I smoked in the house. Ellie
smiled her most winsome and sincere smile. She assured the social worker
that no, I never smoked in the house, that I only smoked on the back patio
or the screen porch. It was a total fabrication, but the social worker saw
no evidence to the contrary. There wasn’t an ashtray in sight. She reported
to the court and to Jim’s lawyer that I kept a very clean home and
apparently never smoked around my impressionable young daughter.
I was proud of Ellie, and I told her so once I heard what happened. She
may have been just protecting herself from outside interference, but I
sensed her old antagonism about my smoking was softening. She said she had
to protect me and my smoking from `them’ because `they’ didn’t approve and
wouldn’t understand. It would’ve been easy for Ellie to sell me down the
river, to complain about my smoking and about me to the social worker. But
she didn’t. She understood why I needed to smoke even though `they’ didn’t.
I felt my lovely 10 year old was wise beyond her years. I told Ellie how
much I appreciated her, how I valued her willingness to accept my nicotine
habit as a permanent part of our life. Ellie just smiled. She said it was
“no problem.”
Jim finally dropped his custody request. After some court-mandated
counseling sessions, Ellie relented and agreed to visit her dad two
weekends a month. We fell into a new routine and for the first time in
years I felt myself settle down. My divorce was final and I began to date
occasionally, though not seriously. A woman with an 11 year old, even
someone as good looking as me, and I’m still pretty attractive if I do say
so, isn’t what most men are looking for. But I didn’t mind. I had Ellie. We
had each other. And of course, I still had my cigarettes.
Once things did settle down, I again considered giving them up. But I
had to admit I didn’t want to. I loved smoking too much. I always had. I
relished each cigarette I lit up. I smoked not only because I needed to,
though I did, but because I liked it. I cherished the whole smoking
experience. I loved the delectable taste, the ritual of lighting up and
puffing, the gratification I got from inhaling smoke in my lungs and from
exhaling through my lips and nostrils over successive breaths, the
relaxation it gave me; in short, everything about it. I was a smoker. I’d
always been a smoker. And I was now sure I’d always be one.
So I kept smoking, leveling off at one and a half packs a day. I always
smoked full flavor Benson & Hedges Menthol 100’s simply because I liked
them best. I tried lights but they just didn’t do it for me. Time and again
I returned to my yummy old friends, the full flavor B&H Menthol 100’s in
the dark green pack. By the time Ellie turned 12 I stopped hearing any more
complaints from her. She clearly was used to me smoking. She knew why I
smoked, too, since I’d told her many times. I never hid things from Ellie.
She was aware that I enjoyed smoking and simply accepted it. But soon I
found out she was accepting it too much.
Ellie just turned 12. It was a week before Christmas. As usual, we were
home alone. Ellie was watching TV. I was half watching and reading a
magazine. I just lit up a cigarette when the phone rang. I couldn’t find
our portable phone, so I jumped up to search for it. I finally found it in
my bedroom. It was a store calling me about a Christmas gift I ordered, and
the call went on awhile. At one point I remembered I left a cigarette
burning in the TV room, so I slowly walked back, still listening to my
call.
As I reached the door I nearly fainted. I saw Ellie reach in the ashtray
and brazenly pick up my cigarette. Looking around furtively, though not
carefully enough to notice me in the next room, she tapped off an ash and
hurriedly raised the cigarette to her lips. She puffed. After breathing out
a diffuse cloud of uninhaled smoke, she returned it to its position in the
ashtray.
I was stunned. I knew Ellie had quit complaining about my smoking. But
it didn’t occur to me she was interested in trying it. Thinking back on it,
though, I should’ve known. She’d recently begun quizzing me about it,
asking why I smoked, why I liked it, that sort of thing. At the time it
seemed innocuous. But now I realized what she was doing. She was
investigating it because she wanted to try it herself.
I finished my call. Marching in the room, I stood there, towering over
my daughter.
“Ellie, I just lit up that cigarette before the phone rang. Someone
tapped off the ash.”
She stared at the ashtray, seeming to realize her mistake. An untouched
cigarette would have a long ash. This one didn’t.
