“Cigarettes In the Morning” 

It's just past midnight. Or at least I think it is, I forgot to change the clocks again. Nevertheless, I’m going with what my car clock tells me. Have been for months. I ran out of cigarettes and I don't have the cash lying around to buy another pack. The paycheck from the zoo doesn't come until next week. Sometimes I wish I were working with the animals. I mean, I work at the zoo, when you think the zoo, you think animals. What the hell else would you think of? Furnaces and water tanks are what I see. Fixing and maintaining. That's what I do at the zoo. The type of job your uncle gets you when you're out of work and you end up spending more years there than expected. But in this case, it was my aunt who got me the job.

I could use a cigarette, that’s all I know right now. I like a cigarette when I drink. I like one anyway, but when I drink, that's a different story. I mean, who doesn't? I guess people who don't drink. When I don’t have the pocket change to buy them, I tend to lean on Lucy. But it seems she's not home; granted, she didn't pick up her phone. I’m on my way to the bar, Plan B when I run out of cigarettes. I throw extra cash in a coffee can for spare drinks, head to the bar to have a few, then work up the liquid courage to bum a cigarette off somebody around. Or the bartender if I’m lucky. I’m not a very confident guy, so bumming a cigarette off someone isn't something I feel all that comfortable doing. Not until I've had a few drinks in me. Hence, the coffee can.  

I'd been drinking most of the night already at home, working on fixing a new shelf for myself. The old one weathered out and I thought it was about time. Cracked at the bottom half. If I have to thank my dad for one thing, it'd be showing me how to use my hands. Can't think of much else. I'm about half done, still deciding whether to throw an extra cubby on the top. Contemplating between 4 or 5. An extra could be nice, could throw some old photos up. The past, Jill, my old dog Rabbit. That would require me to get frames, but hell, I could probably build a couple.

I’m almost at the bar, but thinking I should just head to Lucy's instead. Save a little cash. She wouldn't mind me stopping by unannounced, but I don't want to be a bother either. Feel like I am one to bother. Or maybe that’s just me. I hooked a left off Madison and headed her way. Passing the strip of storefronts off Lincoln now. They're tearing down the old bookstore, I guess. How’d I miss that? I didn't know that. I remembered when it opened. I was young, so were the bones of the building. They still haven't taken down the sign yet, the neon’s still on-

Bump!

I just ran over something. I don't know what, but it had weight to it. It didn't feel solid, but solid enough. I think it was an animal. It felt like an animal. But I didn't hear anything. I hit something. I know it. My face is frozen. I gotta keep driving. Head forward, no looking back. My mind wandered back to cigarettes. Tobacco. Ease. Lucy. She’ll have cigarettes. She always does.

Hooking the corner of her block, I noticed the front lamp in her window was off, but the kitchen light in the back was on. I know that back lamp. Mahogany base, yellow-toned shade. It caught my eye as I rolled past-

Screech!

A lady is dead center right in front of me. Caught in the headlights. I slammed the brakes, and she put her hands on the hood. Immediately, she called,

“Watch where you're going!”

She came out of nowhere. I was distracted. I must have been.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said as I stuck my head out the window.

The woman did not continue on, but instead stood there. Still. As was I. I began to see distress in her eyes. Not from me, almost hitting her, it seemed like it was coming from somewhere else. Her hand made its way to her temple, resting the other hand on her hip, jumbling up the bottom of her sweater. This side of the tracks was full of drunks and beaten families. People who didn't leave. I’m not sure they had a choice. If they ever did, that choice is long buried. This block in particular brought that nature. But this woman didn't seem drunk or beaten. Just tired. Worn down. She began to cry without a sound. I threw the car in park and stepped out.

“I really am sorry. I didn't see you,” I said.

She didn't answer, but instead slowly back trotted to the curb and took a seat upon it. I was muddled as to whether she was hurt or just unnerved. Flip a coin and I still wouldn't know. I slowly made my way over to her.

“You alright?” I said.

She sat still, then slid her hand off her temple. She answered without looking up at me,

“Have you seen a dog?”

My eyes widened. Breath stopped.

“Short, Scottish Terror. Black,” she continued.

I looked down the block. Right, then left. I don’t know what to say.

“I haven't no,” I leaked out.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were a deep green. It was dark, but the headlights from the car shone across her face. I hadn't seen someone in this state since Jill. Right before she left. Or was it a time before that?

“It’s okay,” she suddenly said.

She looked down at my shoes.

“I shouldn't have been on the road like that. I wasn't paying attention,” she continued.

I couldn't speak. But I did anyway,

“No, no, it's my bad. I was distracted.”

There was silence. I didn't know what to say. I don't think she did either. I tried to gauge if what I ran over back there felt like a dog. It was a horrible thing to think of, but it's what I thought. I don’t think it did. But then again, how the hell would I know? I never looked back.

