My Last Cigarette

It was last call at the bar up the street from my shitty apartment, and I had just decided to quit smoking cigarettes.

"Quit kidding yourself, man," Paul said, shaping the cherry of his non-filtered cigarette on the side of the black plastic ashtray between us. "How many times have you tried to quit? A million?" He fit the cigarette into one of the ashtray's slots, flashed an all-knowing grin, and took several gulps from the pint glass in front of him. "Don't get me wrong," he said, wiping foam from his beard. "If you weren't always bringing these goddamn delicious Lucky Strikes around, I wouldn't smoke either. I just hate to see you put yourself through all the fucking stress, you know?" He took a long, deep drag from the cigarette, then let the smoke slowly escape from his lungs as he asked, "How the hell do you plan on quitting, anyway?"

"New Year's resolution," I said.

"No shit." He downed the rest of his beer, then slammed the glass onto the wooden bar. "Well, if we're quitting, we ought to go out with a bang. Vegas?"

"If I'm quitting, I'm going to need some solitude and peace in those first few pivotal hours. I'd never last in Vegas." I glanced around the bar to make sure no one was close enough to overhear us, then said, "There won't be anyone at my parents' cabin."

"Hot tub. Warm alcoholic beverages. Can I bring Gina?"

I'd known Paul since our freshman year of high school. We'd spent nearly every Friday evening together since then: playing pool, drinking malt liquor in parking lots, sneaking into swimming pools and smoking, usually my cigarettes. For the previous two years, Paul had been dating a nearly invisible girl named Gina. Some nights, when Paul was horny and I was too drunk to care, we'd end the night at her apartment. I was pretty sure that she didn't like me. How could she? The only times I interacted with her, I was either wasted or waking up, hung over, on her couch.

So I was shocked when Paul asked me if he could include Gina. But I was even more shocked when he followed it with: "What would you think about moving in with us next semester?"

"Have you talked this over with Gina?" I yelled over the chorus of drunken bar conversation.

"You're the only friend I have that she can stand," he yelled back. "And we need someone to help us swing the rent."

We left for the cabin after breakfast, New Year's Eve, singing along to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band while we passed around a thermos filled with coffee and Kahlua. As Lennon broke into "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite," I pulled out a couple of cigarettes. "I'm going to love living with you guys," Paul said as he took the cigarette.

"Um, you're not going to smoke those, are you?" Gina yelled from the back seat.

"Um, yeah," I responded, looking to Paul for an explanation. He stuck the cigarette behind his ear and turned to look out the window.

"But...I don't smoke," she said.

"I know," I said as I pushed the car lighter in.

"So why should I have to suffer the consequences?"

"This is my last day of smoking, Gina. We're driving for most of it."

"It's cool," Paul piped in, turning down the stereo and smiling back at Gina. "We're quitting tomorrow anyway, dude."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I scowled at Paul inquisitively.

"Thank God you two are quitting," Gina answered, "I could never live with smokers. It's filthy."

"Filthy?" I looked at Paul in disbelief.

New Year's Eve in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado, seemed the perfect place to start anew as a non-smoker. Fresh air. Relaxation. Quiet. I couldn't ask for more. Yet upon arriving at the cabin, I began to second-guess myself.

"What do you mean, we can't use the hot tub?" Paul asked, terrified. "What am I going to tell Gina?"

"It's been drained, man. By the time we actually fill it up and get the water heated, it'll be time for us to go." I poured three glasses of wine and motioned for him to come drink this new trouble away. "Sorry."

"The TV isn't getting any reception, Kyle," Gina yelled. I walked into the living room as she threw the remote control on the floor in frustration.

"Great!" She turned and stared at me for an answer.

I handed her a glass of wine. "They must have canceled the satellite service for the winter. Sorry."

"What are we supposed to do now?" she responded.

"I don't know. We'll party down, listen to music, talk..."

"I don't really feel like drinking anymore," Gina interrupted.

"But it's New Year's Eve," Paul countered.

"God, Paul," Gina got up from her chair and began walking out of the room. "Sorry I'm not an alcoholic like some people."

"There's a ton of board games up here," I said before Paul had a chance to give Gina the response he had cooking beneath his furrowed brow. "Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble, Yahtzee, Uno, you name it."