FEELING NYQUIL AND NEUTRAL

the fist time i smoked a cigarette i was in my car with my friend molly. she was driving us and i was in the passenger seat because i hate driving. she drove my car a lot our first semester of college. she went to buy cigarettes at the convenience store and thanked me a handful for not getting angry at her for buying them. i told her how little i cared. i'd never smoked before but cared very little about anything in those months. she said it was because she missed home and cigarettes reminded her of her dad. she said she didn't really smoke. very near where i live now, we were paused at a stop sign and i asked if i could try it. she passed it to me, and as i held it comfortably between my index and middle finger, i inhaled. "it tastes like nothing."

we went out smoking several more times in the following weeks. they were pink and black camels and she kept the package in her pants pocket. i remember walking numbly to her dorm late at night because i needed to see someone. she dyed my hair purple, brushed it smooth as i sat on the edge of her bathtub. we walked around the campus and down several streets smoking and talking. one cigarette after another, one secret after another. "i'm hopeful that all we need is time."

that night, and now. i am so thankful for molly. i am so thankful for those lost and terrifying moments of searching for anything to make me right. i am graduating in less than two weeks and i am not as sure about anything as i was in that cigarette's nothingness.