The Night I Smoked My First Cigarette Part 1

This week was Free Slurpee Day.

7/11 from 11-7.

Fucking Clever.

It worked like a Tardis and took me back to a year ago.

Sheldon was living in my living room.

(That sounds redundant but it's actually the truth.)

I had just started dating Ireland.

That was only twelve months ago but it may as well have been another lifetime. 

I remember how violently I wanted Sheldon out of my home. 

And how desperately I didn't want Ireland to leave. 

When he did leave in the fall Sheldon took me to Teardrop to try and cheer me up.

We ended up sleeping together that night.  

I'm not even really sure why. 

But it was the most disconnected intimacy we'd ever had. 

And it cured us of ever wanting each other in that way again.

Neither of these men were in my life anymore.

And after the week I'd experienced I really didn't want any men in my life. 

The guy I had started seeing had informed me, a mere fifteen hours after being inside me, that he never slept with the same girl more than twice and even went so far as to say he'd already done this to five other women.

I felt so horrified and violated and in shock I didn't even respond. 

I just blocked his number and then spent the next several days in a dark fog.

It might have been less vile if he hadn't been who I met the same week the Phantom refused to meet me or who I met the same day I saw the doctor and found out I need to see a specialist about a growth.

Unfortunately the physical connection with the wicked Barcelonian was a sweet escape amidst the disappointment and fear I was battling with. 

Some people when faced with trauma withdraw and lose all interest in physical intimacy. 

When I'm stressed all I want is to escape into someone else's body. 

I'm sure there's a term for this. 

I'm just gonna call it I Always Want Sex No Matter What the Fuck is Going On.

Always. Always. Fucking Always.

So to then have that physical connection then be so tainted, all I wanted was to go into hiding and never look at another penis again.

I felt confused and unbalanced.

Lost. Dejected.

Every date I'd had since things ended with the Phantom had been a disappointment, every lover a let down.

All that did was drive the memory of him further to the forefront of my brain until it was like he was standing right in front of my face.

By the time it was Saturday evening I was so restless I couldn't sit still. 

I suddenly had to see him. 

I didn't even really understand why. 

I'd blocked his number, he'd hurt me, his behavior had been so wildly inconsistent I could make a chart and it could be studied in psych 101 classes around the world. 

But none of that mattered. 

I had no fucking idea what he'd do or how he'd treat me.

But I knew whatever would happen it would snap me out of my dark reverie. 

I needed to be reckless.

I needed to do something stupid and crazy. 

I felt so off balance the only way to realign was to radically swing in one direction. 

I wanted to smoke my first cigarette. 

I hated smoking. 

I'd always hated the smell, the smoke, the way it hung on my clothes. 

I. Fucking. Hated. It.

Always had.

On my first date with the Phantom we walked out of the bar and he'd reached for a cigarette and I'd said in disgust, "You Smoke??"

It was one of those deliciously awkward moments where he felt like an asshole for being a smoker and I felt like an asshole for being so blaringly obvious that I hated smokers.

(One of the hottest moments that happened later was when he'd been desperate for a cigarette and upon finally getting one took two drags before hurling it out the window and then grabbing my face to kiss me because in that moment he needed to kiss me even more than he needed his nicotine. That was the last date we ever went on. Damn.)

And now, months later, I wanted a fucking cigarette. 

Thirty-three years and I suddenly needed one. 

I messaged Puppet, who smoked on occasion, even though I knew she wouldn't approve of my self destructive plan for the evening but to my surprise and delight she agreed to meet me. 

It will forever be the moment in our friendship when I fell even deeper in love with her. 

"I don't think you should go alone," she said. 

And I was grateful. 

Because I really didn't want to go by myself. 

I already felt unstable and irrational and uncertain of what I might do.  

(You know you're in a weird place when you have no idea which of your personalities will decide to do what.)

I definitely didn't need to be alone when I planned on doing something stupid. 

You should always have a best friend by your side so they can bail you out. 

Or take a video if it's fucking hilarious. 

I told her I would buy her a pack of cigarettes for meeting me and headed to the Safeway in my backyard to get Camel Menthol Crushes.

The guy getting the cigarettes suddenly said, "You saw the fireworks on the Hawthorne bridge, right?"

I froze.

'Uh....yes....'

"I saw you there. I was standing right next to you."

Whaaaaaaa.....

No. WAY!

That's madness!

And Puppet had been there with me too!

And the Hawthorne bridge--the picture the Phantom had posted the last time he'd called--"Feet in the river, head in the clouds."

Suddenly.

I wasn't nervous.

I was excited. 

Tonight's going to be epic! I texted Puppet. 

I just knew.

I knew it was going to be one of those nights.