We were drinking the beer she brought and the pizza that I had procured in the living room when we revisited the conversation topic of her nicotine habit.
“Let’s go out on the porch and smoke that leftover pack of cigarettes you got,” she concluded.
I couldn’t find the pack of Ligget’s Select that I had purchased months ago on the date of my ATC test. But the pack of Marlboro Lights that Tony had entrusted to my care were still on the headboard in my room.
“I haven’t smoked Marboro Lights in years,” she complained as I lit up the end of her cigarette with a lime-green butane lighter that I couldn’t remember acquiring.
We talked about the improbability of the lighter’s shape– it was as long as a knife handle and narrow as a set of chopsticks. We talked about church and how hard it is to relate to most Christians.
“I’m so glad I found someone to smoke with,” she said.
“I only smoke when I’m drinking,” I replied as I raised my bottle.
We talked about how nice it is that there are actual crimes in Oakland for the police to worry about, rather than the porch-bound activities of two kids hanging out past midnight. Before I realized it, Tony was walking up the stairs, having returned from what was presumably a long day in the office.
“Did you get my message?” he asked. “Sorry, I stole your Liggets. Now that the marathon is over, I’ve started smoking again.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I still got the Marlboros you gave me.”
Tony took a cigarette and declined a beer, reiterating his policy of remaining a teetotaler when outside the company of his company. He went back inside the apartment to put away his jacket and the conversation changed subtly between his absence and his return. I struggled mentally to be mindful of not mentioning the occult in Tony’s presence so as not to reopen that particularly fascinating can of worms. Perhaps another time.
We talked about movies- the ones we’ll never see again and the ones we think each other ought to see whether in the theater or on DVD. Lisa and I both exclaimed with excitement when we realized that neither had watched the end of “Requiem for a Dream” and had no intentions or curiosity due to our own varied, yet cohesive, sensibilities.
Tony had to go pass out and I had to fold laundry, so Lisa followed me into my duck-shaped room. I showed her the silhouette while we both laid on my bed and talked about how fun it would be to paint a duckbill, an eyeball and a wing on the ceiling. A pair of legs trailing down the wall.
I folded clothes and sculpted dinos while she thumbed through old sketchbooks that I had pulled off the bookshelf. Every once in a while she would read something aloud and I would make a mental decision not to be embarrassed. The clay, the books and the clothes got put away and we sat and talked about our families, our sisters and our fathers. Because of the beer or the comfort or both, I started telling stories that I hadn’t thought about in years and I took my glasses off because that’s what I do when I’m trying not to think too much.
It was past 3am and we both decided that she should decline my offer to stay. She thanked me from her car via sms and I passed out immediately, only to be awakened by intermittent text messages as she made her way back home safely.
Everything was as perfect as it could have been and nothing was taken in excess. I just might be starting to figure it out.