A Different Kind of Celebration

The humid air, the sweat on their naked bodies, and the orgasm they were recovering from were still making things a little blurred. Both of them took a moment, and when the moment was gone, a hand reached to the table and grabbed the box of cigarettes. The lady’s hand went out and fetched the lighter from the bedside table; with a tiny flick, the flame and the small circle of orange flickering light fell on two pairs of hands, shining on the beads of sweat still lingering on those two pairs of arms. The gentleman pulled out two cigarettes, one for himself, and one for the lady. A few puffs later, the two cigarettes were lit. Another click, and the room was again left in darkness, except the two specks of orange that were the ends of the lit cigarettes.

“Do you think we’re getting old?” he asked her in the dark room.

“What? Why do you think so, all of a sudden? We’re still in the prime of our life!” she said, as she finished her cigarette, threw away the cigarette stub, and ruffled the sheets to snuggle next to the gentleman.

He finished the cigarette and threw away the stub as well, and held the lady in his arms. The snuggle didn’t last too long though, for he got up and switched on the bedside lamp.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“I think I need a shower,” he said without looking at her.

“What is it? All these years, you’ve never needed a shower after sex. What’s up?”

“I don’t know. I think… I need a shower. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure, alright. I’ll wait for you, right here.”

He got out of bed, wore the robe and walked barefoot across the bedroom floor. The cool tiles beneath his feet seemed smooth, and cold. He couldn’t understand how he had never focused on the smoothness of the tiles beneath his feet, how cool the tiles get every night. The cold of the tiles seemed to travel, from his toes and his sole, to the calf, the knees. The cold touched his thighs, his abdomen, his chest. He could feel goosebumps running all over his body, and he was suddenly aware of every hair that stood up in response to that cold tile beneath his feet.

The walk from the bed to the shower took a very long time, and he could feel the eyes of the lady lying on the bed on him. His ears were tuned for every sound in the room, but the lady said nothing. A rustle of fabric, and his ears knew that she wasn’t looking at him anymore. His brain knew that she had turned over, and somehow, his brain also knew that she was starting to get worried about him. “Just a little bit worried,” he told himself.

The door creaked, as he closed it. The sound was a bit jarring to his ears, but he felt it in a way he had never felt it before. He heard the sound of the door for the first time in his life, this clearly; the thud at the end of the creak, which made him aware that the door had reached the frame. The latch fell into place with a small click. His ears had been expecting it, and when it came, it was a bit like getting a well anticipated gift. He could feel every part of his body in a way that he never had felt it before.

He turned to the mirror, and saw his face. The skin, the muscles working under them. Tiny variations in these muscles had the ability to show his innermost feelings to the rest of the world. So powerful, yet so fragile. A careless razor blade is all it took them sometimes, to make them bleed.

He took off his robe, and saw the rest of the muscles. They were taut, ready, even in the middle of the night. His shoulders weren’t broad, his chest wasn’t big, and his arms were longer than muscular. Still, at that moment, he loved his body in a way he never knew he could.

He could feel his breathing, the air that flowed in, and the waste that flowed out of his lungs, through his nostrils. He could smell the air, for the first time in his life. Somewhere deep inside the rib cage, he could feel a rhythmic thumping. His heart was still beating, and for the first time in his life, he was so aware of it.

He stepped under the water, and he could feel the water flowing all over him; kissing his body in a way even the lady waiting outside couldn’t. Every muscle, every ligament, every sinew of his body seemed to respond to him tonight. He wore the robe again, and stepped outside the bathroom.

“Honey, I think I’m going to quit smoking,” he said.

“Why?” she asked. It wasn’t something that she had expected from him.

*****

It had happened in the morning – the small blob of blood, along with his spit, as the usual morning cough bout had hit. He had gotten scared, and so had rushed to the doctor. He had been smoking for almost ten years, and the doctors said that might be the cause. They would have to run a series of tests, to know for sure.

It was at that moment that he knew what they were talking about. It was at that moment that he started fully appreciated his body, and realized that how he had abused it all these years. He knew something was wrong, he knew his days were numbered. So, he had made the call. He met the lady, to celebrate his body, one more time. Soon, he might not be able to do that anymore…

*****

“Honey, what’s the matter? You haven’t spoken for about four minutes now. Why are you suddenly quitting smoking? What happened?”

He tried to smile, and his face complied – even if his brain and his heart didn’t. “Nothing. It’s just time for me to quit, that’s all,” he said. She didn’t notice the empty smile.

*****

The test results came out a few days later. A small burst capillary had caused the blood in the spit, nothing more. Exertion, probably, had done it. Something like running after a bus, or running with the dog, the doctor told him.

He held the results in his hand as he walked out of the chambers. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, but still he heaved a big sigh of relief.

He was in love again – with his own self. That, in his opinion, was reason to celebrate. Although, in a different way…