Mika Becomes a Smoker

"I want that feeling," Mika said to her mother, who had just come home from work and, as she did every day, sat down, relaxed, and fired up one of the 30 full strength Newports she smoked every day. Mika was 18 and had just finished high school. Tall and lithe like her mother, she had long black hair and beautiful brown eyes. She had the physical composure of an athlete, and had played on her high school soccer team, but she was more interested in academics and was generally quiet - a bit of a strong, silent type, very comfortable and confident in her own skin. Her looks and figure drew longing glances wherever she went, but she was largely unaware of that, even as she headed towards her freshman year of college.

"What do you mean, hon," Mika's mom, Marin, asked?

"I feel so stressed about everything, and I know you feel it too, at the end of your long days - and I see that look on your face when you light and inhale a cigarette - it's this combination of relief and satisfaction that I wish I could capture and experience," Mika said. "It's not so much that I'm desperate to try smoking, but I just want that feeling, for a few minutes, that I'm not just struggling to keep up with the demands of being 18, or heading into my first semester of college, or my work, or my friends, but I'm satisfying something that's mine, that I'm doing because I want to do it, when I want to do it. That's what you look like when you smoke."

Mika teared up as she was talking to her mom, something she rarely did. The kid was tough and smart and hard working, and life had thrown a lot at her. Marin was a single mother who had for many years struggled to provide for the two of them, until three years ago when she worked to get her real estate license and discovered that she was pretty darned good at developing relationships with buyers and sellers and began building a solid practice that was growing significantly during the current boom. Mika's father had been a one-night stand, and Marin had neither asked or expected help from him, even if she could have tracked him down. It was Marin's choice, and she had this extraordinary young woman to show for all the years of hard work.

*******

Marin paused to reflect a bit on what her daughter was saying. Truth be told, Mika was right: my god, there were times when those Newports felt like her only friends and her only source of comfort. She had started smoking when she was 15. An only child, both her parents smoked, and quite literally every single adult relative smoked. Her mother was the eldest sister in her family, and the house was always full in aunts, uncles, cousins, and smoke. Marin in a weird way considered herself a smoker long before she mustered up the nerve to steal one of her mother's Salem Lights and run up to the bathroom to try it. Even while she endured a strong wave of nausea after just two inhales, she knew - those first two drags confirmed for her that she was not just someone who was trying smoking, but a smoker, probably for life. She grew increasingly bold in her pilfering, and soon realized that she was addicted - those days in school when the need gnawed at her, consumed her and kept her from concentrating on anything but that cigarette on the park bench as she walked home proved that. She was committed mentally and now physically to her cigarettes and they had already become her welcome friend and comfort.

Marin very quickly reached the point where stealing a few, then several, cigarettes a day just didn't cut it anymore. The need and the addiction were too strong, the joy of satisfying that craving just too sweet. She had to have her own cigarettes, her own lighter. She was a smoker. Nervous as hell, but steadfast in her understanding that the need had to be served, she stopped at the gas station mini mart on her way to school one morning. She couldn't make eye contact with the clerk behind the counter, and had a gigantic frog in her throat that stopped her from speaking, but right there by the register was a Newport display - a rack of green boxes similar to her mother's Salem Lights. She grabbed one, proud of herself for acting like she know what she was doing - sort of - and the clerk rang her up without batting an eye. She practically skipped to the park near school, removing the cellophane as she fast-walked, flipping open the box top, taking one of her mother's many Bic's out of her bag and lighting up as soon as she sat on the bench. How to describe it? She felt liberated, she felt she was experiencing some private triumph, and, well, as her daughter had put it so perfectly, she felt the sweetest combination of relief and satisfaction. This was her thing, her private need, satisfied. And man, these Newports were not Salem Lights! She felt a renewed buzz from the extra nicotine, and it was lifelong love at the first deep drag - they were pure delight, they weren't her mom's, they were hers - her pack, her own brand, her flavor, all hers.

