A Pack of Camel Blues, Please

Before that night I had sworn against cigarettes, now I can’t

even tell you how many I’ve smoked. It all seemed too perfect

in that moment: Two anonymous girls. One dazzling night

sky. If only we’d been sitting on a roof. It would’ve been the

perfect cliché. One of those moments from the movies. But

that’s not what it felt like. It felt like walking through a prairie.

Surrounded by beauty. But not the beauty that a movie

captures. Not in-your-face, like a field of poppies. An

overshadowed beauty. Like the silent sob of an animal just

before it’s slaughtered. With a sort of silence encompassing

our frail bodies. Like when you watch a balloon drift higher

until it disappears. Everything was muffled. The sturdy steps

of clarity and logic disappeared. The more we talked, the

darker it became. Not just the sky. Our thoughts too. She

was a mystique. Her mind, an atlas of delirium and

disturbances. Just like mine. She always liked to wander.

Maybe that’s where I learned it. I learned a lot from her. After

all: before that night I had sworn against cigarettes, now I can’t

even tell you how many I’ve smoked.

#2016