Dumbass Smoker

Tromping up the final block of 32^nd Street before McBryde, I spy the trio up ahead hogging the sidewalk. It’s the lady with the should be dead dog and her husband. I’ve spoken to them over the years of walking by their house, but have never seen the 3 of them all together before.

             I turn off the sidewalk, veering toward the street, thinking it’d be a good idea to give them wide berth, esp. with the poor limping dog.

            “Hey!” the man hollers at me, not unfriendly, “you don’t have to go into the street.”

            I slow my pace. Keep on the sidewalk. This morning I’m not averse to a little neighborly conversation.

            “You sure?” I grin.

            “Yeah!” he chuckles. “Plenty of room for all of us.”

            The woman stops and points at the dog. “She just turned 18. Gonna be 19!” Proud and toothy, she smiles at me, her round wrinkled white face and bright blue eyes staring at me.

            “Wow,” I say, “that’s amazing!”

            I glance down at the dog. She’s skin and bones, hunched up on 3 legs, a sad doggy expression of ‘why can’t I just keep going’ on her mug.

            “You know,” the man continues, “we don’t even know your name after seein’ you walk by our house for all these years. I’m Dave, this is Cici,  and that is Chelsea, the dog.”

            “Ah,” I nod, “I’m Carol.”

            “She was ‘Bone in the USA,’ Cici says to me, pointing at the dog’s sweater with images of dog bones patterned on the top. I laugh.

            “Where you live?” Dave continues.

            “Just down the street. This is 32^nd, right?”

            “That it is.”

            “I’m just down between Barrett and Roosevelt.”

            “That’s a good distance you cover. I was a Dumbass Smoker for 40 years. Got stage 3 lung cancer. I can make it down to Garvin now, but before, boy I tell you, it was a miracle if I made it to the end of the block. Going on 3 years now since my diagnosis.”

            “Wow!” I exclaim. “That’s pretty great.”

            “Yeah, beats being dead or in a wheelchair.”

            And I have to agree. He seems pretty sturdy. Tall and gnarled white guy in his 70s? 60s? Who can tell? I hear about people surviving lung cancer more often than in the past. My Spanish teacher, Mabel, has stage 4 lung cancer. She was getting ‘infusions’ 3 times a week when we were taking Spanish from her last fall. I’d asked my friend, Wendy, who had found Mabel, if she’d been a smoker. Wendy thought probably, but didn’t know for sure.

            Why would anyone smoke? I’ve always wondered this. It’s been known for decades to cause cancer. Yet I still hear about smokers or see smokers around. Fat guys driving by in trucks, cigarettes hanging out the window. Middle aged men, squatting on their stoops, puffing away. It baffles me.

            Who wants to risk lung cancer?

            At least Dave knows he was a ‘Dumbass’. But what good does that do him now? He’s got cancer and he’s compromised because of it, walking 2 blocks is a good day.

            Of course, I was a Dumbass Sunbather when I was younger. Then melanoma appeared. I was lucky. The doctors found it in time. If it had gotten to stage 3, I wouldn’t be here today. Scary thought.

         

   I suppose that we all think we’re immortal when we’re younger. We can smoke. We can sunbathe. We can jump off mighty cliffs into the sea.

            Yet, at this point in my life, I know there’s an end in sight. Who knows when? I’m just grateful that being a dumbass didn’t cost me my life.

            Well, at least not yet.

            “It’s nice to meet you,” I say now, starting to head up the block.

            “Likewise,” Dave grins.

            “I like your hat,” Cici comments.

            I nod, wave goodbye. An old mangy cat is doing rollovers on the warm sidewalk up ahead of me. When I get to her, I stoop down to give her some pets. “Meoorrrowww!” she purrs.

            “Hello, Ol’ girl,” I coo, wondering what kind of cancer she might have. Or maybe she’s just old.

            Hard to tell. With cats. With dogs. Or with people.

            A mockingbird trills. A crow swoops down and lands on a lawn. Smiling, I turn the corner and head down McBryde into the bright morning sunshine, Mt Tam in the distance, a whole day head of me.