*******

Marin gathered herself to respond to Mika's heartfelt revelation about the stresses she'd been feeling. "Gosh, honey, I know you've been under pressure for the last year - you've managed it all so beautifully that I'm embarrassed to say I didn't fully recognize how much of a toll it was taking. If I haven't said it frequently enough, I am so proud of you. And honestly, I had no idea that you looked at my smoking that way," Marin said as she took a long drag and inhaled a tight ball of the heavy menthol smoke. "I've smoked for almost 25 years, and I've never really pictured myself smoking through someone else's eyes, and I certainly never thought you felt that way about my smoking - the way you used to wave your hand in front of your face, or roll your eyes or sometimes even leave the room when I smoked, I'd just assumed that at some point you'd come to terms with it as something you just had to put up with because my cigarettes are a part of me being me. But I have to tell you - and I am not encouraging you to start smoking at all - that I've never heard my feelings about my habit described as simply and accurately as you just did. It is, in a way, a very personal, comforting and reliable solace, and it has been since the day I bought my first pack."

"Thank you for getting what I'm saying, Mom, and I know I did all that bratty stuff when I was in middle school, but as I went through high school, I honestly came to envy that look and that feeling you projected pretty much every time you light up a cigarette," Mika said.

As she was putting out her cigarette, Marin said again how proud she was of her daughter - not just for her achievements, but for the conversation they were having, "It just makes me feel like I've done something right all these years that you feel comfortable talking to me this way, Mika. Thank you. And let's figure out together how you can shed some of that pressure and emotional burden you feel."

With that, Marin and Mika went into the kitchen to prepare their dinner salad as they did most nights - both women were thin and quite beautiful, with matching jet black hair and brown eyes. And after dinner, Marin, of course, lit up a Newport and inhaled deeply - these cigarettes after dinner were among her favorites of the day.

Mika surprised her mother a bit when she said, "what would you think if I decided to have a cigarette every once in a while?"

"Wow," Marin said, "Before about an hour ago, I had never even contemplated that idea, honey, so I don't know. Obviously, I'm a committed smoker, and I love smoking - and I know it's not popular or politically correct or healthy to say that, but it's true, I do love it, and I don't ever intend to quit. But I have to be really objective and honest with you, Mika: I don't just smoke because I love it, I smoke because I am addicted to it. And that addiction can creep up on you and it doesn't let go easily. What you said about my smoking earlier - that I have a look of relief and satisfaction when I light up and take that first drag - that's because I am satisfying my deep craving and need for nicotine. When you're addicted and can't smoke, all those things you've heard about having a "nicotine fit" and needing a "nicotine fix" are true - it's uncomfortable and kind of maddening, and satisfying that craving is the only relief. It's a commitment and a burden, but also brings me, at least, great enjoyment.

"But as for you having a cigarette 'every once in awhile,' I guess I'd want to know that you really wanted to do it and that you were prepared for the consequences - there are the obvious health effects, your clothes can smell, people actively look down on you, etc., all because of this choice you made and the addiction you've developed. And that's not something to take lightly."

"I know all those things, Mom, but when I see you smoking, I want to join you, I want it too, I want that moment of calm and relief, and I really only am thinking about occasionally having a cigarette," Mika said.

Marin had an idea that a responsible mother probably shouldn't, but what the hell, "Tell you what, honey, think about it for a day, so that you're sure it's something you really want to try, and I'll support you. I really want to know it's not just something that was a spur of the moment desire that you can't turn back from. I do think, if you want to give it a go, you might want to start with a Light cigarette. These full flavor Newports I smoke are pretty powerful, and I don't want your introduction, if you decide to do it, to be really unpleasant."

"Well, ok, Mom, I guess that's ok. I mean, I am 18 and can make this decision on my own, and I have watched you smoke for all 18 of those years, but I will think about it," Mika said.

In truth - Mika's feelings were much like her mother's all those years ago - even though she had not yet had a cigarette, she knew, deep down, that she was probably a smoker, and that, as her mother pointed out, once Mika started, she might not turn back.

The next evening, Mika was home from her job, and Marin came in after a day full with two closings and a showing. Marin dropped herself onto the couch with a bit more exhaustion than usual, opened her pack of Newports and lit up, taking a deep double drag and exhaling with satisfaction. Mika watched, as she has on countless nights, with envy, and she was certain about wanting a cigarette.

"Mom, I barely slept last night and thought about it all day - I want a cigarette."

"I figured you might, honey," Marin said, "go look in my pocketbook."

Marin got up and went into the kitchen, and returned with a fresh pack of Newport Lights and a pink Bic lighter. "Oh my god, Mom, thank you so much!"

Marin half-smiled, and said, "It was pretty clear to me last night that you really wanted to do this, and I don't think I'll win the parent of the year award, but I love you and I support you."

