Smeeks

I forgot how disgusting candy cigarettes are. I got through almost half of one before I finally gave up. That's about how many real cigarettes I've made it through over the last 28 years. Lighting a few back as a sixteen-year old, mostly unsuccessfully, dangling them from my fingers as we cruised through town, sucking on them, trying to inhale without really inhaling since every time I did that I made a total fool of myself. And wasn't avoiding making a fool of oneself the whole point? At a writing class at the fabulous Smeeks with the always amazing Amy Silverman (and her mom, too - a first - she's a ballerina and a dentist's daughter with bad teeth - there's a book in there somewhere!) we were surrounded by candy.

A great new group of friends, ecclectic, hilarious, sat at a red polka-dotted table with pixie sticks, gummy bears, sundae glasses filled with gum balls and on and on. It brought back so many memories of our childhoods - grandma and grandpa's candy shop in the Bronx, daddy winning a Toffeyfay at bingo, getting Kelly Roberts or your other friend Kelly Roberts to swipe some candy for you so you can use it to pick up girls, or even much, much deeper stuff. It was the candy cigarettes that did it for me. Took me right back to that 7-11 counter on 56th and Indian School, shaking as I looked at the man, noticing my friend laughing at me outside. She had done this before. I practiced before I went in, sitting in my mom's yellow Lincoln, The Land Shark, Marlboro Light 100s, Marlboro Light 100s. Breathe. Marlboro Light 100s. But, for my first adventure into Coolville, I stood there and all that came out was, "Hi, can I buy some MarBELLOS?"

Thank God my friend was still in the car.

smeeks

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