The air was crisp and the wind had a slight breeze to it. The Oregon sky was moist yet clear and the sky was full of stars. I pulled a wool blanket out into the dried leaves and set down the silver platter I use for candles. On it were two cigars the butane lighter, cigar cutter and a mug with about a finger of whiskey in it.
One was cigar was JM Dominican, Connecticut and another I got a in a pack called Punch. I was terrified. I had watched several videos on how to light a cigar and how to smoke it. I was wrapped in a sweater and my nerves kept the chill from touching me.
I looked at the modern cigar (JM). I had choose this first to practice lighting one. I heard and watched so much about them being singed. I took the double blade clippers and clipped the neck just below the rounded parts of the end. I caught my finger in the mechanism. As it stung I shook my hand wondering if I drew blood.
Then lit the butane torch. I held the cigar end up at the upper end of the flame and twirled it slowly. Trying to ignite it’s end. Every once in a while I would suck in at its other end. A interesting fact about cigars. You have to draw in air or they go out by themselves.
This was something I had spent the week before talking myself into. When I had taken this particular cigar out of its packaging when I had bought it, it had caused my nose to itch and I had developed a slight headache.
My thoughts when I took my first pull was the concentration of drawing in the smoke and letting it out across my tongue. I was reminding myself why I was doing this. Authenticity in writing while the casual comment of one of my neighbors echoed in my brain. “Thing to remember your tongue the next day is going to taste like leather.” I was not looking forward to dehydration from alcohol of the infusion of smoke into me.
I had a huge cup full of water.
But here I was out in the crisp air drawing a pull from a cigar. I pushed the fear aside took a breathe put the cigar to my lips. The texture was firm but pliable. I am really aware the delicate nature of the structure of the cigar. I drew in the air through cigar like pulling a straw. My mouth filled with the smoke I heard the sizzle of the wrapper. The flavors mixed and I pushed the smoke out across my tongue. The first taste was this layered field of tobacco, and spice I can’t name.
There is this thing about the olfactory nerve that is always a surprise. These scents and textures unlocked memories I forgot. Times when I was young in the world of people smoking tobacco everywhere. Places where the cigar smells lingered ballooned in my mind. I thought of my father’s great uncle and my grandparents favorite hangout. Muffled conversations I couldn’t remember. Young memories. Memories, of contentment. The odd doll or toy I treasured when I was so little flashed through my brain.
The feeling of deliberate exhaling and drawing again was rhythmic and the smell of a campfire warmed me. After a few puffs I drank the whiskey. The tastes and smelled changed along with the memories.
So much ran through me. Moments when the smoke got in my eye, the taste degrading with too much ash on it’s tip and how it changed with each puff.
I am excited how much will leak out into the rewrite.
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