SHORT STORY

The Instance of a Cigarette Falling

Shawn Maddey, Pennsylvania, United States

First published July 1, 2002

Episode One. A Prologue of Sorts.

The camera eye sees everything, and sees it calmly and objectively. It pans slowly
around the room, beginning at the coffin and the cluster of black-clad mourners gazing
down at the body then continuing clockwise catching two or three-person clusters
scattered around the room. It sees the pale cream-colored walls and the scarlet carpet.
It sees everything in the circle of its passing and calls attention to nothing but the whole,
until it reaches me sitting on a loveseat to the left of the deep-red coffin, a girl about the
same age as me to my left. It zooms in on my face as I sit there, all emotion drawn out
and dried up ahead of time. Laurie squeezes my arm and lays her cheek on my
shoulder. But the camera continues to zoom in on my gaze and cuts to the focus, my
mother. It saw her earlier, but now it is beginning to make sense of the situation,
catching the subtle details that tell the story. In silence the camera eye peers at her,
zooming in inch by inch. Like everyone else, she is dressed in black, and like me she is
emotionally exhausted. She tries to smile and be strong, but there is nothing behind her
smile but weariness. In her face, everything is weary. And every few moments she
presses a white handkerchief to her eyes to dry tears that arent even coming out any
more. Next to her, with his arm around her slumped shoulders is a balding man with one
chin too many and a blushed face and a smile that might be able to pass as greasy if it
wasnt so creepy and intrusive. He pulls her face to him and gives her a strong hug and
tries to be there for her dry-eyed weeping. The camera cuts back to me and sees in my
face a glimmer of emotion growing stronger momentarily: disgust.
He let go of Ma, and she stood up straight again. She hugged him one more time,
briefly, and walked over to me. I quickly wiped the disgust from my face and tried to
return the same weary smile she was giving me, but even in her worst moment, I
couldnt hope to compare.
I stood up. Hello, Ma, I said.
Laurie stood up with me, hugged me, and said, I guess maybe I should go.
Nonsense, I said, and kissed her on the cheek. Are you feeling all right today, Ma?
Im trying, hon, she said. But I dont know. Ronald has been so nice to me the past
few days, and thats helped a lot.
Ronald? Is that who you were with?

Yes. You never met him. Ronald was an old friend of your father, and me.
Oh. Well. I guess thats good, then, that hes here. But really I was hating him already.
Three days, and hes already moving in on my mother. What a douche. But I didnt say
that to Ma. Instead I pulled Laurie a little closer to me and asked, Ma? Do you
remember how we all used to watch movies together? Me, you, and Dad?
She nodded. That was nice.
I like remembering that, I said. Do you remember when we watched Citizen Kane?
She thought for a moment. No, I dont, actually. When did we watch that?
I must have been 12 or so, I guess. It was a good movie. Really good. Even though I
didnt understand it then. But I remember watching it with you two. And I remember Dad
saying how glad he was that he had someone he loved who loved him back so hed
never have to end up like Kane.
Oh, yes. Id forgotten. But I remember him saying that now, hon. That was nice.
Yeah. I looked down at my feet and ground out an imaginary cigarette that I wanted to
smoke but couldnt inside the funeral parlor. Im glad you remember that.
But apparently she didnt, because five months later Ronald moved in with her and ten
months after that they got married.
* * *
Episode Two. The Inevitable Strength of Doubt.
The camera zooms in slowly on the red and green neon sign above the front door of
one of those expensive Japanese restaurants. One of the places where they cook your
food in front of you and the chefs do goofy tricks with the butter and toss the shrimp and
knives around like its their job, because it is, and thats what were paying to see: an
authentic Japanese dining experience. But theres no one coming or going, so it fades
to four people at a table inside. And theres me, my girlfriend Laurie, Mom, and this
douche with a shiny head and puke-green suit named Ronnie.
Listen, Craig, he says as the camera zooms in on his sunburned face pulling back into a
greasy-lipped smile, I want you to look after your mother.
I laughI ask him if that was a joke, right?
He makes his face all serious. I mean it, he tells me. Right. Sure. Like I cant see all the
nasty thoughts reflecting off of that gleaming bald spot as if his hair was the only thing

