The Same Cigarettes
An old man sits on a bench,
still smoking the same cigarettes as always
The doctors told him he’d die
If he didn’t stop
Well
That was 20 years ago
And yet
He’s still here
Sitting on the same bench
Smoking the same brand
He has a mustache
And a funny hat
He takes a big puff from his poison
And slowly lets out the smoke
He looks peaceful
The leaves fall down from the trees
Gently floating to earth
The smoke goes up
And slowly fades away
He tried to stop once
It lasted for four days
Then
He got some bad news
His dog Waddles was dying
He said, ‘Fuck it’
And bought a pack
He smoked it all
With his dog laying besides him
In one day
Cigarette after cigarette
Then he walked to the store
And bought some more
His health did not seem important
Without Waddles
What seemed important
Was his bench
And his cigarettes
His wife had passed 10 years ago
And now he was alone
No family that cared to talk to him
No friends
No job
He liked reading the paper
But even that
Was starting to lose its luster
Everything had become too political
And nothing ever changed
Not the world
Not him
Not his bench
Not his brand of cigarettes
People and events took place
But they faded away
And the world remained
He remained
When he was young
He had dreams of changing the world
And he tried for a while
But the world wore him out
And he gave up on it
He noticed the same pattern happening in all of his friends
They all started off wanting to change everything
But once they had their families
Or experienced a tragedy
They gave up
‘Hey Mr. what’re you doing?’
The old man looked down
And there was a young boy
With big eyes
And a baseball cap
Standing right in front of him.
He blinked at him
And asked again
‘What’re you doing Mr.?’
The old man put out his cigarette on the bench
And said, ‘I’m just sitting here.’
‘Want to play catch?’
‘I haven’t thrown a ball in fifty years, kid.’
‘Fifty years?? Sounds like you need practice!
Here, I have an extra mitt.'
He gave the old man a mitt
And ran to grab his other one.
‘Where are your parents, kid?
Can’t they play with you?’
‘Oh my mom’s on her phone
And she doesn’t like to play catch.’
‘Well shit,
Don’t you have friends?’
‘Not any that are here right now…
Here!’
He threw the ball at the old man
It landed a few feet away and rolled right up to his feet.
The old man picked it up and threw it back.
They played catch for fifteen minutes before his mom noticed
‘I’ve got to go Mr, but let's play again another time!’
‘Sure kid.’
The kid ran up to the man and hugged the old man's leg.
He looked up with his big eyes and said,
‘Thank you Mr.’
He ran after his mom
And the old man sat back down and smiled to himself.
Two days later
And the kid was back.
‘Hey Mr!’
He smiled and waved, as he ran up to him.
They played catch again.
And this repeated every couple days for a few months.
The kids name was Connor
And he was in the 2nd grade.
‘I like seeing you here, Mr.
I’m glad you sit on that bench every day.’
‘I won’t always be here kid.’
‘What do you mean?’
The old man wasn’t sure what to say,
‘Er… never mind.’
This time
When the kid left
The old man
Sat back down
Looked up to the sky
Took a deep breath
And let out a big sigh
He grabbed his cigarettes
And stared at them for a long time
Then he got up
Walked to a garbage can
And crushed up his cigarettes
And threw them away.
-C.H.