Front Porch Ramble

A man considers quitting while smoking a cigar on his front porch.

The stuffy night air hit him when he opened the front door and when he pushed open the screen it was if some enormous dog sat in the darkness panting in his face.  The symphony of tree frogs and cicadas almost masked the low rumble of this highway and that, teasing him with sounds that would only be accompanied by silence in the rural area where he grew up.  The mosquitoes reminded him of home too, they thought they'd all died and gone to the bayou.  Jeremy took the itchy bumps as his penance for the sin of smoking.  It was a fondness he was supposed to be overcoming, as his personal assistant app reminded him this morning for the sixth day in a row.  Another midnight found him looking for his lighter in last night's pajamas, and gathering change for the single cigar he'd walk eight blocks to purchase from the 24-hour convenience store.  The walk eased his guilt at never quite getting his exercise regiment off the ground, and also served as further penance.

He had been raised in a Catholic family, but thankfully not fanatically.  He had dutifully attended public school religion classes once a week during his youth, and had learned quickly that these were not the setting for difficult questions. Not if you wanted answers.  At 15, he had finally completed the process of becoming recognized as adult by the church.  The ceremony at the big cathedral in the city was grand and beautiful, and meaningful to Jeremy in a different way than the other young people in their finery. The institution now recognized him as an adult capable of making decisions of faith and he was determined to exercise his rights. When the family got in the van to head home, he told everyone that he would no longer be attending church.  Now, as a staunch atheist father, he wondered if one of his boys would climb in the backseat one day and announce that he'd accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and personal savior. He shuddered and shook his head to clear away the thought.  He and Kelly would cross that bridge if they ever came to it.

Jeremy took a drag from the fragrant pipe tobacco cigar and let his mind wander on the subject of his children's futures.  He had read somewhere that personalities don't change in their basic makeup after the age of four years old.  The oldest had already passed that mark and so it seemed was destined be a teenager.  Things number two and three were still cooking, but occasionally seemed like a couple of good ol' country boys looking to get muddy and rowdy. He wondered how to advise them on finding their path when he could hardly choose one for himself. In the last 5 years he'd gone from student paramedic to retail employee, then manager, now stay at home dad moonlighting as a painting instructor for wine-loving well to do white women. If you went back 10 years the employment history got even more vague and desperate. The smoke was too hot on his tongue and he realized as he inhaled that he had burned the cigar down to the nub. He tossed the butt on to the pile that spilled out of the old cinder block in the corner of the porch. He was disgusted with his inability to quit, a feeling coming to his post puffing inner dialogue. Before his fix, it sounded more like  "one more won't hurt" and "Monday is a better day to quit".

His younger brother told him that the best way to quit was as if pulling your hand away from a hot stove. He dreaded in the art of war by the strategist and philosopher Sun Tzu. Jeremy recalled it often, gazing at the burning addiction between his fingers. Inevitably it was a fully burned butt that landed on the pile. He sent massaging his singed tongue with his teeth, listening to someone's peel out a mile or two away. The high pitched drone of a sport motorcycle in the distance was suddenly a buzzing in his ear. He started and swatted at his cheek, shaking his hair wildly like an animal shedding flies. He stood, recommitted himself to quitting smoking on Monday, and set about filling his evening of insomnia.

Reviews

[blurry aspen]

I love the descriptions, very detailed. Reminded me of my cottage, I could practically taste the country night air. Your style is good too, you would make a nice poet, I think. Perhaps you could relate his boys' behavior to his own when he was young, that would be interesting. It would be neat to see more of this.
I caught a couple of grammatical errors:
"Inevitably it was a fully burned but that landed on the pile." (change but to butt if referring to the cigar)
"He stood, we committed himself to quitting smoking" (change we to he)

[Jeremiah Gerstner]

Thanks for the feedback Aspen! Great idea on the throwback to himself/myself at a young age.

I'm afraid I'm a terribly messy artist and writer. I need to make myself do a lot more proofreading. Good notes.

[barleygirl]

Very interesting & rambling yarn, showing us what goes thru a person's mind while sitting on the porch attempting to stop smoking cigars. I love that you've addressed so many of the random things people typically worry about or ponder during those idle moments. I love the randomness of all the different thoughts woven together into a surprisingly cohesive whole. Nice job!

[Jeremiah Gerstner]

Thanks Barleygirl! A bunch of random thoughts woven into a surprisingly cohesive whole is going to be how I describe myself from now on. :)

[barleygirl]

S.C.R.T. . . . Surprizingly Cohesive Random Thinker . . . Everyone needs an acronym! *smile*

[Samuel Dickens]

Another good story and very good piece of writing. I would use a few more commas than you, but understand their diminished use these days. On quiting smoking, it took heart bypass surgery to make me throw the Marlboros away.

[Jeremiah Gerstner]

Here's hoping I find a way before then! Thanks for the feedback. Admittedly, this one was a true ramble, and I didnt do much more of a proofread. I've felt that I overused commas in the past, I'm sure as I produce more work, I'll find my balance.