Smoke and Habit

The inside smelled like an unclean ashtray. The inside of everything. The house, the car, the shoes, the fridge, the sheets. Everything. Sebastian didn’t even smell it anymore. Like people with cats who forgot about the litterbox, Sebastian hardly noticed when he ground one cigarette into the ashtray while almost simultaneously lighting another.

There was a lot around the house to suggest that Sebastian didn’t notice much. Besides the ashtrays, there were only two photos on the coffee table in the living room, both of the same little girl. One showed a tiny, wrinkled baby in a hospital hat wailing in the arms of her beaming father. The other was a six year old girl dressed as a bumble bee for Halloween. Sebastian hadn’t been there for that picture. It had been taken in Kentucky.

Nothing else. The couches didn’t even have pillows. Sebastian had pictures in the closet somewhere he'd meant to hang once, just to at least cover the peeling paint, but he’d forgotten. Like the smell of smoke, the obstruction at the foot of his tiny closet had ceased to register with his senses. They were habit. Everything was habit.

The pile of laundry next to the hamper rather than in it. The unwashed fork balancing on a glass of spoiling milk. The empty soap dispenser. Sebastian’s habitat belied him a bachelor. A few things still clung from his training as a married man—he eventually washed the laundry, anyway, and the dishes never went longer than a week or two. But slowly, like a bad habit, the life of a single male has returned to him. Sebastian had never been good at breaking habits.

He answered the phone one day from the shower. Soap spilling onto the tile and over the phone, he shouted over the running water. Bad habits. She’d always hated him taking the cordless phone into the bathroom, like he forgot she lived there, too. Like he forgot she could answer it for him. Sebastian never really stopped living like a bachelor.

“I’m coming over.”

“I’m in the shower—”

“That’s alright. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping at home?”

“It’s crazy here.”

“You can’t stay here. Mom’ll worry. Listen, I’m in the shower—“

“Just tonight. They’re driving me crazy. I’ll tell ‘em where I am. I’ll see you when you get out.”

“Hey, I don’t have—” But the line was dead. Might have been the soap. The rest of his shower was fast, but all the same there was someone on his couch when he got out.

“That was quick.”

“I told you, they’re driving me nuts.”

“About what?” He never brushed his hair, either. He remembered her fussing about it. Especially on Sundays. No one at church had ever complained about his hair. If they were going to complain about anything, it wasn’t going to be his hair, so he never understood why he should worry about it. He had a lot more colorful sins for them to worry about.

There was a colorful sin here for him to worry about now. A white ring around the upper arm, all broken up into some hippie knot pattern. It even had some little green bits. Looked very cultural, very coffee shop. It looked terrible.

“Of course Mom went nuts. What were you thinking?” Rubbing didn’t take it off. This was a real thing, for sure. Wasn’t even dirty or stupid. Just a little design around the upper arm. Sebastian was surprised his little brother wasn’t dead. “She didn’t kill you?”

“She wanted to.” A quick tug of the sleeve, and the tattoo’s gone.

Another cigarette. Showers, eating, sleeping, working around gasoline—sometimes you just can’t smoke. Little brothers with tattoos, well. Sometimes you needed to smoke. “Why’d you get it?”

Stupid teenage shrug. Not even a teenager anymore, you little jerk. You did it because I’m the one she’s always yelling at, and you’re the one she’s always pinning grades on the fridge for. Did it to get in trouble.

“So what’d they say about you coming here?”

“Still wants to kill me, but I guess she thought you might talk some sense into me for once.”

“Nothing I can do. It’s there now. Anyway, you’re the good kid.” Kitchen smells like rancid milk.

“I know, Seb. I know. It’s crazy. It’s like I can’t do anything. What if I get a girlfriend? She’ll really have a cow.”

Sebastian stopped his hunt for the souring milk and stared. “You haven’t, do you?”

“Of course not. Look at me. I’m a good kid.”

Ah ha, next to the fish tank. “Listen, just because Mom and Dad are proud of you doesn’t mean you have to go and do stupid stuff. You’ve made a lot of good choices. You have a lot of good chances. Don’t mess ‘em up because you’re feeling all rebellious and experimental.”

“I’m not doing drugs or anything, Seb. It’s just a tattoo. It’s not like I’m killing my lungs, for crying out loud.”

Sebastian managed a glare that might have had something to do with the terrible smell from the glass. Cigarette and spoiled milk. Aroma of a bachelor.

“Your house smells like death, by the way. I hope you don’t bring people over here.”

“It’s just the milk. I keep it pretty clean.”

“I meant the smoke.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Not many people. Who would I bring?”

“I thought you were thinking about dating again.”

Shrugged again, this time looking in the sink.

“This a new picture of Sophie?” He was holding the bumble bee photo.

“Yea. Jane took it last year. Just sent it to me.” Bleach for the garbage disposal. God, that reeked.

“Hey, you know, she’s got the Ludego smile.”

“Hope that’s all she got from me.”

“You going to go see her?”

Shrug again. Kentucky sure wasn’t very close. Sure would cost a lot. “Someday. Maybe she’ll come back here when she’s older.”

“You’re going to wait to see her until she’s old enough to come on her own?”

“Hey, listen, I didn’t tell her to move all the hell way out to Kentucky, okay? Working on shoddy cars by yourself doesn’t get you the money to go that far.”

“Hey, sorry, just asking.” He set the photo back down and set himself on the couch. The couch that smelled like smoke and other things harder to place. “You still thinking about getting a different place?”

“Rents okay here.”

“Yea, but it’s small and gross.”

“It works.”

“Well, I hope you have some extra sheets. I’m not sleeping on this couch without them.”

“I’m not the one who told you to leave your nice clean bed behind, punk. Here.” Rummage around enough, there’ll be sheets. Sebastian was pretty sure there was an extra set in the closet somewhere. She’d left a lot when she’d gone. Mainly she’d taken the baby. “Try those.”

“These yours?”

“They are now. Jane bought ‘em.”

“I can tell. Much too classy for you. Still smells like cigarettes, though.”

“What’d you expect?”

Nothing changes here. You’re stuck in one wheel, I’m stuck in another. That ring around your arm won’t get you into my wheel, just like getting married and having a normal life didn’t get me into yours. You’re the good kid, running like crazy for everything. I’m the other kid. I’m running for nobody. Running on cigarettes and habits.