Love, Hart [Discontinued]

five

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RUBY

The streets are quiet, empty, eerie.

The pavement is moist from the most recent rainfall and the tantalizing aroma of petrichor it left pervaded the air. It was muggy and humid and somewhat suffocating, but I couldn't do anything else but continue down the sidewalk in hopes to find something I could stop and look at.

I walk alone at night, in directions I've never been. It clears my foggy mess of a mind just a little. Noticing the little things I never did before, like the crooked street signs and the broken street lights.

The recently wet fire hydrant and the opened fences of the careless homeowners.

Only in Chicago, I thought to myself.

I brought the burning cigarette that rest between my index and middle finger to my lips. I took a long drag, trying to inhale as much smoke as possible.

My lungs have become so accustomed to the intensity of the smoke. The dizziness and nausea I used to get at first, but the tolerance I built the past four months has stopped those feelings.

Sometimes I miss it; the dizziness I mean. It was like a temporary high. Like I was detached from the world for a whole twenty-five seconds. The feeling was euphoric almost. The way the nicotine messed with your mind, made you feel so many things at once.

It was great. It was the sole purpose I continued to use these things.

Now I don't know why I still do it.

I loved the way it made me feel, but I hated that it was the only thing that actually made me feel. I hated the smell, the colors, the size of it, and the aftertaste it left.

I hated everything about it and I still do, yet here I am at 11:26pm, with a cigarette lodged between my fingers awaiting the next moment my lungs and mind will yearn for it again.

I wonder what Alice would say about me doing this. She would probably hug me and tell me that I'm growing up. She was the one who sparked the idea of even smoking. Every second of the day she'd have one of these stupid things in her hand, between her lips, or behind her ear.

One was always on her. I always asked why she always used them, whats she got from using them, and she shrugged and said:

"We all have our reasons, Ruby. It's just that I haven't figured mine out."

And the more I say it in my head over and over again, the more I understand. She had her reasons, she had so many reasons, but she couldn't choose which one. There were too many.

Maybe my reason to start was to remember Alice. Keep a part of her with me for just a little while. Or maybe because I wanted to try something new, or since my mom hated it I taught myself to love it.