If you got ’em

There's an awkwardness that my parents used to fill with smoking. Not sure what to do with your hands? Light up. Finished a good meal? Burn one. Need a break? Step outside, shake out a menthol (mom) or a Basic-light (dad).

I say an awkwardness, but I'm not sure. Maybe they weren't awkward at all. Maybe they just didn't know what to say. We never really discussed politics, religion, or anything important. I'd get asked about school, but I never had much to share.

My grandfather smoked a pipe, but sometimes he liked a Tampa Nugget. That was rare. Mostly, he was packing the bowl with Carter Hall. I don't ever remember him smoking it in a restaurant, though.

I tried it, but the habit didn't take. I found the pipe too rough and the cigarettes unfulfilling. All they did was leave me tasting ashtrays and wondering where my money went.

I used to always carry a Zippo in college, though. Some of the jobs I worked, I'd hang out with the smokers. They were an overall affable bunch, friendly, chatty. They appreciated that I always had a light. A girl asked me once where my smokes were, and I just grinned. "I save them for bed," I cracked wise.

She was disappointed to learn that was a lie, when she came over later.

I'd be lying if I said that was her only disappointment, but we can't win 'em all.

I have no idea where that Zippo is now. Maybe I found it not long ago when I did some cleanup of my storage building, but I likely tossed it right back into the box with all her old loveletters.

All of them.

I smelled her perfume in that cheap plastic tub as soon as I lifted the lid.

She flirted with smoking for a short while, but gave it up pretty quickly.

She flirted with marrying me for a while, but gave up that idea pretty quickly, too.

My parents don't smoke anymore. My dad, because he's dead. My mom, because I told her one of the reasons I didn't visit was because I had to wear dirty clothes to her house and wash them while I took a shower just as soon as I got home. That was a long time ago, when we lived in the same town.

I remember that conversation when I look over at the dry erase calendar on my wall and realize I don't have a visit scheduled in the foreseeable.

I should change that, but there's an awkwardness that my parents used to fill with smoking, and I don't know how to fill it anymore.