Mika didn't hear a word her mother had just said. She was transfixed by the pack of cigarettes - her pack of cigarettes - and tore off the cellophane, flipped up the top and figured out how to remove the foil as her mother spoke. She had a cigarette out and between her fingers before her mother even looked up. She was so ready.

"Put the cigarette between your lips like this," Marin said as she demonstrated with a fresh one of her own, "and flick the lighter down with your thumb like you've seen me do."

Mika mirrored her mother and after three rolls of her thumb got the Bic going.

"Now, seal your lips around the cigarette and bring the flame to the tip, if you're sure you want to do this," Marin said with a slight smile. "Now gently create some suction with your mouth and light up."

Mika did as she was told, and the end of her first cigarette glowed as she drew the smoke into her mouth. Marin didn't have to coach her through the inhale - it was apparent that via observation and probably osmosis, her daughter didn't need instruction.

Mika took her first inhale, and smiled, feeling as though she had accomplished something significant until, of course, she almost instantly coughed and hacked out that first lungful. Marin laughed, and Mika did, too, a good sport, understanding that even with 18 years of breathing secondhand, she had virgin lungs that would initially reject the mentholated smoke.

She went right back at it though, undaunted, and she coughed again. But there certainly was no moment of "I don't think I can do this," or "Yuck," or "I'm not sure I like this." She gamely pressed on with a third drag that made her cough only once and she was able to purse her lips and actually exhale voluntarily. On her fourth drag, she did it - inhale, hold a bit, and exhale a stream of smoke, even looking a bit satisfied. Then, inevitably, she felt a little cold. And a little sweaty. And more than a little nauseous. She put the Newport Light in the ashtray and dashed to the bathroom. Marin followed her in to comfort her daughter and said, "maybe that's enough, honey, that happens to everyone the first time."

"I know," Mika, white as a ghost, said, "but I did it!"

Marin knew right then, that this would not be a one-time thing. She went out to the living room and stubbed out Mika's first cigarette and finished her own. Mika came out of the bathroom and plunked down on the couch, feeling a bit better after some cold water on her face. They made their dinner salad, Mika eating more than her mother expected, and not appearing any worse for her first experience with smoking.

Marin was tired from her long day, and said she'd just like to sit and watch some mindless TV. Mika was game, and they sat together on the couch, Marin lighting up her after-dinner cigarette and enjoying it, as always.

Mika couldn't resist and said, "Is it ok if I try again?"

"Mika, I bought you that pack of cigarettes and they're yours - you don't need my permission," Marin said.

Mika went through the ritual, extracting the second cigarette from the pack, putting it between her lips and lighting it on the first try. She inhaled the first drag without a cough or hack, and proceeded to smoke about half.

"How do you feel, honey," Marin asked.

"Kind of funny, honestly, like sort of buzzed and shaky, but not terrible like the first one," Mika said with an air of accomplishment.

Her mother nodded, remembering her own early experience and said, "that's normal, but it's part of how the addiction starts, honey, first it makes you feel a bit weird, then it's not so bad and you can actually smoke a cigarette and then it's kind of new and fun - it kind of sneaks up on you - and it owns you after awhile, so please, understand that and make a wise decision for yourself before you reach the point where not smoking isn't a comfortable option."

"I know, Mom, I totally get it, and I have thought an awful lot about it - I'm kind of embarrassed by how much time I've spent contemplating smoking. And please, even though I've gotten some, um, inspiration from the amount of pleasure you get from smoking, you are definitely not making this choice for me."

Mika smoked another later that night and was still quite buzzed and a bit nauseous when she crawled into bed, but she felt good about trying something she'd long thought about, even fantasized about. She was not put off at all by the nausea and shakiness, and looked forward to what tomorrow would bring.

At the breakfast table, Marin made her coffee and enjoyed her absolute favorite cigarette of the day - the first one - as Mika came down before her morning shift at the coffee shop where she had a summer job. Marin was impressed - Mika had her Newport Lights and her lighter with her. She poured her coffee, sat down, and took out the fourth cigarette from the pack.

"Well, honey," her mother chuckled, "if you're really committed to joining the smoking sorority, I should tell you two things. First of all, you're about to experience what most smokers consider the best cigarette of the day. But second, there's nothing that gets you hooked like pairing a cigarette with an activity: coffee in the morning, driving to work, after a meal, after work, before bedtime, after sex."

