TRACY: A STORY
OF LOVE AND HEARTBREAK
I was 12; she was some age under 16. I had never
smoked; she already had twenty times the chance of dying of lung cancer. I had
braces; she had gum disease. Her name was Tracy, and although she was but a
poster on the side of a bookshelf in an elementary school classroom, she was my
first love. Her leathery skin, cataracts, skin damage, throat cancer,
psoriasis, heart disease, and stomach ulcers - who could resist her? She was
addicted to cigarettes, and I to her. I had recently changed schools, and was
still reeling from the shock. When I first entered that unfamiliar classroom, I
was alone, but she saved me, a gleaming star in my stark, cold, and unfeeling
universe. Alas, I could not muster the courage to talk to her. She was the
tobacco industry’s poster child, who was I? I had to face facts. She was, as
they say, “out of my league”. I tried to push her out of my mind, but my
efforts were in vain. My schoolwork suffered, and I became depressed. The
seasons seemed to cry with me. As I sunk further into my depression, the
weather turned from sunny summer to cold winter. My family wondered what had
happened to me, but I couldn’t tell them, they wouldn’t understand.
But, Dear Reader, this is not the end. One cool fall
day, towards the beginning of October, I decided to talk to her for reasons
even I cannot understand. The
day’s studies seemed to speed by. I waited until everyone was gone, and
approached her. She was in her usual position, standing by the bookshelf,
smoking a cigarette. I cleared my throat.
“So, what’s up?” I asked, trying to make
conversation. No response. “Uh,
you should maybe quit smoking. Cancer, and all that.” I immediately realized I
had overstepped my bounds. “But, uh, well, whatever you want is good.” Silence.
I had blown it. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Marilyn Munroe?”
She looked at me as if examining a specimen under a microscope. I sighed.
“Look, I’m going to level with you. I love you. I have since I first saw you.
Just… please, please take me seriously, because I am.” Now it was her turn to
sigh.
“Look, Liam - that is your name, right? I’m sorry, but I’m just not ready for commitment. “
“But –“ I started.
“No
buts. I think I’ve been nice enough, listening to you, and it’s really time for
you to go.”
My
eyes began to water. “Please-“
“No!”
I
wiped away the tears. “Fine.” I said, and walked away. The last thing I saw as
I left was some kid I vaguely remembered from my class walk up to her and put
his arm around her shoulder. She had lied to me when she said she wasn’t ready
for commitment, but I didn’t care. She was my first love, and she broke my
heart. She was always there, smoking that cigarette in the corner, but I never
looked at her again.
By Liam Title