She looked up and gulped. “Oh, yeah. Well, I just thought I’d fix it for
you, Mom.”
“Bullshit,” I grumbled. “Nice try! Ellie, have you been smoking?”
“Uh, no, Mom, of course not.”
I couldn’t stand her lying to me.
“Ellie, I saw you pick up that cigarette and puff on it. So don’t lie to
me. How long’s this been going on? I mean, how long have you been smoking?”
She seemed very distressed. “I just wanted to try it,” she whined. “I
don’t smoke, Mom. Honest.”
“How long?” I repeated. “Tell me.”
“I’ve tried a few puffs like that half a dozen times or so the last few
weeks.” She was crying. “I only did it a few times when you left a
cigarette burning. I’m sorry, Mom.” Her face was red and tears streamed
down her cheeks. “I don’t smoke, Mom. I really don’t.”
I was mad. She lied to me. She’d sneaked puffs for weeks. I’m a smoker,
but at that point I was sure I didn’t want my daughter to be one,
especially not at 13. Full of fury, I felt I had to take dramatic action.
“Okay, Ellie. I believe you, but I’m gonna make sure.”
I crushed out the cigarette and grabbed my pack. I shook out a B&H
Menthol 100 and gave it to her. She took it, dumbstruck. I got a second one
for myself.
“What – what’s this for, Mom?”
“I want to find out if you smoke,” I replied angrily. “You’re gonna
smoke an entire cigarette with me. We’ll see if you think it’s so neat!”
Ellie shook her head. She looked mortified.
“Listen, young lady. I won’t have you lie to me, or sneak behind my
back. You say you don’t smoke. Fine. Let’s find out. Put it your mouth.”
Ellie was bawling, but obediently slid the unlit cigarette between her
trembling lips. She held it there awkwardly with her fingers. She could see
I was really mad. I was.
I clicked my lighter. “Now suck on it while I light it for you.”
“Mom, but – why are you doing this?”
“You need to see what smoking’s like,” I fumed. “Not just an occasional
puff, but smoking for real. It’s not as great as you think, Eleanor. So get
ready to suck on it.”
I only called her Eleanor if she was in deep shit, and she knew it. I
touched the flame to the tip of the cigarette in her mouth. She sucked on
it and released a diffuse cloud. No negative reaction, though she was still
crying. It was time to punish her before her experimentation got out of
hand.
“Tell me, do you inhale, Ellie?”
“No,” she whimpered tearfully.
I knew she didn’t. I’d just seen her and she didn’t inhale then. But she
needed to feel the full fury of nicotine. So I angrily persisted.
“Let’s see. Do this.” I demonstrated, pulling on my cigarette and
summoning a ball of smoke down my windpipe and into my chest. “Now you,
young lady. You’ll learn what smoking’s all about!”
Ellie puffed on the cigarette and breathed in. At once she had a
coughing spasm. She was out of control and convulsed, gasping for air as
her chest heaved. In the process she spewed smoke in all directions.
“Oh, it’s terrible,” she finally gasped. “How can anyone do that?”
I smiled viciously. “That’s what smoking does,” I crowed. “Now, again.”
“No, Mommy, please. I promise I won’t smoke. Never. I promise.”
“You’re right, Eleanor. You’ll never smoke and this will make sure. Do
it again. I mean it. Now!”
She did. Ellie puffed on the cigarette. Once more she inhaled smoke into
her young chest. This time she didn’t gag till she exhaled, when another
coughing fit overtook her, her eyes watering and crying harder than ever.
“Ooh. You made your point, Mommy,” she begged. “I won’t do it again. I
promise.”
I was still angry. A cruel smile formed on my lips. “So, you thought
you’d try smoking? It’s not so cool now, is it? But you don’t get off so
easy, Eleanor. Keep doing it. Smoke that whole cigarette. The punishment
should fit the crime. You wanted to smoke? Well, smoke!”
I wasn’t about to back off and Ellie could tell. Silently she continued
to drag on the cigarette and inhale the smoke. Her complexion turned pale
and her hands shook violently as she repeatedly raised the cigarette to her
lips.
