Got my headlights shining
Down an old dirt road
Smoke my cigarettes, I should quit I know

I’m not a smoker, really, in the sense that I’ve never said “Damn, I need a smoke.” I went to a hookah bar a couple of times when I had friends that liked the hummus and pita there. Once in awhile, my then-boyfriend Alan and I used to sit out on his porch, thread our legs through the rungs of the railing and share a cigar on a nice night. I don’t particularly care for cigars, but on the nights when he’d have a feel for one, those were always the nights to relax. They were so few and far between for us.

The radio’s playing
Old country songs
Someone’s leavin’, someone’s cheatin’, on and on

Tim secretly wanted to be a cowboy and he still refuses to admit it. He owns a Stetson that he won’t ever wear because it’s too precious, and he smoked like the Marlboro man. His ringtone is Big and Rich’s “Save a Horse, Ride A Cowboy,” but he probably hasn’t ridden a horse since he was a kid visiting an apple farm with tame pony rides for a dollar. Tim is also the one who got me started on country music. I joke sometimes that it’s the one good thing he left me out of that relationship. We listened to it on the radio the night we met, when I ended up riding with him to the next bar the group was hitting. As we began to see each other more I really didn’t mind it, but I know it didn’t escape his notice that I, a loud-and-proud car singer, didn’t know any of the words and never had any on when I drove. Until, that is, I started singing along with Rascal Flatts’ “Life is a Highway” in his truck one day.

“When did you start singing with country?” he asked incredulously.

“Come on,” I said. “Everyone knows this song. Tom Cochrane. Sixth grade.”

But then I sang with The Wreckers on “Leave the Pieces.” And then Montgomery Gentry. And Sugarland. And Toby Keith. When I next plugged the iPod into the car stereo, I surprised him Rascal Flatts’ “Me and My Gang,” which made him smile while he blew his cigarette smoke out the window.

I think I might like
The quiet nights
Of this empty life

After Tim and I broke up, I couldn’t listen to country music for a little while. Everything was a song we sang with, especially the song on my phone that served as his ringtone: Kenny Chesney’s “Summertime,” which was the perfect song to describe that summer we were together, bare feet on the dashboard and young love in an old Ford. He was the first guy I dated who was a real smoker, and it surprised me a bit that it really wasn’t such a bone of contention as I had thought. Never in the house, of course, and the military had made him quite fastidious about his hygiene, so he never smelled like it. I swear, the guy showered three times a day. But ever after, whenever I went into a bar and smelled cigarettes, I smelled him. He always said he was going to quit.

Someday, maybe somebody will love me like I need
And someday, I won’t have to prove this, somebody will see
All my worth, but until then I’ll do just fine on my own
With my cigarettes and this old dirt road

Melissa – also not a smoker – and I used to duck out of work and take smoke breaks. We called them Mental Health Breaks, figuring that if smokers got to leave the building and indulge a vice, we shouldn’t be denied that fifteen-minute break just because we didn’t. But once in awhile, on a really bad day, we would bum cigarettes from people in the smoking area and pause for a little slow-down to offset whatever stress was driving us crazy that day. After Tim, I was stressed a lot and used those Marlboro Ultra Lights on the days when the Klonopin wasn’t enough.

“Is someone SMOKING in here?” asked one of the directors when we walked back to the department one day.

“Um, no, that’s us,” we said, not making eye contact. “We were just outside.”

“You guys SMOKE?”

“It’s been a rough day,” I said, “and it’s legal for us to step outside to inhale a few carcinogens. We have to do that since we’re not allowed to drink at work.”

See I left another
Good man tonight
I wonder if he’ll miss me, lord knows I tried

E is a smoker. When I worked at The Restaurant, we waitresses knew we could always find him out back if we had new tickets and he wasn’t in the kitchen. I never smoked at work there because I figured it wouldn’t be good for tips if I went up to my customers in a non-smoking restaurant reeking of cigarettes. The first night that E and I hung out after work, we walked down the street to a bar and he lit up after ordering our drinks. I made the “gimme” motion with my hand and he looked at me strangely.

“You smoke?” He gave me the eyebrow.

“Not usually. But it’s been a long day,” I said. He lit one for me with a pull on his own, and handed it over.

“You’re cooler than I thought,” he said while I sent a puff into the air.

A few months later, I backed up into him when he was holding a cigarette, and I accidentally burned my hand. The triangle-shaped burn settled into a heart-shaped scar that I still have today.

But I think that maybe
The thing that I did wrong
Was put up with his bullshit for far too long

In a candid picture from his friend’s wedding, E is behind the bride and groom, holding a cigarette and a pint of Guinness. This pretty much explains him. Most nights I would find E on the porch at some point, smoking a Marlboro Light, checking his voicemails and returning calls. If he wasn’t on the phone, I would sometimes join him but rarely have a smoke myself. I could tell by the way he was smoking if something – the voicemails, work, even me – was pissing him off. I always found him out on the porch after those last fights we had, either angrily sucking down the smoke or staring at the ash thoughtfully as it burned down. Always, he would flick the end of his cigarette off the porch and over my fence into the street with the practiced motion of one who had been doing it since he was fifteen.

I think I might like
The quiet nights
Of this empty life

A few nights ago at home, I sat on the porch and angrily blew smoke at the lantern lights I had put up to make it more romantic out there.

Someday, maybe somebody will love me like I need
And someday, I won’t have to prove this, somebody will see

Things fell apart with E right around the time Tim got his discharge from the Air Force and moved back here. He started coming over again. It’s usually after he’s been drinking; he’ll call me on his way home from wherever in the middle of the night, half thinking about a booty call and half just wanting someone to listen to him whine about how his life sucks.

“You’re still the only person who gets me,” he says.

“I know.”

We sit in silence for a minute while he half-heartedly tries to rub my leg seductively. When I don’t respond, he sighs and puts his arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Do you have a smoke?”

“You said you quit,” I say accusingly.

“I did. I just smoke when I’ve been drinking sometimes.”

I walk into the kitchen. “Here.”

“You don’t smoke Lights.”

“They’re E’s. He left them.”

“Have one with me?”

“I don’t really want one.” I let him go out to the porch alone.

All my worth, but until then I’ll do just fine on my own
With my cigarettes and this old dirt road

He lights up in the bar on Friday night; we’re there with Ben and Melissa just like old times. “Want one?” he asks.

“No, thanks.”

I drive him to the next bar, then back to his truck two hours later. When he gets out, I can smell the bar smoke that clings to both of us, in our hair and on our skin.

I don’t wanna sleep
I don’t wanna dream
About the things that I used to need
And I ain’t gonna cry
Or gonna live the lies
I’m just gonna drive

There’s a pack of Marlboro Ultras buried in the Jeep’s center console, and I fumble for them at a stoplight. I find them just before the green arrow, and pluck the matches I snitched from the bar out of my bag. It’s hard to light up with a match while I’m driving, and I wait until the next stop. I can see his headlights in my rearview mirror and I squint, forgetting the cigarette. The light turns green and I drive on while he follows me.

‘Cause someday, maybe somebody will love me
And someday, I won’t have to prove
All my worth, but until then I’ll do just fine on my own
With my cigarettes
Oh, and this old dirt road

————————————-
Song lyrics from “Cigarettes”

The Wreckers, Stand Still, Look Pretty