that he had to hide the mirror into his mind. And the camera follows my gaze up from his
eyes to his shining head.
I calmly excuse myself to get a cigarette outside and a bucket to vomit in.
Mom followed me outside; she poked her head out of the door just as I was taking my
first drag and staining my jacket, shirt, and tie with the stink of tobacco. I heard the door
click open but didnt bother lifting my head; I just stood there with my eyes closed and
exhaled a lungful of smoke out on my blue and red tie. I could still smell her perfume
through the cigarette smokesome twist of rose and vanilla, untainted by the nicotine
and alcohol pouring from my breath.
Craig. Sweetheart.
I took another drag. Hows that for a reply.
Craig. I think you should apologize to Ronald. Please?
Mom, I said, reverting to the annoyed tone of a 17-year-old whose parents are forcing
him to go to church long after theyve stopped bothering with belief in anything like a
god.
Her counter was to assume the tone of a mother addressing her cute 3-year-old. Yes,
Craig? I couldnt help but smile. Behind my eyelids I could picture her face assuming
that silly precocious look you might expect a British princess to wear around to impress
people. It was a kind of game we played to make each other talk, acting like some time
in the past; she always won.
Um. What is it, exactly, that I should be apologizing for?
She stepped out and closed the door quietly behind her. For your rude comment to
Ronald.
No.
She punched me playfully in the arm. Why not? I think you should, darling.
You think I should quit smoking, too. I havent done that yet, either.
She was quiet for a moment. Then, OK, I get it. You think Ronalds a douche.
I grinned and opened my eyes. Naw, I wouldnt say douche, ma. Id call him a dildo. I
took a drag, But good guess, Ma, nice try and all, then exhaled. She laughed, and
stared lovingly at her baby boy turned 24-year-old. And the way the light painted her
face in neon blush, you would wonder how such a radiant woman could be the twicewidowed mother of a 24-year-old.

Well, sweetheart, I guess Im just going to have to brush-up on the differences between
a douche and a dildo.
I say dickass a lot, too.
And dickass, hon, havent you ever thought maybe you shouldnt categorize people so
much?
It didnt take much thought. No, I replied quickly. I just call em as I see em. I grinned
sweetly at her but couldnt sustain it very long. And in there I see a dildo sitting at that
table.
The camera watches her face as I comment on her new husband, but she never
changes from her same mild smile. The red light above blushes her and the white
shining through the glass door behind her creates a halo around her, casting rays
across the lens as the camera shifts position to catch us both in the shot, and there I
am, sickly in the green light of the sign and half-shadowed. She tells me that she loves
the man I happen to be calling a dildo.
What if you dont, I ask her, brushing my hair back.
What if you dont love Laurie, she replies.
The camera builds the silence with a medium-shot, she on the far left and I on the far
right, holding my cigarette a few inches from my mouth. Maybe I dont want to, I finally
tell her. And she says shed feel sorry for me in that case. She steps closer to me and
wraps her arm around mine.
She tells me she still loves me and my father very much and I should never forget that.
Then she tells me to come back inside and leaves, and the camera holds its gaze on
the door until it hears the click when it closes.
I linger behind a moment. Do I believe that? How could what she said be true? Dads
been dead a year and shes remarried, and shes forgotten. I drop the cigarette on the
ground and stomp it into the ground with my foot, scattering the embers and watching
as they fade and their heat dies.
* * *
Episode Three. The Third-Act Climax.
The camera sees the car dive around the corner, hears it squeal, and watches as it
parks at the curb, the passenger-side front wheel bouncing up onto the curb. The
camera hears the door open and pans over to see my feet step out onto the pavement.

I staggered out onto the sidewalk in front of Mas house. Ma! I yelled, Lets go! Happy
birthday, Ma! Its dinner time, lets go, lets go, lets go! I stood in the cold for another
minute or two before she opened the door, kissed Ronnie goodbye, and came out to
join me and kiss me hello.
Youve been drinking, sweetheart? she asked.
So maybe I pre-gamed a little. I just dont like to see that guy when Im completely
sober.
Do you want me to drive? I think I should, hon.
No, Im fine.
Really. I really think I should drive.
But Id already gotten in the car and started it and was waiting for her to get in out of the
rain. She did, and I told her to put her seatbelt on. She did, and I pulled out. The camera
watches. The camera doesnt say anything, though; it just watches the black VW Bug
swerve down the road. It cuts to inside the car and watches me try to concentrate
through the rain and the alcohol, then to my mothers worried face and white knuckles
gripping her seatbelt.
We didnt talk much. I didnt think there was much to talk about. There was So, Ma,
hows your new husband? Is he as good as the last one? Or the one before Dad? Or I
could ask, Hey, remember how nice things were when we were a family and you
actually still loved my father? Or I could just say, Stop loving! Stop it! Youre supposed
to love me, and Dad, and thats it, forever and ever! And stop being such an angelic
whore! And if you dont I wouldnt be too concerned if I never saw you again in my life,
cause as it is I only see you like twice a year now, anyway! And I raged in my mind and
closed my eyes, desperately trying to shut it out. But the camera sees what I dont. And
it pans from my violently closed eyes to the bend up ahead. And it watches my mother
gasp and play with something on her seatbelt and frantically cry for me to watch out.
And in her face it sees that she has been through this before about three years ago,
except the last time it had been her husband, my father, in the drivers seat and
afterwards shed survived but he hadnt.
The camera watches the car speed toward it, then swerve off on some drunken tangent.
It watches as the car nose-dives into a ditch on the side of the road where the road
becomes a bend. It pans up from the battered hood to the rear wheel and watches as it
spins. It fades to the inside and watches the passengers sitting motionless in their
seats, my face buried in an airbag and my mothers face twisted in some unconscious
agony. It fades back to the rear wheel and watches as it slowly stops spinning while my
mothers battered insides bleed her to death, but it never does anything. It watches and
watches and watches and watches, and, God, it never lifts a finger to help. It never calls
an ambulance. It never rushes to get the passengers out of the car. All it does is sit

