(Every day this November I’ll conduct an interview with an imaginary person.)
Face it, we all die sooner or later, and there’s nothing we can do about that. At best, you might turn your sooner into a later, or your later into an even later. I’m through with that. When I’m done, I’m out of here.
So, smoking…
Smoking didn’t give me lupus. And smoking didn’t eat my kidneys—the lupus did. And I quit before the transplants, so there’s no way you can blame it for rejecting the first one. How much longer will this second one last? A month—a year—five? I doubt I smoke enough for cigarettes to win that race, but if they win, they win.
Then you don’t want to quit?
No. I’ve done that two times too many. I won’t make it three. William keeps pressing me on and off to stop. It’s so bad for my gums and teeth, he says. He’s a dentist so that’s always one of his concerns. But he used to say the same thing about coffee—that it would ruin my teeth and my smile. He was younger and handsomer when he told me that, and I never listened then, either. Was he right? Do I have a bitter smile? [Smiles wanly.] Maybe I should have married him.
You didn’t?
He asked and I said no. William and I both knew too much and we didn’t know anything. I loved him, but he was always on my nerves. He still is sometimes, even though we’re in different states. I imagine I’m on his now and then. It’s something we’ve both been good at.
Do you ever regret it?
It’s too late for regrets. A month—a year—five—then it’s back to dialysis. Then it’s back to dirt.
We still talk and we’re close. I doubt it would be that way if I’d said yes. I’d probably have regrets either way.
Posted November 30, 2009, 2 pm
