Show Me Yours And I'll Show You Mine

"Next week is my cousin's birthday. She's dead." He exhaled and the smoke curled upward.

I'd been having a rough morning at work. I was edgy and restless; by the time my lunch break showed up I wanted to be absolutely anywhere but there. I wasn't hungry, but I headed for my car anyway. I just wanted to be away.

Three quarters of the way to my car, I spotted him on the bench that had been shoved against the building between the storage sheds. I did an about-face and went over to say hello. I perched myself on the concrete base of the column across from the bench and stretched out my arm. Without speaking, he passed me his lighter and I reached into my bag for a cigarette.

Smoking is an old habit, one I've gone back to over the last few months. Its a nasty crutch, but some days that Camel is the only thing holding me together. So, for now, I allow myself this vice.

He regaled me with a ridiculous story about his roommate the night before, and then we fell silent. I was halfway through my second cigarette when he spoke again.

I took another drag and exhaled slowly before responding. "My brother's birthday is this month, too. The 29th. He would be 22"

He exhaled again "She died ten years ago. I got my first tattoo for her." He rolled up his sleeve to show me.

And then it followed: a bizarre version of Show Me Yours And I'll Show You Mine.
Our tales of memorial tattoos, fatal car accidents, emotional scars intertwined with the smoke from our cigarettes. We shared the memorial services, grief, shock and numbness as if they were war stories. There is a weariness to such talk- survival without triumph.

I wanted to cry, but he managed to make me laugh. Really laugh for the first time in too long.

Before I knew it, I was crushing out my fourth cigarette and my lunch break was over.
I hadn't eaten, but I felt more full than any food could have made me.

Maybe, just maybe, it will be okay.
I can hope anyway, huh?

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