there and watch. And the wheel stops spinning, and it fades out to black. The audience
will cry here, not because they understand the pain, but because some inherent
knowledge of the universe makes them wonder why angels deserve to die.
* * *
Episode Four. When Everything is Gone.
Its night. The camera pans down from the stars to my dark little house. It zooms in on a
black window and an invisible cross-fade takes it to my bed and Laurie beside me,
asleep, half of our bodies hidden beneath a black and gray blanket. The camera follows
my gaze to her face, blue-gray in the dark and sometimes it seems just as beautifully
pale in the light like a beautifully shining translucence.
I reached over and brushed my hand over her short black hair. Her thin eyebrows
tensed and she squeezed her lips together like she was about to cry but trying to fight it
off. Poor baby. What sad dreams could she be having? I closed my own eyes and tried
to imagine. Without the camera invading. And I thought maybe she was dreaming about
if it was her own mother that had died; which struck me as a very selfish thing, because
it wasnt her mother who died. But maybe she was dreaming about my mother dying.
I leaned over and kissed her on the lips, and her dark eyes, brown almost to the point of
being black, lazily, happily opened. She squinted at me and smiled into my lips, so I
pulled back and pressed my forehead to hers instead.
What? she asked, on the brink of a yawn.
You looked sad.
No, Im not sad, she said, folding her arms around my neck.
Well, you looked it. While you were sleeping, I mean. What were you dreaming about?
She grinned. I was dreaming about you, of course!
I rolled off of her and stared up at the ceiling. Well, you looked awfully sad for a dream
about me. Are you sad? About anything?
No, of course not, Im very, very happy. Im the happiest little girl in your house.
Im not.
Of course, youre not a little girl. She was too drowsy to laugh at her own bad joke, just
drone it out in that scratchy just-woke-up voice that is always so sweet on her grinning
lips.

Im not happy, either.

I know, Im sorry.
Doubt it.
She had no response so we both just stared silently at the ceiling, feeling each others
warmth beneath the blanket. But she was still awake a few minutes later when the
thought hit me, so I said, Laurie, Im going to move to L.A. the day after the funeral and
sell this house.
Oh! Exciting! she said, happily ignorant of what I was thinking. Will you put me in your
movies?
If you learn to act, I told her blandly.
Hmm. I guess not, then, huh? But I dont want a leading part or anything, I just want to
be an extra or something, just to be part of it all. Then she rolls over and says she
loves me, and the camera watches her drape the top half of her body over my own and
kiss me on the cheek and say how excited she is. But where the camera couldnt see I
suddenly wondered how many times Ma had told that to my father. Now my fathers
ashes were scattered somewhere in the Atlanticdrifting on a wave beside fishies and
driftwood, or on a Florida beach holding a sandcastle together like when hed hold Mas
hand in his one hand and mine in the other to say grace at dinner, or being hidden from
the moonlight beneath the awkward bodies of lovers struggling for each other and
leaving their mark behind in the sand. And where was Ma while this was happening?
Until two days ago, in bed with Ronald, telling that gleaming skull that she didnt mind
that the moonlight reflecting off of it at night kept her awake, and that, in fact, she loved
itI mean, him.
So before Lauries lips left my cheek all this had poured through my head and love
suddenly seemed so untrustworthy and disgusting, and the camera sees me shrink
away from her. And she shrinks back a little, surprised. It sees some intangible tension
build suddenly between us and the inch of bed separating us becoming a mile.
I tell her I dont want her to love me, and I dont want to love her. Laurie, I say, I dont
want to love you, and I dont want you to love me, either. And if you have a problem with
this, I guess Ill never see you again. And the mile becomes a universe. But the camera
watches her strain and stretch her arms across that infinite distance. She kisses me on
the lips and the cheek and forehead and keeps telling me that I know its not true. And
she asks me to please, please, please say that I hadnt meant it because I meant
everything in the world to her and thats what made her so happy. But my expression
never changes, because I cant believe that once Im gone she wont run off to find the
first man that comes along after me. But the camera only sees me turn my back to her
and close my eyes.

