Watch in hand, the high school senior slowly walked downstairs and, peeking into the living room, he saw his mother about to take another drag on her cigarette. Immediately, Adam pressed down on the top button of the stopwatch. Once more, time froze. With a grin, he sauntered up to his mother and took the cigarette, a waft of smoke rising no more than an inch from the red embers, from her fingers.
“I’m fucking sick of this,” he said slowly. “Can’t you see what these are doing to you? To us? Jeez, you light up every night when you get home from work. Is there a reason for this? Is it work? Or – Dad?” Adam frowned. “Either way,” he replaced the cigarette in her fingers, the burning embers separated from her lips by the barest layer of air. “I want it to stop. I want you to stop. You will stop. Maybe this will help.”
The young man took a deep, collecting breath and walked out of the living room, stepping just out of sight and restarted the normal flow of time.
“Ow! Godddammit!” his mother cried out in pain.
“Told you those things were bad,” her son said coolly, returning to the living room. She glared at him briefly, one hand pressing the stub of the cigarette into the ashtray and the other gingerly touching her lips.
“Shut up,” she snarled softly. Slowly, her gaze softened and, with a softer voice, said, “It’s high time I gave these up.”
“Just like that?” Adam asked, eyebrows riding high in surprise.
“Yes,” his mother said, taking her hand away from her mouth and reaching into her purse. “Just-“ She pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds. “-Like.“ – He watched her toss the cigarettes across the room, falling into the small basket for trash. “- That.”
“That’s great!” the young man smiled, walked up to her and sat down, giving her a big hug. “I’ll be here to help you.”
“That’s,” his mother said, her eyes wide and taken aback by her son’s affection. “Sweet. But – I’ll be fine. Really. That was my last cigarette. Honest.”
“Good,” Adam straightened up, a little uncomfortable. It had been some time since they had been so close, ever since his father had walked out on them with that slut that had been his secretary. His mother’s ample bosom hadn’t felt so – inviting – as when he had been a child. She had never been a pixie – unlike the slut – but she wasn’t fat. Just a little plumper than the average woman. And pleasantly so in the bust. Not that he shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like that. She was his mother!
“Well,” she said, standing up. “I should get dinner started.”
“’Kay,” he said, trying not to sound numb at the conflict running in his head. Taking his response as a reaction to her statement, but slightly unsure herself, his mother strode out of the living room towards the kitchen, leaving her son to his own devices. |