The threshold
17 November 2011 10:31 AM Categories: Quotidian existence | Writing prompts
So who wants to get back to that? Certainly not me. You won’t find me doing that here. Not anymore. Still: it’s hard not to return to the shtick, isn’t it? And last night, maybe I returned to some of the shtick when, before getting ready for bed, I lit one of the emergency cigarettes I keep stashed in my desk. For the first time in a very long time, I inhaled. I finished about a quarter of it before the smoke irritated me. Suddenly I got the point of nicotine, the effect so different from the days of high school and the smoking court or the quick light up under the oak tree outside the Little House. This wasn’t rebellious. It was relaxing. Or maybe it was a bit of safe rebellion, a smoke screen to hide behind, the habit I will never really pick up, but can return to as a safety valve.
Because I know why respectable people with sensible shoes and perfectly coiffed hair put on black leather at night, trolling the streets for love and violence. I understand the businessman in his family car slowing down by the waterfront, looking for action, practicing the art of the "victimless" crime. We all need a little grey in our lives, the mix of daytime with night, the threshold of twilight.
I can borrow from smoking when I need to pass over the threshold. It's a shortcut to rebellion, but not the type that pins me to the past. This is not the resurrection of a habit. I am not returning to the old stories. The old songs and the old ways are gone and I can smoke one cigarette without worry about the next.
In the kitchen, my bare feet cool against the Mexican tile, I blur the meaning of my life in a one long exhale. The smoke holds together for a second, then dissipates, and I add another cloud to the cool night air, my other hand fidgeting with a match as I figure out my next move.
This post is kinda-sorta from the Round Robin. Part of it is from today's photo prompt, part of it is from the prompt "Enough is enough." I changed the title from a (seemingly nonsensical in this context) line from Reel Around the Fountain: Reel around the fountain / Slap me on the patio ...
Image: Me in the only black leather things I actually own (outside of pocketbooks): boots (the detritus around the mirror is a nice touch, no?). This is the outfit I mentioned here (last paragraph or so), sans tights. With the kind of play this dress gets on the blog, I should really wear it more often. And with the number of times cigarettes come up here, one would think that I would actually be a smoker.
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