If You've Got 'Em

At a Wilmington, Delaware walk up, a man and his wife went to the door to respond to a drone whirring overhead. It dropped a carton on the front door. They pushed some leaves out of the way.

“Were you expecting something?” Alvin Darter asked his wife. He was dark skinned, medium height with muscles from years of exercise and eating well. His face looked like a mannequin with angular lines.

“No,” Costella replied. She was Puerto Rican and Italian with olive skin and curvaceous features. Her face was soft and smallish. Darter picked up the box and brought it into the house. They both sat on the sofa as he cut the flaps.

He nearly gasped. He opened the rest of the packaging. It revealed a silver and green carton of cigarettes. A full carton of 10 packs of 20 sticks. Costella rose from her seat. Darter’s face lit up like a skyscraper in the night.

“You’re not expecting to….” Costella started.

“Wait, wait, wait, now. This is my favorite brand. There’s no return address on the box. Someone knows me and wants me to enjoy this thing called life at least once.”

“Alvin, you just beat stage four cancer and haven’t smoked for over a decade. This is a sick joke. Someone is trying to tempt you. I’m not letting it happen,” she replied. She grabbed the carton and ran into the kitchen. Darter couldn’t stop her. “Woman, if you get rid of those smokes, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You won't have to, you’ll be too busy thanking me.”

“Alright. Do what you gotta do with them. I’m outta here before I burn this place to the ground with us in it. I’m going out.”

Costella saw that the package was in pristine condition. She just figured she’d save them and sell them online. During her decision making session, Darter was already putting his SUV in drive and headed to the corner store. He played blues music that echoed around his vehicle. His head spun. “Godammit! I had them right there. If I can beat cancer once I can do it again! That woman…she’s right. Godammit! All she was trying to do was preserve my life. That’s all. But I miss my nic fix. I miss the draw. The calm nerves. Those herbal teas and gum don’t do it for me.” The bluesman’s guitar continued to wail as Darter shouted out all of this. “If she destroys them then she just destroys them. Whatever she does, I don’t care. I’m going to get mine.” He arrived at the store.

The digital bell pealed at his entrance. His eyes shifted to the space behind the counter. The cigarette boxes sat with their arrangement of colors in neat rectangularity. He saw his cigarettes that he had loved for decades since he was twelve years old. Now, at forty-eight, he wanted to taste the coolness. He wanted the menthol and the mint taste again. It was like the power of just exhaling the sense of billion-dollar companies that spend millions on advertising to entice people like Darter. A feeling of invincibility came over him until he saw his high school classmate in line. He was slightly taller than Darter and had medium brown skin.

“Venner?” he asked.

“Darter?” What’s good with you, man?”

“I can’t call it. I just got this crazy package on my doorstep of––”

“Cigarettes?! Yeah, me too, man.”

“It’s crazy, right? What’s up with this?”

“I haven’t smoked in years.”

“Ditto.”

“Your woman took yours, too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, mine threw all of them in our fire pit,” Venner recounted.

“I don’t really know what happened to mine. I just left.”

“Understood. I think it’s the government.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“They’ve gotta control the population and to target former smokers is probably their lead action. I don’t blame the cigarette companies. They’re just trying to get a dollar off of something people actually want.”

“This is true,” Darter agreed. Venner continued the line. “Man, I’m not even going to get the cigs. I’ll just pick up some lottery tickets.”

Venner held up a bag of salt and vinegar chips and some Fiji Water.

The digital bell pealed again. Then, shots rang out and Darter was caught in the crosshairs, shot dead in the chest.

*****

At the funeral, Costella had not actually sold his cigarettes but instead placed the carton in his casket.

“You don’t have to worry about it now, baby,” Costella mentioned through tears.