Waving Not Drowning

He's smoking again. It slid back into his life so incrementally, so casually he can't pinpoint the exact moment the scales tipped back to the life he left behind. He's off the gluten, off the meat, even managing to get in some running. Well, jogging really. Still, full speed ahead. But the smoking, that's the killer. Literally. It winds it's way into every aspect of his being, who he is, how he feels about himself. He was, is, will always be a smoker. A dry drunk, well, this is the battle with nicotine. The trail of smoke curling out of his nostrils, floating up across his brow, slightly furrowing as his glasses fog over. Ember glowing, crawling up the shaft towards the crook of his index fingers lightly bent, wrist cocked just so. Iconic images of silver screen matinee idols, cowboys, and rebels without causes. Men. Strong, virile, masculine men with Marlboros and Camels and Galouise. Players, DuMaurier, Native Spirit. Rolling papers and west coast bud rolled in wi...

Summer camp. This year is Eli's year, no question. Fifteen, sizeable growth spurt over the school year, enough peach fuzz to justify actually scraping it off of his face with an outrageously overpriced razor he begged his mom to buy for him. He splashed out for cologne with his own money from babysitting. Eli is beloved by the kids on the block. A straight teenage boy with serious gaming chops and a way with lego who is a natural with kids. They flock to him like sheep to a shepherd and obey, obey, obey. Eli's mom can't figure out if he is gifted or just likes telling younger kids what to do. Bossy bully or empath. However you cut it, it gives him purpose and financial means. Ashley will be a CTI this summer. They had stayed in touch online all winter but this will be the first time he has seen her since Labour Day. The last day of last summer. A canoe ride across White Pine lake, huddled under the redwood, waiting out the storm, fumbling with each other's bodies, riski...