Marlboro Reds: The Story of a Lost Boy

Author's Note: This is a fictional story inspired by the Marlboro cigarette butt I found on our walk.

 He knew it was a bad habit, but it was one that got him through the day. At this point, anything that made him feel anything other than mediocre would do. He bought the pack this morning before classes, the gas meter in his rusted pickup truck grazing over the “E”. He used the last of his money he earned at the car wash at the gas station, but not to buy gas; instead, he bought Marlboro Reds. He brushed his fingers over the little box in the pocket of his dark washed jeans and sighed. It had only been a week since his mother’s funeral, but it felt like years. He returned to reality, a grimacing chuckle escaped his lips. How ironic that the very thing that killed his mother was the only thing keeping him alive.

His classmates left him alone ever since his mother passed away. They didn’t seem to understand that the one thing he needed in those lonely hours was someone to talk to. His mom was the only person he had left. Well, his mother and the cigarettes. She offered him his first puff at age 12, the first cough beginning his dangerous love affair, and furthering hers. Almost 7 years later, the word “cancer” fell upon his ears. That word was more poisonous than the thousands of chemicals in the cigarettes ever were.  He still remembered her hooked up to all of those monstrous machines, the sterile scent in the air, interrupted by the smell of smoke that he had been so familiar with. He tried to snatch the rolled up death sentence from her hand, but she would always stop him. “Darling”, she whispered, the low rasp of her once beautiful voice filling his ears, “this is the only thing that I can feel anymore. Please let me feel.”

How could he say no? He understood exactly what she was saying, even without a having a life-threatening disease himself.

He straightened his thoughts and returned to the solid, unwelcoming ground of the present. With that, a flood of withdrawal rushed into his body. His head was pounding, the fatigue creeping in behind his golden brown eyes. He always knew how to fix the self-induced pain. Sometimes, he’d almost rather suffer through it than light yet another cigarette, but they were an old friend. They provided him with solace. They would always be there for him. They knew his secrets, his deepest fears, and contained the antidote to curing his pain. They were his best friend and his worst enemy.

After the overwhelming thoughts of all he had been through in the past year, he slipped the cigarette box out of his pocket. He rolled it around in his palms, the quiet music from his car stereo distracting his thoughts. As he ripped away the plastic, exposing the cigarettes to the outside world, he stopped and grabbed the little black lighter from his glove box.  He placed one of the Marlboros upside down in the box for good luck, and took one out for himself. Raising the cigarette to his lips, he heard his mother’s words and turned them into his own silent prayer. “Please let me feel.”