3
When he quit nine years ago, he swore he’d never smoke again. But now Simon had a dilemma. He was being offered a last cigarette. A traditional formality, it was tempting and wouldn’t it be rude to refuse? It would be a tough decision, but the firing squad was losing patience and he’d have to decide soon. Like “now.”
How quickly his mind categorized the pluses and minuses.
- He really wanted a cigarette. That’s a plus.
- Nobody would know the difference. That’s another plus.
- It would be a gracious thing to do, a kind of camaraderie with his soon-to-be killers. A tiny plus.
- He promised himself he’d never pick up a cigarette again. A minus.
- What kind of integrity would he have left if he couldn’t keep the life-changing promise he made to himself nine years ago? Another minus.
Simon motioned over one of the gunmen. He put the filter between his lips. A masked man produced a lighter, lit the end.
Deep breath. Real good. Another deep breath. Even better. Surely this was the right decision. His spirit was calmed, his conscience clear.
“I’m ready,” Simon announced, lovingly crushing the stub beneath his heel. Rifles were raised.
Then a man came by. Some chatter. Simon’s hands were untied, his blindfold removed.
“Get out of here,” said one of the gunmen, hitting Simon with the butt of his rifle.
Simon was free. He left South America forever to begin his second life.
Simon’s second life proved to be a troubled one, but he was simply happy to be alive. Roiled by difficult relationships, vacuous jobs, and a vague discomfort, he was soothed by tobacco. His revived passion eased his path.
As he lay on his lumpy cot, cheerfully blowing smoke rings, he got a call. The doctor said the tests came in. The news was bad.
As the months wore on, Simon’s breathing became labored and the painkillers stopped working. He lost his hair and much of his sense of taste. He smoked now without pleasure.
Oh, how he longed for a second chance at a firing squad and an opportunity to reject a last cigarette.
