Puffed Up

NO SMOKING

 

The Balmer diner reeks with cigarette smoke. It disgusts me. I hate it here but this place, Jeff's,  is THE place to hang-out. My eyes burn. I cough and I know I am getting a double dose of nicotine and germs. It's a dilemma. I get Durante's feeling, don't know if I want to go or want to stay. We, all eight of us, are squeezed into one booth, the last booth in the place. No windows open. The door doesn't open often because once we get in, we stay in, have our malts, shakes, burgers, play the old nickelodeon. And smoke!  Almost everybody does but I'm not everybody and am a loner in that respect.

 

My dad used to buy cigs by the carton, lots of freebee coupons inside. We had more blue glasses, great little perforated knives, ash trays than any of my friends. Our walls were grimy yellow. My dad's fingers matched them perfectly. Once, only once when I noticed he had left a stub smoldering in the ash tray that already had far too many stubs. I took it, pulled that stuff into my throat and thought for sure I'd die right then and there. That was my smoking start and end at the same second.

 

I hold the large menu in front of my face and try to clear the stink, the smoke away but it is almost thick enough to cut with a spoon. ''Charlie,' I say to my current beau, 'Let's get out of here.' He gives me a look like I just got out of the looney bin. I repeat, 'Charlie, it's just too smokey, too hot, please let's go.' I cannot convince him, sit there and suffer just to hear Frankie sing, 'I'll Never Cry Again' on one of the  juke box wax records.

 

Charlie asks if I want another root beer float, but I don't and tell him once again,'All I want to do is get out of this smokey place.' He tells me to go outside and he'll be there as soon as he pays our part of the check. With one big sweep of my arms and a huge smile on my face, I 'toodleoo' my group and squeeze past the fatsos, step over feet in the aisle and begin to breathe again.  And what do I breathe in but smoke. Not only do I smell it, I see it, coming out of a vent in the tiled roof. It doesn't mean a lot for a minute or two and then my senses revive. I scream, run to the nearest corner for a fire alarm box. There is a mail box but no alarm. I toss off my shoes and run faster to the next corner, break the box, turn the key but don't wait for the engines.

 

Customers are already streaming out of Jeff's. Chairs are thrown against windows. Clouds of smoke come through with the diners. The fire department is only a few blocks away and appear like Christmas after Halloween–fast. The only serious injury is to Jeff's wallet and esteem. He is cited by the officers who check to be sure all diners and help are safe.

 

I am a heroine, have my story and picture in the morning paper. I don't know what Jeff will do in the future, but I know what I will do, try to make my daddy stop smoking.