Smoke

 

Two days ago, a friend Muzzy quit smoking, and everything he thought and said suggested smoking. 

We were sitting in the den, watching hockey and drinking beer with my Cuban wife Lucia, and he sniffs his knuckles and fingers saying, 

I can smell it.

Lucia says to him, 

the nicotine has to sweat out of you, the second day is always the hardest, the third day is hard to of course, but from then on you’re over the hump. Henry puts in his two bits, 

you are never over the hump, you can be sitting in a bar, and the guy sitting next to you offers you a smoke and you think, well one won’t hurt, so you savor the cig and you’re addicted again. Lucia says, 

don’t be fatalista, Muzzy is going to be tobacco-free, give credit where credit's due. Henry gives in,

OK, kudos Muz, Muzzy says, 

I can smell it, the tobacco residue on my hand.

Henry takes a brisket in a bowl out of the frig to the patio grill. He pours a quarter bag of charcoal briquettes into the grill arranging them O-shaped, placing newspaper in the center, lighting the paper, Muzzy asks, 

Why don’t you Zippo the shit outta the coals? 

Because the meat will taste like lighter fluid.   

Henry lights the newspaper, the coals catch fire, eventually simmering down to a fine grey color.

Then he pours 12 ounces of Hickory chips on the coals, puts the upper grill in place, setting the brisket on it with an oversized fork. Muzzy says, 

Man, the sizzling Hickory smells good.

Can you vape that shit? 

If you’re craving a smoke Muz, they sell vape pens at Ed’s Smokes down the street. Hickory's harsh, try lilac, tea tree, or eucalyptus. Vaping, cigars, pipes, cigarettes, they’re all carcinogenic. 

What about pot Henry? 

Well, there's no nicotine in it, I doubt it’s bad for you. Let's get loaded and watch Woodstock in the living room while the brisket cooks.

For Christ's sack, Henry, don't tell me you were at Woodstock in 69, everybody says they were there.

No, my boss at Schultz’s Kielbasa wouldn’t let me off, I would've gone. I remember him saying,

Henz, no time for funny business, we got Kielbasa to get out boychek.

Lucias in the bedroom napping, she’s supposed to be making potato salad.

Henry grabs a four-CD set from the cabinet next to the TV, Woodstock 1969. They light a joint.

Richie Havens opens, playing alone, thumb fingering like a madman, big sound, playing his guitar like it’s a drum, serious about something — during Woodstock 69 hippies thought acid was changing the world but the real pioneers in the 60s were the geeks in Silicon Valley. 

Muzzy says about Richie Havens, 

the dude doesn’t have any teeth, 

yeah Muz, I think he’s a street musician. 

Then a swami, a fat guy with long hair and a beard, wearing an orange robe comes to the middle of the stage. He scans the sea of hippies and then says something gurus say —  

music is the celestial sound that controls the whole universe. 

The guys laugh out loud, they're loaded, Muzzy says, 

I don't know nothin about the universe, but sex and money control everything else. 

Henry fast forwards the CD through the folk music, Melanie, Tim Hardin, and Joan Baez to the following evening of Woodstock when the show begins to rock— Joe Cocker, Mountain, Canned Heat, The Who, Johnny Winter, hard-rocking, loud bands.

Lucia walks into the living room, wrapped in her kimono, she's livid.

The brisket caught fire. Didn't you dipsticks smell it burning? I sprayed the grill with the garden hose. Anyway, it's burnt to a crisp. Henry smirks saying,

Oops, we'll go to Fu King Chinese, my treat. 

Lucia dresses in the bedroom, putting on a crop top and cut-offs. Her dark hair's long, waist length, she primps it some, looking like a movie star. 

The guys, Muz and Henry, wear the same shit they’ve had on all day, smokey jeans and T-shirts. They're slobs. 

Henry has waist-length hair and Muzzy who's bald says, 

bein bald's the best, it’s much less hassle. And, women dig bald guys, our heads are phallic. 

That’s right Muzzy, dick heads get a lot of pussy. 

They pile into Henry’s Chevy Malibu wagon, Lucia drives. Muzzy lights a joint and passes it around. Bill Evans’ Peace Piece is playing on the radio, Henry says, 

God, I love this.

Lucia parks in front of Fu King Chinese, they go inside, sitting at a round table. The restaurant is drab and poorly lit with red lights, resembling a Bangkok whore house. 

An old Chinese woman wearing a Qipao, a traditional Chinese dress, brings a pot of black tea with small cups. After burning his mouth on the tea and scanning the menu, Henry waves his hands to get the old girl’s attention, she comes to the table smiling, her teeth are greyish. He orders,  

we'll have the sweet and sour pork, cashew chicken, fried rice, and wonton soup. 

They sip black tea, forced to contend with a rare period of silence. 

The dishwasher carries the hot food on a large brown tray and the old China girl places the dishes on a spinning plater in the middle of the table— making it easy to reach what you want, unless two people are after the same dish. 

Fu King Chinese was weird, but the food was divine.

Henry pays and they walk out, piling into the station wagon. 

It’s 9 PM, Muzzy invites the couple to his place for a drink. He’s got a trailer at Tropical Mobile Home Park. On the way, he asks Lucia to pull over at Shorty’s Market for beer.

They wait in the car and Muz walks out of Shorty’s carrying a case of Coors Light with a tightly backed paper bag on top.

He directs her to his trailer, she parks in front. It’s nothing special, a Skyline Mobile Home, brown, rectangular, a poor man's trailer.  

It's a mess inside, dishes in the sink, ashtrays full of cigarette butts, smelling like yesterday's garbage. 

Lucia looks around, raising her eyebrows saying to Henry in a muffled voice,  

It’s awful, let’s go.

Muzzy brings em a warm Coors Light, and says,

welcome aboard, and Henry says, 

yeah, the place has a nice feeling, like death. 

Muzzy pulls out a red package of filterless Pall Malls, asking, 

how bout a smoke, Lucia says, 

you know we don’t smoke, you’re back on em again?

well, you gotta go somehow.

There’s a knock at the door, Muzzy yells,

the checks in the mail, common in.

It's a dwarf couple, they're achondroplasian, with long trunks, short arms and legs, large heads, prominent foreheads, and bowed legs. He introduces the couple.

Henry and Lucia, say howdy to Big Mike and Cabbage. 

Big Mike has a bottle of tequila and Cabbage has some plastic cups. She pours five large shots on the console table and everyone helps themselves. Muzzy offers Big Mike and Cabbage a cigarette and Big Mike says, 

Cabbage and I never smoked, we were afraid it would stunt our growth, 

laughter roars through the trailer. 

After too many beers and shots, Henry and Lucia excuse themselves and she says, 

Henry's drunk we should go. 

Lucia jots down Cabbage's phone number saying, 

How bout dinner at our place this week? Just us couples, don't bring Muzzy.