Cheap Cigarettes

The pack cost no small fortune, but I didn’t mind. Death is pricey. And Annie would’ve paid for it, anyhow. Annie always does.

The broad behind the counter rang the register, handing me a nickel. She said, “Thanks for stoppin' by,” and I couldn’t stop from staring at the kaleidoscope streaking down her head. She must’ve thought I was looking down her shirt, because the smile on her face begun to fade.

“Can I get a lighter?” I asked, hoping to apologize for misinterpreted behavior. The silver lighter I’d stolen from Annie’s drawer burned in my coat pockets. “Sorry. I threw mine out a while ago.”

The Rainbow softened slightly, looking more understanding. “Stressful times?” She reached down to the section below the counter, pulling out a plastic lighter.

I nodded. Smiled. “Yeah,” I took out Annie’s wallet again.

“You know, my brother’s trying to quit, too,” she said, casually, sounding at the very least concerned. “He could recommend you to a Nicotine Anonymous meeting, if you’d like.”

“How nice,” I laid down a couple dollar bills. “But I think I’ll do fine on my own.”

The Rainbow nodded, cashing it in again and handing scrap paper. “Suit yourself, bud,” she said, and I had to stop myself from smiling when she said ‘bud’ to a man at least two decades older than her. “But in case you’re tempted, just remember: There’s no such thing as a cheap cigarette.”

“No,” I said. “Not with these tax rates.”

The fluorescent lights shone out from the 7-Eleven and into the parking lot, a bell ringing above my head. My car was the only one in the lot. It was a classic model of Mercedes Benz, one of our father’s many material obsessions before he inevitably quacked. Annie was supposed to take it, of course. It didn’t matter if she wanted it or not, Annie was supposed to take everything. Annie always did.

I opened the door to the car, dangling a cigarette between my lips. Dropping into the drivers’ seat, I lit it with Annie’s cigarette, somewhat wary of the gasoline tanks in the passenger seat. Annie lay against the back seat, her white suit torn at the collar. It was probably dad's favorite designer. I don’t remember my father’s favorite designers, of course, only alcoholic beverages he’d call ‘uncultured’. I have no doubt Annie remembered them, but I can’t quiz her on that. Not now.

“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long,” I chuckled, looking through the rearview mirror. If I squinted, maybe I could pretend the red rolling down her chin was smeared lipstick. “I know you’re not used to waiting. That’s my thing, isn’t it?”

Quiet.

“You always come first, after all.” I considered my cigarette, talking to the cloud of smoke slipping from my mouth. “First to be birthed. First to be hugged by daddy. First on the roller coasters. First in school ranking. First to get a car. First to take control of the company and the money after dad goes.” I rolled down the window. “First to die.”

Crickets. Humming neon.

“The only first I get to be is the first to get a kid,” I laughed, bitterly. “And even then, my family comes second to you. Always you.”

You could almost mistake her paleness for guilt. Shame. I wished she was ashamed. I wished she had the right to be ashamed. In that brief moment, I wished, with all the power my poisoned lungs could give me, that she was wrong. 

Just that once. Just that once, I didn’t want to be the bad guy. Just that once, I didn’t want to be the black sheep of the family, the legendary kid who crashed his dad’s Lamborghini while high on crack, the boy who impregnated a girl at 16. Just that once, I wanted the full Law & Order drama treatment; I wanted to be the heroic suspect who killed his evil sister for wrongly draining their father of their money. I wanted to be the sympathetic suspect who killed his sister for refusing to give him the money necessary to cure his kid of cancer. I wanted to be gray. I wanted to be understood. I didn’t want to be the asshole.

But my kid doesn’t have cancer. I could’ve gotten the fair share of my dad’s dough, if I wasn’t such an idiot and practically wrote myself out of the will. And my sister, my sister kept my dad’s company alive. She was an angel. She always was.

I started the engine, cigarette between my index and middle finger.

I drove. I drove and drove, until the asphalt melted into sand dunes and I was immersed into the Nevada night. The desert was vast, endless. Desperate. Cold, but I can’t imagine for long.

I dragged Annie out of the backseat, dumping her onto the sand. It almost hurt me, watching as the gasoline wetted her dark hair—it reminded me of our mom. Of all the broken promises she’d made, all the things I was supposed to have that eventually went to Annie. And then her suit came into sight, and I imagined I was soaking my dad instead, his judging and pretentious complexion wincing in pain.

I flicked on the plastic lighter, tossing it onto the Frankenstein monster of everything I loved and despised. Watching, as all of my childhood went up in flames. Imagining. Fantasizing. The money I would inherit, if I got away with it. The fortunes and opportunities I would acquire. The future I would grant Jimmy. The disappointment I won’t be to my wife—

And then, I remembered Annie.

Always Annie. Always the girl who taught me how to play strip poker when we were ten. Always the girl who sneaked out of her bedroom to mine, just so she could repeat bedtime stories dad couldn’t bother telling me. Always the girl who told me she knows she’ll see my name on newspapers, someday. Always the girl who burned all the newspapers after I crashed the Lamborghini, telling me journalism sucks anyway. Always the girl who taught me how to change Jimmy’s diapers whenever my wife wasn’t around. Always the girl who told me, years after we both knew I had no chance, that I was still something to her. Always the girl who tossed me Camels when my wife wasn’t looking. 

Only once, the woman who refused to pay my debts while we smoked cheap cigarettes, screaming about the failure she’d lied that I wasn't.

She couldn’t wait for me to think of Jimmy. She couldn’t wait for me to think of my new future. She’s still the first thing on my mind. Even in death, she’s still the only reason why I clutched my head and screamed to the smoke floating up into the heavens, fading into the dark.