She rested her head upon her knees. She wasn't okay. I could tell. She couldn't be past 35, wearing socks and sandals, blue jeans, and a tight sweater that was knitted in triangles. Her hair was red. Naturally red. She suddenly stood.

“Would you mind taking me around the block? I live off Kensington,” she said.

I fell silent. Then said,

“Sure.”

I began to make my way to the passenger door, foot over foot. Shoe over shoe. I opened the door for her. I never do that. She sniffled as she got in. I made my way around the back of the car, when I thought about just running. Leaving my shitty old car there in the street, keys and all. She could have it. She deserved something from me. I knew my car wasn't it, but for a moment I convinced myself it was. I opened the car door and closed it softly. If Lucy were home, I didn't want her coming out right now. I didn't feel like talking, let alone explaining. If she did, I would no doubt run. Can’t remember the last time I ran, but I would. Run like hell.

The girl crossed her arms tightly and turned away from the window as I stared at the back of her red hair. I kept the radio on as I began to drive off.

“Could you go slowly? I’m going to keep an eye out,” she said softly.

I slowed down a little.

“I’ll keep an eye on this side,” I said. Hoping to see that dog. Sitting patiently for me to find. No scratches, no dirt. Just a dog.

I passed the street I had hit something on, terrified to turn down it. I don't think I'll ever go down that street again. I wish it were boarded up, sidewalk to sidewalk. Nobody to come in or out. Barren for all and in between.

“It’s hard to see him at night. When I've let him out, I can barely see him. Even with the porch light on,” she said.

I continued to drive, again not knowing what to say. What could I say? She rolled down the window all the way and began to yell softly,

“Henry! Henry! Come boy. Come.”

Hearing the name hurt. I didn't want to know its name. It was easier if it didn't have a name. I envisioned a lost dog sign on every street corner across the neighborhood, reading "Henry. Black Scottish Terror. Lost. Please contact if found.” - followed by a number in bold. The sign sat there in my mind. It wasn’t going anywhere. I had a feeling the dog wasn't either.

​

We drove a few more blocks. I had to snap myself from dazing off, going back to mindlessly looking around. She then began to cry again, still looking out the window. I pulled off to the curb, not knowing what to say.

“Dogs tend to know where they live after a while. Maybe he’ll wander back.” I said.

Rabbit never got lost. I don't know how; maybe he was just lucky. Or maybe he just liked home. I thought about bringing up that I worked at the zoo, but what the hell would the mechanic know about animal behavior? I’m not even sure the people who work with the animals would know what dogs tend to do. Their dogs.

She sniffled as she let out,

“It's not my dog.”

I suddenly had relief. Not complete, but something to take the edge off.

“It’s my brothers. I’m watching him. He’s up north with his wife,” she continued.

The edge that was taken off suddenly plummeted back into submission. I felt bad. Bad for her. The dog. For all lost dogs. I should have gone straight to the bar.

​

We sat in silence for at least a few more minutes. Not sure exactly, never checked the clock. I was about to tell her some more bullshit when she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She put one to her mouth, then patted her pockets. Finally, looking up at me.

“Do you have a light?” she said.

I hesitated, eyeing the pack. I then instinctively punched the car lighter in, letting it heat up.

“Thank you,” she said.

I pulled it out and put it to her cigarette. I could smell it before the flame even hit the tip. The smell soothed me. She looked out the window and smoked slowly. I looked down at the dashboard. We sat, no words exchanged. The radio played as my eyes veered out the front window. We shared something. Not just at this moment, but something more. I could feel it. Something more than the smoke in the car. Smoke filled, then passed on. I forgot that smoke did that. I always thought of it as something that stuck around. At least for a little while. Embedding itself in whatever was surrounding it. Embedding until the next one came along. But this smoke left. Left like a lot of the things in life. My life in particular. Things that didn't come back. Never thought they would leave, just as much as I never thought they would stay.

I never thought of asking for a cigarette. There was something about this time of night that numbs me once and a while. In a way that feels needed. You don’t get it often, but here it was. With recognition. With blind value.

“Your clock is off,” she suddenly said. Snapping me out of it.

“What?” I answered.

“Your clock,” she said. “It's off an hour.”

I looked at her. She looked at me. Her eyes were different now. Still green, but no longer obtained. She opened the door and got out. She shut it behind her quietly and looked through the window at me, cigarette hung in her mouth.

“I’m just around the corner,” she said.

I nodded. She nodded back and walked off. I watched her walk until all I could see was the orange glow of her cigarette in the distance.

I sat for a few more minutes until I saw my gas light pop on. I snapped myself out of the numbness and hung a U-turn. I headed toward the gas station off Brainard, it was always cheaper there. I was a block away until I thought about just heading home. I could get some gas in the morning. I hoped that dog would show up in the morning. I hoped to finish that shelf in the morning. I thought of cigarettes in the morning. Whether or not I'd have one. That drink money will probably go toward a pack instead. Or maybe I’ll just quit. We'll see in the morning. It’s not too far away.