All cigarette smokers are the offspring of Satan. At least, as an eight year old growing up on a farm in the seventies, that’s what I thought. The rules seemed quite clear: you didn’t steal, you didn’t talk back to your parents, and you didn’t smoke. All three offences were punishable with an early bedtime for a week, or a spanking—sometimes both—in addition to eternal damnation. This was not a health issue but a moral issue. Good people did not smoke.
The origin of this belief was difficult to pinpoint. It might have been from church, where the minister often railed against weak-willed heathens who gave in to their sinful addictions. Or it might have been from sneaking past the bullies behind the school as they shared a stolen fag, their antisocial tendencies no doubt a direct result of this misbegotten habit. But it was most likely due to the confluence of stray comments from pious grown-ups and a particularly guilt-ridden disposition on my part that was vulnerable to suggestion.
And my understanding was reinforced by television and movies. Luke Skywalker didn’t smoke, but Michael Corleone did. Superman and Batman didn’t smoke, but Nazis did. However, James Bond did smoke, yet he killed bad guys too so that was fine; an eight year old could rationalize something like that quite easily. It was much more difficult to sort this out with someone you knew in real life, someone you believed in your heart to be a “good” person.
The fall I turned nine my Aunt Eva dropped off my cousin Glenn to stay with us for a week. She was my Godmother and my Mom’s sister, so she was a good person by default. That was until I overheard Mom telling Dad how Aunt Eva was hoping to get over her divorce with a weeklong trip to Cuba.
I had never met anyone who was divorced. That fact alone made me nervous.
They arrived shortly after lunch, exhausted from their four-hour drive to our house. Glenn and I sat politely at one end of the kitchen table while the middle-aged siblings chatted and caught up with one another at the other end. To break the ice with the cousin I hadn’t seen since last spring, I proudly carted out my Star Wars action figures, arranging them on the table according to good guys and bad guys, demonstrating how they could move, explaining how some of them had chew marks from when the dog got ahold of them. Glenn confessed having not yet seen the movie, which prompted me to proclaim its many positive attributes and insist he see it as soon as possible, and as many times as possible.
That’s when it happened, when I was in the middle of my pronouncements.
As casually as grabbing socks from a dresser drawer, Aunt Eva reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims. Within seconds one of the cigarettes had been plucked from its container and was hanging off her bottom lip, teetering up and down as she continued talking to Mom. At first I thought she was pulling a prank, a good one at that. I soon realized things were serious when flames shot out from her lighter and ignited the tobacco, immediately filling the kitchen with a noxious cloud that caused my eyes to water and my nose to run. I had ceased talking altogether, and might have even stopped breathing for those initial moments. All I could do was silently stare, my heartbeat rapidly echoing inside my head. Her intense inhaling reminded me of sucking a milkshake through a straw, but without the lip-smacking satisfaction that would generally follow. Instead, a dull look drew across Aunt Eva’s face, and after a few more quick puffs her shoulders relaxed and her eyes closed halfway, like a serpent—open just enough to keep an eye on her surroundings. And as soon as she finished one cigarette she lit another, with hardly a pause or glimpse downward, maneuvering her lighter like a blindfolded knife thrower.
I glanced over at Glenn, who seemed unperturbed by this turn of events; he remained focused on the action figures, turning them about in his hands, rotating their heads and arms into unnatural poses. Had he not seen what was happening across the table? Was he unaware of his mother’s depraved behavior, or had he been brainwashed long ago into full compliance, now willing to accept anything she did as normal, without question? That must have been it, I quickly reasoned. He likely couldn’t see beyond the spell she had placed him under. I gulped. Would the same be true for me in short order?
I was stricken with fear and confusion. All I could do was continue to watch this person sitting next to me while she lit and extinguished cigarette after cigarette, as if eating a bag of licorice she’d picked up at the corner store. A heap of crumpled butts smudged with lipstick gradually accumulated in the teacup saucer Mom had fetched for her. I was also aware now of yellow stains on my aunt’s fingertips; they seemed to grow brighter and brighter with every butt she ground into extinction. How was it possible I could be related to this person? And how could my parents allow her into our home? Was she somehow blackmailing them, or had familial obligation forced them to consort with those who should otherwise be avoided at all cost? Was this the beginning of some tragic downfall for all of us? Feeling powerless, it appeared my only recourse now was to wait for this person to leave our home and pray my family might be spared a never-ending tumble into the depths of a fiery hell.
After what felt like hours, Aunt Eva finally exhausted her cache of cigarettes and rose to say her goodbyes before heading off to the airport. I kept my distance, hoping these last few moments would pass quickly and without incident.
This was not to be. She called me over and presented me with a belated birthday gift, messily wrapped with two different types of wrapping paper. I gulped and reluctantly accepted the package, but did not open it. I wanted her to leave so I could throw it in the trash without having to lay eyes on whatever degenerate item she had sought to corrupt me with.
But she didn’t leave. She stood there, waiting. And soon so were Mom and Glenn, waiting and watching.
I let out a sigh. Resigned to my fate, I slowly peeled away the paper, hoping a lightning bolt might strike our house and put me out of my misery before I finished unwrapping. Without making too much progress I felt a sudden urge to pee, and realized the sooner I unwrapped this gift the sooner I could barricade myself in the bathroom until she was gone. Heartened by this new plan, I quickened my pace, now ripping the paper with abandon, thinking only of my impending freedom. A few strategic tears and the wrapping paper was almost completely removed, but I could already see what she had brought me. I froze, dumbfounded.
It was a Star Wars Land Speeder, featuring spring-loaded wheels that gave it a hovering effect, just like in the movie.
Aunt Eva watched with an inquisitive look—Mom had obviously instructed her on what to buy for me—then she smiled with satisfaction as I promptly removed the toy from its packaging. I studied the contours of the molded plastic, ran my fingers along the edge of the convex windshield, spun the bouncy wheels underneath. Mom nudged me to say Thank you. I was too bewildered by the incongruities facing me to manage nothing more than a muted grunt.
Upon leaving, Aunt Eva hugged Glenn and told him she loved him; he blushed. Then she embraced my Mom for several moments before turning to me. She kissed me on the cheek then wiped away traces of her lipstick with her thumb. I could smell the burnt tobacco on her hands and glanced at the yellow fingertips cradling my face. I looked into her eyes: sad and happy at the same time. The corner of her mouth rose in a half-smile as she reminded me to be a good boy and to listen to my Mother.
I smiled back and said goodbye.
