Creative Juice: My Addiction

A story by Lynn Jonason

Lynn Jonason, Junior English major

A cigarette dangles from my lips as I watch you from the front seat of my car, the cherry falling to the rug littered with fast food containers. I quickly crush it with my foot. I didn’t need another incident because of my carelessness. I look back up and you’re nowhere in sight. Shit. I knew I never should have taken my eyes off you.

The smoke lingering from the brown paper bag creeps up like a spider crawling along its web, tickling my nose. I rub it with the back of my hand as I try to find you in the mob of people huddled outside the movie theater. I scan their faces urgently, looking for the freckled horseshoe pattern I fell in love with last summer.

I’ll never forget your laugh as we watched the latest Will Ferrell movie, filling the theater with a sound resembling Homer Simpson’s signature giggle. A simple “hee hee hee” as infectious as the crooked smile never repaired by a set of braces. A smile reserved only for me. I make a mental note to give you that DVD as an anniversary gift in a couple months. I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding as I spot your chestnut hair in its signature bun. Relief warms me like a shot of tequila on a frigid winter day. I rub my chest, calming my heart which is racing a mile a minute at the thought of losing you.

You break away from the crowd and sit on the edge of the sidewalk, running your hands through your bun which has become a mess thanks to the sadistic June heat. I long to run my fingers through it, to feel its silken strands through splayed fingertips. Maybe one day, you’ll finally let me touch it.

You reach into your pocket and pull out a fresh pack of cigarettes. I light another as you christen your new pack of fresh Messiahs. Yet another reason for me to love you. As my car fills with the intoxicating smell of you escaping from my nostrils, I become concerned. You absorb your surroundings, head flying back and forth as if watching a tennis match as you glance nervously in either direction. You raise the cigarette to your imparted lips, your hand trembling. You fumble for something in your purse, lips moving in what I assume is a curse as it falls to the ground, contents spilling everywhere. I become concerned at your evident distress.

I place my hand on the door handle, debating whether or not to help you. Minutes pass, and you seem to have regained your composure enough to rejoin the crowd, which is slowly making its way inside the theater. It’s then I realize I haven’t moved an inch. The scorching cherry which now lays in my lap breaks me from my reverie. Cursing, I pour my water bottle in my lap, providing instantaneous relief. I roll down my window and flick what remains of the cigarette onto the pavement before driving away, disappointed in myself. I honestly thought today was the day I’d have the courage to go up to you and introduce myself.

“This week’s Creative Juices is written by an editor at Voices From the 3rd Floor, FAU’s English major blog. Any FAU English major can submit a piece to them by emailing [email protected] Check out their website at