I don't smoke, you know. It's not because I love my body (although I think I do) and it's not because I'm afraid of lung cancer (although I might be a little). It's because I'm terrified of being something other than normal. I don't really need you to think I'm unique or special, but I kind of hope you find my normalness attractive. I've worked so hard at it after all.
Once I was at a restaurant with eight or nine other friends and we were all drunk and so were you and I thought about it then, you know. I was going to smoke when Annie offered me the cigarette, but I remembered all those years I've spent not smoking and it would be such a shame if it was all a waste. Were you there when everyone was smoking pot and I wasn't and Kevin said, "It's kinda chill, ya know? Like her lungs are virgins! Can you imagine never having anything poisonous run through your body like that?" I was instantly pleased, but I also wanted to tell him that I drink coffee and coke and that I have a terrible sweet tooth, and those things are almost as dangerous as cigarettes (thankyouverymuch).
My dad's a doctor and my mom's a Christian. I'm not either, but there was a time when I wanted to be both. That doesn't really mean anything now because here I am at Whitman College about as far from God as I'll ever get, and also I stopped taking math my freshman year when I got a C- in Calc I and had to change my life goals. Thanks for that one, Professor Morris. I can't smoke though because Dad gives me a checkup every year when I go home and Mom prays for me every time I step foot on a plane, so they would both know the minute the tarry smoke courses through my veins. It's worse than if I actually believed in God, because I couldn't even ask for forgiveness, I'd just have to let my mom plead on my part. And I still wouldn't really care, except see, I think all that pleading takes something out of her.
I know you must think I'm a pretty moral person, but don't worry, I'm not. Even if I don't smoke, I have sex sometimes. I mean, just with you, but I don't think my parents would approve of that either. Actually I have a theory that most parents probably do want their kids to have healthy sex lives, they just feel like they probably shouldn't tell them that. You know, because of God or something.
At first I was afraid to hang out with you because of all your smoking. Mom told me kissing a smoker is like kissing an ashtray (and that's why we shouldn't smoke, dear), and I used to dream about the two of us falling into each other for the most romantic kiss ever, except it would end with dirty ashes coating my well-chapsticked lips. Of course, that didn't happen and I'll never tell Mom, but I've come to appreciate the smoky taste of your breathe just after a heavy cigarette.
Even more than that, I was afraid I'd succumb to peer pressure and start smoking myself. I mean, I'm a pretty strong person, and I do love being normal, but I underestimated the difficulty of sitting in a group of seven smokers and not smoking. It sort of puts my normalness into a new perspective, you know? It's not like the DARE officer said it would be, with twelve or fifteen punks holding me down, forcing me to choose between a knife and the cigarette (with death at either end), but sometimes I wish it was like that. Peer pressure is easier to ignore when it comes from enemies, but friends who just want me to have a good time make me feel guilty for turning them down.
I guess all this is just to let you know I smoked a cigarette earlier today. I thought you'd know right away because I can always tell after you've smoked, but I scrubbed my hair and washed my clothes and brushed my teeth and you didn't even say anything when we kissed. I'm certainly not a smoker, but I'm not a not smoker anymore either. Maybe now we can spend evenings together on the porch, a cigarette dangling out of each of our hands, head on chest, love in the air. Anything is possible these days.