#31

They were in the bedroom that was his when he was young.

“I used to smoke cigarettes in here.” He told her. She had not met him until much later in his life, but she had seen pictures of him as a child: his brown bowl cut and gap-toothed smile and bony knees making him look always mischievous, always sweethearted.

She pictured this boy lying in his bed with a pack of Camel cigarettes, chain smoking while reading the Hardy Boys. He would have liked Camels because of Joe Cool, she thought. He must have looked both old and young then. Indeed, he looked both old and young now.

“Would you smoke after getting home from school?” She asked. “Or early in the morning before school?”

“Neither.” He said. “I was 20.”

“Oh.” She said, sounding disappointed.

“Would you have preferred me to have started smoking as a child?”

“It looks better in my imagination.” She said.

“Okay then, for you, I started in the fifth grade. Before and after school, and always before bed.”