After Eliie’s eighth or ninth repetition, I could see she was feeling
sick. “One more,” I proclaimed victoriously. “Then you’re done.”
She hit on the cigarette a last time, not too forcefully, and inhaled.
Smoke spurt from her lips as she crushed it in the ashtray. “I’m sick,” she
moaned. “I’m afraid I might throw up.”
“Then into the bathroom,” I mocked angrily. “Don’t you dare barf in my
living room!”
Ellie rushed to the nearby bathroom. I heard her losing it in the
toilet. I sat back smugly. Well, I made my point. The kid learned her
lesson! As I cooled off, though, I started to feel guilty. Maybe I was too
hard on the poor kid. I didn’t need to make her sick. Ellie wasn’t a
smoker, not really, and she hardly ever lied to me like that. Ignoble
noises kept coming from the bathroom. I decided I’d gone too far. I knew I
should apologize. Ellie and I had always had a good and open relationship.
I didn’t want to hurt it by losing my temper over one relatively small
infraction. If someday she did decide to smoke, I didn’t want to shut down
her willingness to talk to me about that or anything else.
Ellie came back to the living room; her face was white as a sheet. I
cleared my throat.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. But when I saw
you puff on my cigarette, God, I don’t know. It freaked me out. You’re only
13. That’s way too young to smoke. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she sniffled, falling into a chair. “I understand, Mom, I
guess.” She wiped her nose with a tissue. “I was just curious about it.
That’s all. I didn’t mean to lie. But when you asked me, I was afraid to
tell the truth because I thought you’d be mad. I guess you were.”
I should’ve let it go. But I couldn’t. I kept talking.
“Well, I’m sorry. I never should’ve made you smoke a whole cigarette. I
knew you’d get sick, and you sure did,” I said with a compassionate smile.
“I’m sorry. God, it was a dumb thing for me to do.” No response but a
begrudging nod. I went on. “I should’ve realized why you’d be curious about
smoking. You live with me. Look at me. I smoke all the time and I obviously
like doing it. So I understand. It’s just that I don’t want you doing it.
Even though I like it, it is a bad habit. Just because I can’t quit doesn’t
mean you should ever smoke.”
Again, a nod. “Yeah, I know, Mom. I was just curious. For years I’ve
seen you smoke and I started to wonder what it’s like.” She sighed deeply.
“But after today, I don’t think I’ll ever try it again.” She gave a rueful
smile. “Mostly I don’t like you being mad at me, Mom.”
“I don’t like it, either, honey. I’m sorry.” I gave her a big, long hug.
“Still friends?”
“Yeah, still friends,” Ellie nodded. Her color was returning. “Can we
just forget about it now?”
But I didn’t forget. I couldn’t. Ellie’s interest in smoking was my
fault, and I knew it. The only reason she tried it was because I smoked
constantly and refused to quit, despite the times she used to beg me. She
hadn’t asked me to recently, but I was sure all my refusals only piqued her
curiosity. It was the forbidden fruit thing. So despite her assurance she
was done, I doubted if a little nausea would end her curiosity forever.
Eventually she’d probably want to try again. So I kept my eyes open to see
if my suspicion was right. Turns out it was, and it didn’t take long to
find out.
A few weeks later, after Christmas was over and Ellie was back in
school, I was sitting on the couch in the living room with Ellie one
evening. She was struggling to finish a novel for English class at school
and I was immersed in a murder mystery. Since the night I made her puke we
never talked about smoking again. But I suspected her interest hadn’t left.
She was sitting a couple feet away from me on the other side of the couch.
As usual, I was smoking. I’d just lit up a fresh B&H Menthol 100 and held
it in my fingers.
As I turned a page of my novel, I noticed Ellie moving her head. She
moved it so she was directly in the path of the smoke wafting off my
cigarette. I returned to my book, but kept watching from the corner of my
eye. I hit on my cigarette and exhaled slowly, unhurriedly, as I usually
did. Her head moved again, this time so my exhale hit her face.
Significantly, she opened her mouth and breathed in. It looked as if she
was trying to capture some exhaled side-stream smoke for herself, thinking
I wouldn’t notice. But I did.
