She was deliberately being cheeky. Annoying even.
Smoker ignored her and tapped absently at his new pack of Lights with menthol. A fore finger scrapped the edge of the peel tape and with a fluid motion, he unravel the pack. He flipped it open, out of habit; he ran a finger over the top row of the twenties twice. Smoker stopped in the middle and pull out a ciggies.
He began to tap it, filter side down. He took more than his usual three taps, to condense the tobacco. With a flick of his lighter, he lit up. Drew in a little at first to fire it up. Then he drew in deeply and held that breath and slowly released it through his nostrils in a steady stream.
Smoker leaned back, closed his eyes and drawl. “Why do you annoy me so?”
Non-Smoker Girl rolled her eyes.
She used to love climbing up Grandpa’s lap and rest her head on his chest. At two, Non-Smoker Girl could stop playing in mid-game. Sit bolted straight up and sniffed the air. Grandpa’s home! He smoked a pipe. Grandpa’s clothes, his hair, his face and his breath smell decidedly sweet.
Years later she found out that it was sweet vanilla scented tobacco. Vanilla Crème to be exact smoked very dry, very tasty and full of flavour.
She had thought that it was some innate and senseless craving for butter cake, that she bought “Vanilla” scented toiletries from the Body Shop. Non-Smoker Girl’s best friend told her flatly that men generally don’t find pastry smelling girls appealing.
“Ha! Why not?” Non-Smoker Girl retorted.
Smoker has been coughing that dry cough. It racked his body, oft time he was bent over double, wheezing.
Smoker had a pained looked. Non-Smoker Girl reckoned that Smoker slept fitfully at night. He’s given up looking for a cure. When he could finally bring it up and out, the phlegm was thick green globs that clung to the basin. Non-Smoker Girl would cup the water from the tap and scoop this over the stubborn globs. Awful.
Non-Smoker Girl became frightened. She has seen it before. Liza’s dad was drowning. There was a large collection of fluid causing chest pressure, shortness of breath and low oxygen levels. Smoker Uncle could hardly breathe. His heart was failing and the treatment with diuretics (water pills) was not working. His doctors inserted a tube through the skin and the muscles between the ribs into the chest cavity.
Smoker Uncle had more than a 25% collapse of the lung.
His lung filled with water and blood. The oxygen didn’t help. Removing fluids by chest drainage therapy allows the lung to reinflate.
Smoker Uncle complained bitterly that it was so painful that he rather die immediately than to continue suffering. Liza cried salty tears every time she was out of his room.
“It’s a horrible way to die,” said Liza. Non-Smoker Girl shook her head, unable to comprehend.
When she was about ten, Non-Smoker Girl would secretly take out Smoker Dad’s cigarettes and spray water on them. Squirt, squirt and squirt. Then Non-Smoker Girl would dry them in the sun and deftly repack them in their box. Non-Smoker Girl thought she could outsmart Smoker Dad. If the cigarette tasted bad, surely Smoker Dad would give them up?
No. That didn’t work.
At twenty Non-Smoker Girl was braver. She pounded on her calculator and worked it all out. Given Smoker Dad was a 60 sticks a day man and that he smoked since he was eighteen. She computed that it was a princely sum that went up in smoke. Non-Smoker Girl lost her tertiary education overseas to Smoker Dad's puffs.
Now Non-Smoker Girl is faced with the same stubborn man with that all-consuming addiction.
Non-Smoker Mother and Non-Smoker Grand Mama said, “Leave them be, they never learn.”
Story inspired by a Radio advertisement on Lung Cancer.
Doris Lim is a popular freelance writer who blogs as Little Fish on travel and food stories here. Be sure to check out her other inspiring
stories and follow her Instagram @SmartDoryID & Facebook to check out more places to eat
delicious street foods or dine in the best restaurants!
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