by David Armand
Every time he bought a pack of cigarettes—
Camel Special Lights, which I don’t even think
they make anymore—my friend Nik would peel
off the cellophane, open the box, and pull
one out; then he’d flip it upside down
so that the filtered end was at the bottom
of the pack and the part you lit
was at the top.
He called it his “lucky”
and would always smoke that one last.
Sometimes, just to irritate him
(it was all in good fun), I’d smoke
that cigarette before the pack
was even halfway through.
It never failed. He’d always get mad.
But we were friends, so he forgave me.
And to this day I still can’t figure out
if that’s what has made me so cursed
in this life: stealing my best friend’s
one lucky cigarette, over and over again.
Or any number of awful things I did back then.
But, at the end of the day,
who can ever really have those answers?
Who knows? Maybe it’s even what has made
me so lucky: to wake up every single morning
and to breathe the same air as my wife and kids,
to live together inside this small warm house.