I was amazed, but really not all that surprised. I thought something
like this might happen sooner or later. With my eyes still fixed on my
novel, I decided to see if I was imagining things. So after my next drag I
exhaled more forcefully, in Ellie’s direction. Sure enough, my daughter
tipped her head again so this thicker stream of exhaled smoke intercepted
her. She breathed in. Clearly she was trying to get some. I smiled but
didn’t say a thing. Mostly, I think, I was amused by her supposedly covert
activity.
In due course I crushed out my cigarette. We kept reading and after 15
minutes I was ready for another one. As I reached for my pack, all of a
sudden Ellie silently laid down on the couch and rested her head on my lap.
With a surreptitious smile I slipped my next cigarette in my mouth and lit
it up. So the little minx wants smoke, does she? I’m not sure why, but this
time I wasn’t mad. It was like we were playing a frivolous game, a game she
didn’t know I was aware of. I decided to play along. What the hell? It
wasn’t hurting anything.
I took a drag and sucked some smoke deep into my lungs. It felt good, of
course. It always does. This time I decided to exhale through my nostrils
instead of my mouth, to push my exhaled smoke straight down into my
surprised daughter’s face. From where Ellie was positioned with her head on
my lap she couldn’t see I was monitoring her reaction. Opening her mouth,
she breathed in deeply as I exhaled. As best she could she pulled my
exhaled smoke into her body. She thought I didn’t know what she was doing
down there, but I saw the whole thing. The next several puffs I repeated my
tactic, breathing out through my nostrils and directing my exhales right at
her. Each time she opened wide and breathed in. It seemed to work for her
just fine. I even thought I saw tiny bits of smoke coming back out of her
lips.
Frankly, I should’ve been mortified by this. But I wasn’t. It was cute,
so pixyish, so- playful. Ellie looked so relaxed lying on the sofa with her
head on my lap, supposedly reading her book but in reality taking in as
much side-stream smoke as she could. Without comment I finished the rest of
my cigarette that way, exhaling only through my nostrils and letting Ellie
catch my smoke on its way down to where she laid.
I really don’t know why I did, but immediately I lit another cigarette.
It’s not that I never chain-smoke. I did then, and I still do, too much.
But I didn’t need to or anything. I just wanted to continue the experiment,
to see what the serene little girl with her head on my lap did next.
Sure enough, as I exhaled through my nose after my first puff, Ellie
opened her mouth to breathe in again. She had such a sweet smile on her
face. She looked like an angel. It was clear Ellie was enjoying it and
frankly, for some reason, so was I. I decided to test her a little. After
my next drag I lowered my hand to rest my cigarette on my thigh, only six
inches from her head, instead of off to the side where I held it before. My
exhale jetted downwards while smoke from my cigarette simultaneously
drifted past her face. Quite comfortably, Ellie kept breathing. She had a
big smile on her face and it never left. Her eyes remained on her book, but
she paid more attention to my exhales and my smoldering cigarette than she
did to her novel.
Devilishly, I made up my mind. I had to take it further. It was like I
couldn’t help it. I dragged hard, tapped an ash in the ashtray, and
returned the cigarette to my thigh by Ellie’s head as I exhaled forcefully
downwards through my nose. Still she breathed contentedly. Then I moved my
cigarette directly in front of her face. Still she didn’t flinch. Smoke now
swirled all around her. She seemed to love the fragrant aroma. God, it was
so obvious, so innocent and sweet. She was clearly having a good time
playing this game.
I took another puff, this time exhaling upward from my mouth instead of
down through my nostrils. I saw disappointment on Ellie’s face. She was
afraid the game was over. But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Silently I
returned the cigarette to where I held it previously. Then slowly, gently,
I moved it slightly, right in front of her mouth. I turned the cigarette
around so its filter nearly touched her shocked lips. For the first time
Ellie gazed up at me. I could see something in her eyes. She had a
quizzical look on her face. But it was also a look of hope.
I smiled. “Having fun, Ellie?” My cigarette didn’t budge. I kept it
right where it was.
“Yeah, Mom,” she sighed, relieved and shocked that I wasn’t mad. No, I
wasn’t.
