SMOKE-OUT

Her hands shook as she reached for the phone and tapped a cigarette from the near-empty pack. The expected busy signal sent her eyes down the list of acquaintances, searching for one who would listen to her in this lonely state...one who wouldn't panic at her frenzy. The fourth try was successful in that she finally made contact with a familiar voice, but the voice was patronizing, giving substance to her fears. She was almost grateful when her child tripped over the telephone cord, cutting her off from the unhearing voice on the other end of the line.

She held her child a while and read to him until he tired. Gathering his nighttime friends and readying him for sleep were things she did without mental exertion. They were part of her internal programming, the same as brushing her teeth and feeding her plants.

The house was silent then, and she turned her mind toward the inevitable bookkeeping of survival. Checks and letters were written by her right hand while her left held tightly to carcinogenous security. A cigarette -- the one thing in her life which remained the same.

THURSDAY

She was adopted by eight friends during National Smoke-out Day. Many more lent their support, for she was well-liked and those who knew her felt relieved to have a way to return her many kindnesses, a way to show they cared.

They kept her stocked with candy and gum and mints. They reminded her that she felt and smelled better today. They told her that she was a strong person and that she was doing great. She picked up her child on the way home from work. When he asked to stop at the "die foo," she felt tension grab her by the shoulders. She had felt guilty when some of his first words were the ones he used for "drive thru," but it seemed like there were less hours in the day, now that she was a single mother.

He insisted on stopping for fries and she had no money. Not being one to give up easily, he persisted in his efforts to have his own way. He wanted fries and he wanted them "now," he whined. Neither the fact that she only had seven cents in her pocket nor the fact that her nerves were pleading to be dulled seemed to matter much to the two-year-old.

The night passed slowly and much the same as the previous one, except that she felt obligated to repay her friends' efforts by finishing the day smoke-free. She even toyed with the thought that she might be able to make it one more day.

FRIDAY

She searched again for a caring voice. Initial interest in the adopted smoker had waned. The memory of friends with pockets full of candy and gum seemed ludicrous to her now. As the busy signal droned, she put the cigarette to her lips, struck a match and held it to her life. ---