Cigarettes and Motor Oil

The truck roared forward and I grasped hard to the vinyl seat watching dirt and rocks kick up through the hole in the floor. My body slid back and forth and I tried unsuccessfully to keep my legs from obstructing the shifter; my father occasionally giving me a hard elbow when trying to change gears. Sometimes at a traffic light he would rest his arm on my leg in anticipation for the color green; and even though I yearned for this kind of closeness, it made me incredibly uncomfortable.

The truck smelled of burnt rubber and motor oil. A metal shaft held a penny where the radio knob once was. The chrome handles were speckled with rust and the doors let out a loud shriek when opened. The truck was tired from years of neglect, not unlike my fathers relationships.

"Grab me a cigarette" he said. I reached for the unopened pack of Marlboro reds, turned it face down, and introduced it to the palm of my hand with a hard thrust. Again, and again, and again. I ran my index finger along the surface of the smooth cellophane until it caught the edge and ripped. I pulled the fresh opened box quickly to my nose to catch the familiar aroma of unlit tobacco, which always reminded me of raisins.

"Light it for me" he said, frustrated at his own failed attempts. I looked toward my brother who smiled and shrugged, almost disappointed he wasn't invited. The cigarette in my left hand and the lighter in my right, I held my arms out in front of me. "Put it in your mouth and light it!" he suggested.

I put the Marlboro between my lips. The smell of unlit tobacco, that once innocent sweet smell of raisins, became a taste as I brought the lighter to the end of the cigarette. It popped and sizzled. The warm burn made my head feel dizzy as I watched the end glow orange. I inhaled smoke and exhaled inculpability; my childhood danced through the air before being whisked out the open window.  

"What are you doing!?" he demanded, grabbing the lit cigarette from my hand in an awkward fumble; the ends of his mustache pointed up revealing a smile you could have missed if you weren't paying attention. He brought the Marlboro to his mouth and inhaled deeply, as if taking life from the cigarette. "Don't tell your mother" he said quickly, holding in his reward, his eyes not leaving the road in front of him.

I sat in silence staring at the tattoo of the naked woman on his arm, afraid he could smell my shame permeating the air like the cloud of smoke he was creating. The truck roared forward and I grasped hard to the vinyl seat.