Smoking and Blow Pops

Smoke from my cigarette swirled

Into the heat of the bulb in the metal shade

Of the desk lamp--the smokey swirl dissipating

To lazy fog in the heat.

A bit of tobacco on my tongue

Refused to be freed

While my throat stung and burned.

                *****

How would everything fit? The dorm room was minuscule, like a walk-in closet. Way too much stuff for that tiny space. But, no mind, we were thrilled to be away from home.

The weight of making my own decisions hung heavy. Nerves rang: Can I really do this? The course catalogue was overwhelming. I was a hummingbird darting from flower to flower. Which one has the best nectar? I settled into Biology, Physics, World History, Botany, Comparative Anatomy, Advanced Freshman English, and German.

Poverty ruled. With extra classes, I might graduate early and pay for only three years of school.

I needed money for books, tuition, room, and board. So up at 3:00am to make breakfast in the dining hall. Hundreds of pancakes, oatmeal by the gallon. Coffee kept me going. Classes and labs all day, study ‘til midnight, sleep three hours. Repeat.

After weeks of never seeing my roommate, I found a note on the piles of paper and books on my desk: “Let’s walk to town for pizza on Saturday.”

It was 1961. Everyone was smoking. A brightening burn of cigarette tips on the inhale, a puff of smoke in front of faces on the exhale. Students smoked in dorms, on the way to class, in buildings. Smoking was everywhere: on busses, in stores, in restaurants, at sporting events, at the laundromat—everywhere. Cigarette machines were everywhere. One stood at the entrance to the pizza parlor.

“Let’s try it.” We never could remember who said it. We bought a pack of Marlboros from the machine. It cost 26 cents. We divided the pack. Easier to light than I thought. The smoke bitter in my mouth, stinging my throat. The smell sour and earthy. This truly is being a grown up, we thought.

We leaned our elbows on the table, held our cigarettes with great sophistication and casual aplomb. I thought about the Marlboro Man and celebrities who advertised cigarettes: John Wayne, Betty Grable. We were alive like never before.

We said we smoked to relieve the pressure of studying. Exams, work, my struggle with the slide rule, some squeezed-in social life. And then I couldn’t study without smoking. A daily three pack addiction and barely able to swallow. My throat on fire day and night.

At the infirmary, Doc said I was allergic to smoke and had to stop. I told him I didn’t smoke and just needed medicine--even though I had smoked several cigarettes in the waiting room.

I decided to quit after nine months of smoking. To keep my hands busy, instead of holding a cigarette, I knit three afghans, several sweaters. I had a Blow Pop lollypop in my mouth all day. My craving left me sleepless, jumping out of my skin and jittery—for months and months.

*****

Blow Pops ruled—cherry, grape, sour apple, strawberry.

The hard, mouth-watering candy on the outside,

When gone, the inner close-your-eyes delight—luscious bubblegum.

Chew it, blow bubbles—pop! Stress gone.

I kicked nicotine. Kept knitting and studying.

The urge to smoke faded.

Soon I no longer had to knit like fury,

Blow Pops, a staple in my life.

They still inhabit my cupboards.

No wish for a cigarette,

But when stress comes in,

The Blow Pops come out!