She gets out of bed and slowly gets dressed, then she leans over the bed and puts her
hand on the stitched-up wound on my forehead from two nights before and my face
grimaces against the pain, but my eyes stay closed. She walks away and I am suddenly
lit up as she opens the door and the light from the hall floods in. And the camera stays
motionless as she says she hopes Ill call when I feel better and then slowly erases her
silhouette with the closing door. In the darkness again, the camera watches me sit up in
bed and there are tears on my cheeks. It fades out as they slide down.
* * *
Episode who gives a fuck anymore.
The camera remains focused on me for a long time, studying my blank face as it listens
to Reverend Sanders speaking in the background. It pans out from my face, which
appears even paler than it normally does on film, and my hair, slicked back and nearly
black from the wet sheen of hair gel. It shows me in my black suit, then others come into
the shot, and Ronald is standing beside me, tears flowing steadily down his fat, childish
face. And it continues to pan out as Sanders continues to babble, past the coffin being
lowered, until it sees the hundred or more people all gathered around watching and
crying and saying goodbye. And the deeper the coffin goes, the higher the cameras
position goes, up and up until it is directly above the coffin. It watches the first shovelful
of dirt being dropped into the grave, then cuts back to my face as I close my eyes and
my head drops, and it pans out as Ronald puts his hand firmly on my shoulder and
squeezes.
I shake free. Watch it, I tell him.
He frowns at me, even though it seems as though he shouldnt be able to frown any
more than he had been. Im just trying to
I dont need you trying to do anything, I whispered back sharply. Maybe Ma fell for
that Prince Valiant bullshit, but Im not Ma, and I will not be falling for that.
Shh. This isnt exactly the time.
I dont give a fuck. You can go to hell, Ronnie, straight to hell and burn. Because
maybe she loved you, God knows why, but I knowI know you didnt love her. If you
really loved her you would never have stolen her away from my father, so go to hell,
because I know this, and I know you just wanted something beautiful for yourself and
never cared for what she needed or who she loved before you. You just saw your
opportunity and stepped right on in! My voice gets progressively louder and I suddenly
shift back to a whisper when I realize how loud Im being. So go to hell, and leave here,
and never talk to me again and never come to visit her grave.
Craig, thats not the way it is. His passivity in the face of my rage sickens me visibly
and my sternness turns into a look of disgust.

Do you think, I say, with all the contempt I can muster, that she would have come
looking for you after Dad died? Hell no. Youre the one who came to comfort her. You
stole her, she didnt want to start loving someone else, but you came along and took
advantage of her weakened state and made her love you and you made her forget
about my father, like he never existed ever in the first place.
If you want to believe that, Craig, I can accept that. But maybe someday you can try to
accept that maybe we did love each other. I know I loved her.
Fuck you, I say, and I turn my back to him and the slowly-filling grave and walk away,
shoving my hands down into my pocket to fumble for a cigarette.
But as I walk away, I realize that she didnt love me any less or any more than Ronald,
or Dad. She just loved everyone, and thats how it went with her. Not addicted to men,
just unable to separate one love from another, and Ronald had taken advantage of that.
She was like Gandhi, or she was like Jesus. And, God, she never gave up on Jesus in
all the years, and I am sure he never gave up on her. And Im sure shes right up there
with him, talking about how much they love and how they love everything. But I cant
live the same way as her. I cant do that. Someone will come along and take advantage
of me, like Ronald, or leave me, like, well, meI know this.
So I light another cigarette. The camera follows the scorching ember at the end of the
cigarette as I smoke it, and the camera slows the moment as it falls to the ground when
Im done. And the camera fades out as the smoke rises and dissipates into nothing. And
the credits of her life roll silently: and theres my father, and me, and Ronald, and David,
and her sister, and her friends, and the homeless man she gave ten dollars to once, and
everyone else shes ever met, and finally her, and then the credits fade and its over; the
audience sighs collectively and leaves, cursing their sticky footsteps for breaking the
sacred silence. And maybe this will be the last time it fades out. Maybe I wont get on
the plane to L.A. tomorrow. Maybe Ill just stay in bed and call Laurie instead. But
maybe maybe is impossible and I probably just need another cigarette.