Page 2 of Secondhand Smoke
The thought of staying in the church any longer was nauseating. The thought of getting in a car more so.
“I’m okay. I need to grab some shampoo from the store on the way, so you don’t need to wait up for me.”
“Don’t take too long. We’re having guests over for dinner tonight, and you could help me get ready.”
Nell said nothing, just nodded.
It didn’t matter if hosting dinners and parties had become a chore. If she complained, the only thing that would happen was mild encouragement that she’d always been a great host.
Her parents’ discipline had grown soft, to say the least, though legally they had no right to discipline a nineteen-year-old for anything. She still lived under their roof, though, still ate their food and slept in her childhood bed.
Ever since the accident, she’d become a porcelain doll to her parents.
They’d seen firsthand how easily someone’s child could be shattered and lost forever, so now they held Nell with careful, gentle hands and hid the cracks in her porcelain by painting over them and declaring them fixed.
Nell smiled as best she could. “Okay, Mom. I’ll be quick.”
Nell left the foyer of the church and ignored the lingering gazes as she walked down the stairs. She stopped to grab her old red bicycle that was leaning against the shrubbery landscaping.
She walked the bike a ways from the church before she swung her legs over, mounted the seat, and began pedaling.
Getting away from the stuffy church should have eased her, but her chest remained tense. Nowhere and nothing felt normal anymore unless she had something numbing it.
Her mom didn’t need to know that she had plenty of shampoo left in the bottle in her shower. But Nell didn’t want either of her parents to know that she’d run out of her cigarettes the night before, and she’d been itching to get her hands on some. They were at least easier to hide in her pockets than alcohol.
The convenience store on Main Street had the kind she liked, and the cheapest ones. With the five dollars she’d brought from her allowance, she would be able to buy two, maybe three packs, which was enough to tide her over for a week or two.
She pedaled hard down the hill, away from the tall church building and into town, passing neighborhoods and other cars. She didn’t care if riding a bike in a skirt showed too much. She’d rather flash every passing car than get in one again.
Sundays in Gemsburg, unlike other days of the week, were slower. People drove slower, walked slower.
It was lucky, at least, that her reflexes remained quick enough to register a blue car that pulled into the road just meters in front of her, not paying attention.
She gasped and hit her bike brakes, her tires screeching on the asphalt as she lost her balance and fell over.
She landed on the road with a grunt, a stinging sensation running up her knees as the smell of burning tires filled her nose.
It was a familiar scent. It had ingrained itself in her.
She sniffed, trying to get rid of it, clenched her eyes shut, and laid her head back onto the sharp pebbles behind her.
The driver laid on the horn, as if she were the one who had cut them off, before they made a point to speed away.
Nell stayed still.
The smell wouldn’t go away. There was a sound in her ear that resembled the screech of her tires, and the longer she kept her eyes closed, the darker her imagination became.
Her breath grew heavy, and even though she knew her body was okay, she feared opening her eyes.
Her heart pounded. It ached.
She knew there was nothing in the road. No broken glass, no wrecked cars. Just a girl who had fallen off her bike and scraped her knees.
Yet still, she feared what her mind might trick her into seeing when she chose to look.
Nell remained there for a few moments until there was another shrill honk, this time followed by a kinder person who called out to check on her.
Their momentary concern brought her back to reality. It gave her an ounce of courage—enough to open her eyes.
