Cigarette Dreams

I quit smoking, and relapsed, and quit smoking, and relapsed, so many times I can’t say when I finally quit for good, but it’s been at least ten years since I had a cigarette. And still, they sometimes appear in my dreams.

The last time, I dreamed I was getting ready to leave a place where my husband and I had stayed overnight. It wasn’t really a hotel, it was more like a historical mansion that was converted into temporary lodgings for refugees. For some reason we spent the night there, and now it was morning, we were packed up to check out.

My husband left to take our things to the car, so I was alone in the room, and snooping. There was a wall of drawers filled with supplies for guests — linens, first aid stuff, soap — and I was looking through the drawers, pulling them open, sliding them shut.

I was on a step stool looking at the top row of drawers when I found one full of packs of cigarettes. I closed the drawer and stepped back down to the floor. Then the whispers started. Take a pack… Just one… For just in case… Just to have… Take it home, put it away in a drawer… I was up again on the step stool, with the drawer open, knowing I shouldn’t be doing it, looking at the different brands, Marlboro, Camel, my brand — Winston — Should I? No, you know you shouldn’t…

The door opened, my husband was back. I shoved the drawer back in, stepped back down off the stool, and woke up.