Impetuously, I shifted my cigarette so it lightly brushed right up
against her lips and touched her mouth. I did that on purpose. I wanted the
temptation right there. The silky white smoke flowing from the burning
cylinder literally enveloped my daughter’s bewilderment.
Ellie let out a surprised little gasp. I smiled. She didn’t mind the
cigarette touching her lips. Yeah, she _was_ having fun. But it was about
to get better, lots better.
“Know what? I’m actually glad you like it, honey,” I whispered tenderly.
“But why don’t you try having a puff yourself?”
Ellie froze. She didn’t budge. I laughed. “Oh, go ahead, honey. Don’t
worry, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I’ve been watching you down there. I know
what you’ve been doing. You might as well get some smoke the easy way,
instead of trying so hard to breathe in mine secondhand. So don’t sweat it.
It’s fine. Have a puff!”
Ellie said nothing. She was too shocked. Then hesitantly, carefully, she
wrapped her lips over the white filter that was touching her lips as I
continued to hold the cigarette. She took a small, tentative drag. I pulled
it away. She opened her mouth and a ball of thick white smoke disappeared
into her chest. She inhaled. Obviously she remembered the technique, if not
the consequences, of her prior smoking experience. She parted her lips to
release a tenuous exhale.
“That was really nice, Mom. Thanks.” She didn’t move an inch and said
nothing more, afraid of breaking the magical spell in the smoky air.
I decided to let her probe further. I took a drag of my own, then
carefully repositioned the cigarette so it brushed against her lips again.
This time I slid it back and forth up against her mouth, teasing her. She
understood. She took another puff, this one more generous, and inhaled
deeper. She had a wry grin on her lips as she exhaled. Without meaning to,
the last time I’d taught her how to inhale. Now she pulled the smoke in her
lungs avidly, eagerly, not seeming to feel any of the adverse consequences
that she had only a few weeks earlier.
I shifted around on the couch, forcing her to lift her head off my lap.
I looked at her.
“Ellie, did you enjoy doing that?”
She grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, Mom, it was really cool. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, honey,” I heard myself say unusually graciously. “I
understand why you like it. Hell, I do, too,” I laughed, as I dragged on my
cigarette. “If you want to, I might let you do this every once in awhile.
Would you like that?”
She nodded eagerly. “Oh yes, Mommy. I really, really would. I don’t know
why, but tonight your smoke just smelled _so_ good. I liked breathing it
in. But I liked it even better when you let me do it myself.” She frowned.
“But you said you didn’t want me to smoke?”
“I don’t,” I said with a lilting laugh. But my words sounded
surprisingly half-hearted. “I don’t want you smoking cigarettes on your own
or anything. But I understand your curiosity. So I suppose as long as we
don’t do it all the time, nothing’s wrong with letting you enjoy a little
treat now and then. But only when I say it’s okay. Do you think you’d like
that, honey?”
Again, an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah, I’d really like that, Mom. Thanks so
much!”
With no warning Ellie wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me. I
saw I made her very, very happy. And that in turn made _me_ very happy.
So the very next day I began to fulfill my promise. Periodically I would
unexpectedly offer my 13 year old daughter a puff. I never worried about
what it meant. I only knew that Ellie’s delight over our new shared
activity pleased me, probably because I knew it’d make her stop harassing
me about smoking for good. So from then on, if Ellie and I were alone in
the house and I was smoking, which was most of the time, I occasionally
offered her a single puff from my cigarette. Invariably she accepted my
gestures graciously, obviously liking her “little treats,” as we began to
call them. I kept it under control, never offering more than one puff at a
time and never letting her hold a cigarette.
Soon Ellie began to put two fingers up against her lips as a signal to
let me know when she wanted a puff. I didn’t always cooperate with her
requests. I wanted it unpredictable, and I didn’t want her having too many,
or to let her have them too often. But she was so sweet about it, and so
enthusiastic, that it quickly became a regular part of our routine.
I should’ve known these small innocent beginning soon would escalate and
Ellie would be smoking a lot more. That’s exactly what happened, and that’s
the next part of Ellie’s story.