I snuck out to smoke a cigarette by the unfinished nature trail in the woods. I thought somebody was following me. I kept looking back the further I went in; expecting to see some shifting shape doing his best to pretend he wasn’t following me, as I did my best to not look followed.
I never saw anything. I started looking ahead. I was trying to find the fastest path to the heart of the woods, when I heard murmurs of grey clouds. I was expecting a drop to cut through the treetops and hit my forehead. But I only saw a plane go above my head.
I would only have a couple of minutes to catch a kick. A fleeting notion of freedom, disguised as smoke. Because the worth of a man is measured not by what he stands for, but what he stands against. Even if sometimes it is resistance for resistance’s sake.
So in this afternoon, I sat down on an abandon tire and I smoked a cigarette, surrounded by small insect voices, and patches of fading light in the grass that had escaped the leaves above. I should write a story about this. I should write something about a guy in a rehab center that goes for a quick break in the woods to smoke and finds some type of truth. I think I saw a scene in a movie like this once. The guy is descending a small hill in a bathrobe, he’s stumbling and trying not to fall, because he has slippers on. After a couple of close calls he reaches the bottom. There the camera faces him from a low angle catching his face and the top of the hill behind him. As he raises his arms to his face we see his hospital wristband, and he lights his cigarette and gives a deep sigh. And then, maybe the girl he gets along with at rehab, appears above the hill and says something like “Now Mr.Simmons, you know smoking isn’t allowed in the facilities…tsk, tsk, tsk, shame on you” and he might say “care to join me?” and she might let out a coy smile and say “okay, but only this one time”. I looked around to see if there was somebody close, but I was alone.