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Out of the Humidor

CA Readers
From the Print Edition:
Jack Nicholson, Summer 95

(continued from page 15)

Byron Joel Collier
New York, New York

* * *

Dear Marvin,

I was on spring break in Tucson, Arizona, from my college in Michigan. I had not had the chance to spend much time with my mother since the previous summer, so we decided to make this vacation a rather eventful one. The temperature all week had been in the mid-70s; I could not have asked for better weather. We had gone for several hikes and taken in all the local attractions and had a wonderful time. Two days before I was to return to school, my mother and I decided to pack some bread and cheese and head up to the foothills to watch the sun set.

We arrived at a small pass to the west of town where there is a small park that overlooks both the city and the barren landscape of the neighboring valley. We sat there for a while as we sipped on wine in between bites of bread and cheese.

We spoke of the past and of the future as we gazed at the brilliant orange sphere disappearing into the desert floor. The scene was one of the most magnificent I had ever seen. When I was finished with my meal, I reached into my camera bag and dug out an Avo I had just bought that day. My mother sat close by peering over my shoulder, as all mothers do, and watched as I lit the cigar. It was not long after that, and to my surprise, that she calmly called my name and proceeded to ask me if I had another. I let out a short laugh and continued to enjoy my cigar. It was not until the second time she asked that I thought she could be serious. She looked at me for a moment and, not really knowing what to think, I grabbed another cigar from my bag. After a few simple instructions I had her well on her way to the enjoyment of a good cigar.

We sat there for about an hour or more, just talking about anything that came into our heads. We talked and smoked, and for some reason I was not talking to the woman who had once warned me of the perils of smoking, I was talking to a close friend. That night we said very little as we drove back to the city, but I felt that I could have told her anything, and she would have understood what I meant. I have not had the chance to have another cigar with her since then, and consequently, every cigar I have had since that night seems to taste a little more spicy and a little more special to me. If anyone ever has the opportunity to share a cigar with their mother, I suggest they take it right away. Moments that meaningful don't come by too often.

Ben Kirkby
Petoskey, Michigan

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