Smoking with Renate

We hoped no one would see us. We stood behind the big rock past the basketball court. At dusk, the forest trees seemed taller, the grass stiff. Renate opened the red-and-white Marlboro box she pilfered from her mother. We gathered to prove we could inhale the right way, and then exhale with control. Blow smoke in a stream from our mouths. No coughing. No swallowing. No puffing.

Phyllis would never do it right, but she tried more than once, wheezing, her eyes bloodshot. Sivia exhaled perfectly on her initial try, dark plumes alighting from her mouth and nose. Probably not her first time. 

I couldn’t fathom a way out. I had been lectured to by my parents and school about the evils of cigarettes, shown images of lungs riddled with disease. My uncle died of lung cancer diagnosed only four months before he passed away. Renate, standing in espadrilles and a low-cut blouse liked to flirt with older boys. Her parents built their modern house of wood and metal with multiple levels and a sun roof. Everyone else in this summer bungalow colony lived in shingled cottages where our grandparents once retreated from city heat. Behind the rock, we promised Renate we’d learn to smoke. Today. She had been asking all summer, so we could no longer delay.

“Go ahead, Sarah.” Renate was about to light a fresh cig she handed me with the glowing tip of hers, but we heard her little brother, Bobby, shouting something on the basketball court.

“He knows we’re here,” said Phyllis. “He might snitch.”

“He won’t,” Renate insisted. “He knows better.”

“What is that—over there?” Phyllis pointed to something on the ground, about five feet away.

I saw a pinkish blob. It seemed to pulse.

“Looks like a big lump of gum,” said Renate. “Phyllis, you always see weird things.”

“Yeah, Phyllis,” I said. “Last time you saw a gash in the ground.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I did.”

Renate tossed her hair. “When you properly exhale and look really slick, we’ll walk down the road into town. Light up far from the colony. Who knows, maybe we’ll meet some boys.”

I took a step towards the oozing thing. “It’s not gum,” I said. “It’s squishy and soft.” 

“I don’t see anything,” said Sivia, holding her burning filter stylishly.

“You must be kidding,” I said. “It’s right there.”

Phyllis moved closer. “It’s shaking.” 

A chill spread over my arms and legs; Phyllis emitted a deep, anguished cry. Our bungalow colony stood next to the ruins of a former mental institution. The area beyond the rock contained remains of unclaimed dead bodies. I had been afraid to walk there by myself. I overheard that information when my parents were playing cards with some of the neighbors.

How much time was a person allowed to claim a dead relative, or a dead friend? Would anyone mourn them? 

Shifting the dry cigarette to my other hand, I thought of when my uncle was lowered into the ground in his casket. The rabbi made prayers as we cried. What did they do with those unclaimed bodies? 

“You idiots,” said Renate. “Your screams blew our cover.”

Bobby’s voice vibrated from the basketball court, “Hey, SIS.” He and someone exchanged bouts of laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” I asked. After the burial, we sat shiva for my uncle, visiting with relatives and friends to eat and drink, reminisce. The mirrors were covered; we were supposed to sit on low benches. My uncle had been tall and strong with a monster laugh. He scared all the kids yet we could not stop requesting it.

“Why don’t you touch the blob, Sarah,” said Sivia, looking at Renate, exhaling perfect rings like the Marlboro Man.

My feet stayed frozen. When Renate’s cigarette burned down, she stomped it out. The one in my hand broke into pieces. “What a waste,” Renate said. “I’m not giving you another one.”

“Do you know,” I asked, my voice cracking, “that patients who died alone at the institution were buried near here?”

“My grandparents founded this colony,” said Renate. “They never said anything about that. Have you heard of it, Sivia?”

“No,” she said.

Sivia’s family had only just moved in, so she wouldn’t know.

“It’s true,” said Phyllis, whose nose started to run. “There was a mental institution and you can see ruins deep in the woods.” She sounded like she had observed them, but I didn’t ask.

How much time was a person allowed to claim a dead relative, or a dead friend? Would anyone mourn them? 

“I DARE you to touch that thing, Sarah,” said Renate.

My mouth felt dry and bitter. In the wind, I heard Bobby’s basketball thud.

I took a step towards the blob. How long does it take for bodies to disintegrate? Do worms really eat you? 

Phyllis picked up a stick from the ground. She walked to the ooze and poked at it. We huddled where she stood.

“Look! It’s taking the stick,” shouted Phyllis. She pointed and we saw the piece of a branch stand up, sinking into the blob. 

We screamed, the echo cutting across the darkening sky, rebounding against the giant stone. It was getting late.

“I’m going home,” I said, dashing out from behind the rock towards the basketball court. Phyllis and Sivia followed close behind. 

“Sarah, I smell your BO,” Renate shouted, slowly moving in her platform sandals. “You didn’t take a single drag. When the rest of us walk into town, you are outlawed.”