Free writing

Just ideas

In the cabinet over the refrigerator two things were stored: an old fishbowl from the tragically brief “Goldfish Experiment” of 2014 (it was the kids first experience with death. Who knew that tap water had toxic levels of chlorine in it?) and a small wooden box which W. used to hide his cigarettes. Once she had gone to bed, W. walked to the kitchen, moved the cereal boxes on the top of the fridge, and opened the cabinet door. He pulled down the thin, wooden box and took out a cigarette and the green lighter that lay inside next to a cheap pipe. Once outside, he lit the cigarette and walked to the front porch where he could smoke without fear of the smell drifting into the air conditioner and spreading it throughout the house. The porch was small and unlit, which was preferable. At this time of night, only the passing cars might notice him, but W still felt uncomfortable with the thought of being caught smoking. It was not that it was entirely a secret. His wife knew. Years ago he asked her, nervously, if she would mind if he started smoking occasionally. Not daily or even weekly. Just occasionally. Because as gross as it sounded to her, he found the experience and smell of smoking to be rich and satisfying. There was also something almost holy about these moments. Between work and taking care of the kids, W rarely prayed anymore — a fact he was ashamed of but not ashamed enough to do anything about. But when it was dark and the whole house was asleep he could come out and smoke and feel the presence of God. Or maybe it was just that he finally wasn’t distracted. And that had to count for something.