new york

Chapter 15

I awoke with a start, breathing heavy and hard. Slowly I calmed down, remembering I wasn't there anymore. I was far away, and I would never have to see that place, those people, that room again.

I got up slowly and headed down the stairs towards the bar. I grabbed a glass and filled it with water. The bar was closed, so the entire place was eerily quiet. This was one of the few nights Buck wasn't out here. I learned quickly he stayed up late, and that most nights were party nights. I didn't mind, I hung around and had a beer. The taste was getting more normal now, and better. The people were always interesting.

I learned quickly what a Soc was, even saw someone get beat up one time. I didn't intervene, Buck said it's best not to and I listened. I could be a good fighter, but they were all two times my size.

The past week I had worked for Buck, going out and pickpocketing a little, working the bar. Buck even had me go to a rodeo, and I never thought I'd be a good bull rider but I guess I am. Most people bet against me and when I won they sure as hell were shocked. I liked that, people learning quickly I was more than a kid. It felt good for once to be respected in a way, stronger.

I looked outside the window at the dark sky sipping my water. My eyes glanced over the bar until it landed on a small box. I walked forward and grabbed it, holding it my hands. The moonlight lit it up so I could see, and I felt my breath stop. I had seen so many people do it but never have I.

I ran my finger over the cigarette box, feeling the smooth container.

My thoughts ran back to my mother, standing in the house with a cigarette in hand. Then to her lying in a hospital bed, smiling a painful smile. And finally to her face, as she lay dead not even a day later.

Tears stung my eyes but I held them back. I opened the box, pulling one out. I reached into my pocket, finding a lighter. I always carried one since people always asked. The small flame flickered as it lit it up.

I stared at it in my hand.

No I can't do this. I can't, not after Mom.

But she's dead. She was a good person and she died. So why should I be a good person? Why should I stop myself, I have no one left. No family, no friends, no real home. So what if it kills me. I'll be lucky to die.

I bring it to my lips and quickly start coughing as silently as I can. I go outside and sit on the steps. Every few minutes I bring it to my lips, inhaling and exhaling. Slowly those minutes come less in between as the flavor becomes familiar. Soon enough the cigarette is gone, and so is the next, and the next. And soon enough light from the sun shines on my face. I go inside, still smoking. Buck is cleaning some glasses and looks up at me.

"So you stole my pack. Damn kid didn't know you smoke."

"Didn't know it was yours, here."

I started to hand it back when he shook his head.

"Keep it. I got plenty of cancer sticks."

"Cancer sticks?"

"What some call cigarettes. Both mean the same."

I saw my Mothers face once again, hearing her last words.

"I love you Dallas. You'll be a good man, you're so strong, and I know you'll do great things."

I felt the burning sensation through me again as I inhaled.

I loved my Mom, but she was wrong about everything but one thing.

She loved me, and I loved her.