The Bics That Illuminate My Memories

What is a lighter? For some, it's a tool to light a cigarette. For others it's used to light candles or start a campfire. However, my collection of lighters is an illumination of fond memories.

I started smoking at eighteen-years-old. One reason was peer-pressure, but the true, dumbfounded reason was I thought it made me cool. Addiction caught on, and the reasons for smoking took over my life. There was the first cigarette of the day with a good cup of coffee, a smoke to cap off a good meal, and lighting up after sex. Chain-smoking was also part of my writing process, a way to kill boredom, and sadly coincided with mindless television shows. 

Yes, smoking kills, and no reason justifies it, but this isn't a story about smoking; it's a trip down memory lane courtesy of the lighters I both collected and was gifted.

One of my earliest recollections of a store-bought lighter begins with me, wearing a tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt, scouting the booths for concert T's, merchandise, and posters while constantly being asked by someone if they could bum a cigarette. I never understood how there were thousands of people and I was the only one with a pack of cigarettes. But I digress. That day I bought a Zippo Grateful Dead lighter. Dead songs filled the stadium with Dead heads dancing in the aisles. I could hear people yelling "Hey, Jerry, play Casey Jones," as I crushed on Bob Weir. Then, the lights dimmed and a sea of flickering lighters danced in the sky. The lighter no longer works, but every time I pick it up I think of all the Dead shows I attended, every Dead song I sang, and all the cool, unusual, unique people I had the privilege to cross paths with.

Fast forward to college and the first guy I truly liked; he bought me a Marlboro lighter and a large Hershey Kiss. The relationship went from a towering flame to a weak flicker to smoldering ashes and death. My sexual inexperience doused the flames and my low self-esteem couldn't handle the sweetness. But, as a writer, I will also remember the Marlboro smoking wordsmith whose love of words often has me saying sticky wicket and smiling.

As a woman suffering from social anxiety I later, ironically found myself pursuing a career in television news.  The crowded, loud, florescent-lighted room, and days filled with chasing stories and meeting deadlines was not kind to my mental health needs, but I powered through. I worked in several small-market stations, covering numerous positions including a reporter and a news director. My favorite job was as a morning news producer because the crew was nice and morning news was not all doom and gloom. After the news aired I would stick around and answer the phones: "Newsroom, Cindy speaking." For some reason the crew found this greeting funny, and when I left for a new job in two years they gifted me a Zippo lighter engraved with "Cindy Speaking." True, the lighter reminds me of all the great people I both worked with and socialized with, but it's also a beacon of possibilities. It's a constant reminder not to let my limitations hold me back and to work through my fear.

A few years later I found myself skipping the Dead concerts for tickets to Eric Clapton shows. He wasn't God, but truly one of the best guitar players who introduced me to a history of great Blues players; and every Big flicking encore was a religious experience. But the best concert was when Clapton hit the stage with Elton John because I was introduced to someone who liked Elton as much as I liked Clapton and we became friends.

Julie was kind, generous, and adventurous and we enjoyed a great car trip through the Blue Ridge Mountains, with visits to Dollywood, Opryland, the Nashville bar scene, and Graceland. The trip was thirty years ago, but every time I hold the Graceland lighter she bought me I travel back to a simpler time of freedom, new experiences, and unconditional friendship.

I now find myself at rock bottom, homeless and indigent, searching for income and shelter. As I walk this helpless, sometimes hopeless, scary journey I find most people treating me with disrespect, borderline abuse, and looking right through me. But again, the introduction of two lighters has kept me going. 

The first lighter was gifted to me by someone at an outpatient mental health facility. It had been a week since I was able to pay for a pack of cigarettes. Conditions and finances made me cut back but  getting through nicotine headaches with everything else was too much. I was sitting outside, took out a cigarette, and found myself with a dead lighter. A young woman sat down next to me and offered a light, and she began talking to me. Fifteen minutes later I felt visible and less alone. She offered me her lighter, but I hesitated; she, too, was there for help. But, after insisting I took it; a magical lighter capable of bringing some light into my darkness.

A month later I was nearing the end of my motel stay as I no longer had anything worthwhile to sell. I was feeling hopeless, helpless, scared, depressed, and anxious. I went outside for a cigarette and a fellow smoker began talking to me, after he offered me a light. He was staying at the motel for a work assignment. He told me about his large family, his home, and his wonderful life; I shared some of what I was experiencing as well as my past success and happiness. His stories brought me hope and feelings of love. His words to me, about all my accomplishments and how I was able to stay afloat with my own wits gave me hope and encouragement. He offered his lighter and I accepted. If I could take his kind and helpful words, I could certainly accept a lighter.

I will quit smoking one day, but I hope to use one of my lighters to welcome a joyous occasion- lighting the candles on my next birthday cake comes to mind.