22 April 2019 • Victor Perez

For as long as I can remember, I’ve found the smell of cigarettes comforting. In the far reaches of my memory are scenes of my grandfather’s kitchen, where I sat waiting for him while he was out on the porch. The door opens as someone enters the house, and I catch the ethereal scent of cigarette smoke as the door quickly closes behind them. I don’t have a particularly close connection to my grandfather, or even his house for that matter. Nonetheless, any time I notice the smell, it brings a wave of comfort and pleasant feelings.

Even after four years, I remain surprised at the amount of people who smoke cigarettes in this town. Back at home, it was a rarity to see someone smoke unless you went into the city. I’ve lost count of the people I know in Morgantown who smoke.

The amount of cigarettes I’ve smoked remains in the single digits, and will probably stay that way for the rest of my lifetime. Kate was the first person I smoked with. During parties we would occasionally both become overwhelmed, and relax on the porch together. For whatever reason, she only smokes when she drinks, and we were able to enjoy the quiet company of each other and the cool midnight air. I adore thinking of those moments, each tied together by the memory of her lit cigarette. Eventually one day the siren smell of her clove cigarette hit me, and I innocently requested a puff. The flavor of clove jumped out on me, and lingered on my lips as it passed it to hers. I can’t recall anything else about that day: just her and I, passing that single black cigarette back and forth.

I’ve grown to find Morgantown comforting. Previously the aggressiveness of this town frightened me, but those around me have helped me enjoy my presence here. There are times I think about my fear of leaving and wonder if I’ve been conditioned to love this town.

The last time I smoked was with Kate. We were passing each other a clove cigarette, from a pack I bought for her. There was a sense of guilt radiating from her about the passing on of her habit. After a short while of her mincing words, I decided to stop before it truly did become a habit. That day is burned into my memory: she was wearing a long dress with flowers, and we sat together on the steps behind the college radio station. I didn’t sleep well that night, the pain of hurting each other kept me awake. I still miss the intimacy of sharing cigarettes with her on porches.

If I left Morgantown, I would be leaving Kate behind. My head grows light and my eyes moisten when I think about this. She’s been very upfront about wanting me to leave for a better life, but I can feel the hesitation. Would it be that bad to stay?