"MOM! Jesus!" Mika cried.

"It's true, though - the linking of enjoyable activities with smoking only sinks those claws in deeper, and you need to know that. If you go down this path, you won't want coffee if you can't have a cigarette, and that dinner won't be complete until you've had your cigarette," Marin said.

"I get it, Mom, Now, I'd like a cigarette, if that's ok."

Marin shook her head and chuckled at her daughter's determination. Mika lit up competently and inhaled her first drag - Marin noticing the obvious similarity with her own smoking style, even for a beginner taking tentative drags - and exhaled a stream of smoke. She drank her coffee as she smoked, and they chatted about their upcoming days. Mika smoked about three quarters of the cigarette, stubbed it out, and went upstairs to wash up and brush her teeth. She grabbed her cigarettes and lighter on the way out, and Marin stopped her, asking whether Mika was sure that she wanted to smoke at work, and whether she had thought through "coming out," especially as a novice smoker who was still trying it out and who, Marin reminded her, wanted to "smoke an occasional cigarette." Marin also said, "the ostracism is real, honey, I don't want you to get hurt by how people react to smokers."

Mika paused and said "I'm comfortable, Mom. I don't know whether I'll smoke, but It's my business, not theirs. I want to have my cigarettes with me."

Marin was quietly impressed...one day in and Mika was firm. "It probably shouldn't surprise me," she thought to herself, "that kid is strong and knows herself."

*****

At home, Mika smoked at basically the same pace for the first four days - one with coffee in the morning, one after dinner, and one later in the evening. The thing Marin noticed wasn't the pace, but the way Mika smoked. She was evolving before Marin's eyes. No longer uncertain or uncomfortable, Mika's smoking was becoming less of a novelty even after just a couple of days, with more deeper and fewer quick in-and-out drags and, Marin noticed tonight, Mika would inhale at least that light-up drag quite fully. And there was no more coughing. Mika appeared more comfortable lighting up, too - even with consent, it was pretty weird at first smoking in front of your mom.

After a couple of days, Mika herself had taken to smoking one by herself in her bedroom at night, unbeknownst to her mother. Perhaps oddly, it wasn't the first with coffee, or the one after dinner, that she was learning to enjoy the most - it was this one. While she was still a total novice, and only a few days into trying smoking, she wasn't getting dizzy after a couple of days, but it did still take some effort to polish off a whole cigarette.

She'd lay on her bed and take a Newport Light out of her pack. She found that she really liked the way they smelled before she lit up, and she would breathe in the scent of the menthol and tobacco. With the ashtray beside her on the bed, she'd light up and practice inhaling - she didn't quite realize that she was imitating her mom's style, but she was getting "better" at an open-mouth inhale of that first ball of smoke off the light up - she discovered this because she would turn and look in the mirror, curious to see what she looked like while smoking. One night, she had even gotten up and watched herself smoke most of an entire cigarette. She was oddly transfixed, seeing herself almost as a stranger as she watched herself smoke and pose with the cigarette. She had to admit it was alluring and it kind of turned her on, holding the cigarette at her waist in front of her tanned, flat stomach and taking a drag.

After a week smoking at that pace, Mika was almost out of cigarettes. She had to process her feelings about that - she certainly wasn't hooked yet, wasn't experiencing cravings during the day and was still very much a "beginner," but even just smoking a few cigarettes a day had started to change her somehow. She felt more mature and maybe more in control of her own life, having this mostly secret thing now that was hers, all her decision. But she had to admit that the point her mother had made several times - that the addiction sneaks up on you and owns you - was whispering in the back of her mind. If she continued, she would get to a point of no return, where she probably would feel like she had to smoke and needed to smoke in order to satisfy her craving for nicotine. One the one hand, she was enjoying figuring this out, on the other, she was a newbie, and while she'd heard from her mom and had read about the addiction, the cravings, the "need" to smoke replacing the "it'd be nice" to smoke, she didn't really know what that meant or felt like. She decided to ask her mother for another pack of cigarettes and give herself another week. These first several days had been enjoyable. She liked the feeling, she liked the taste, she liked the little buzz, she liked the way she looked in the mirror when she smoked, and she liked sharing this with her mother. She'd try for another week, let some of the novelty wear off, and then make a decision.