The ward my sister gets her treatments in smells like disinfectant and waning hope. I used to walk the grounds while I waited, but it made me feel guilty smoking cigarettes and being healthy. Sometimes I’d walk to the valley and hang out with the Cabaret girls. The first time I went, there was a girl named Simba doing her routine to that Elton John song from the Lion King. I thought it was really depressing back then, now I think it’s kind of empowering. If I really tried to, I’m sure I could find it depressing again soon.
I saw a pregnant lady relishing a cigarette today, her free hand absently cradled beneath the swelling responsibility in her belly. The man beside her strode and chatted casually. I found his nonchalance bothered me as much as the chemicals coursing towards the woman’s umbilicus. Maybe he talked to her already. Maybe he’d already lost that battle. Maybe he didn’t care. She didn’t seem the type to give a fuck. Her doctor would know. A doctor will tell you that smoking is harmful then stand at the base of your womanhood waiting to catch the embodiment of your mistakes.