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While I was celebrating my sixth year without a cigarette I found myself thinking about the time many years ago when I experienced my first puff. I was thirteen in eighth grade. I remember sneaking up on the family ashtray when no one was home and taking the longest cigarette butts in the tray because they allowed me more puffs than the short ones. Of course most of them were too short to smoke but occasionally I would find a long one.

I remember taking those crumpled cigarette leftovers and straightening them out as best I could. My fingers would be all black from the ash and the butt would taste like the ashtray itself but that never stopped me. I was a determined teenager. Adults were smoking these nasty things so why shouldn't I.

I am still confused at what the real attraction was. I would light the end of that horribly disgusting cigarette and as soon as I took a puff I would become violently ill. But that never stopped me. I always went back for more. I would sneak around the corner of the house in the backyard where no one could see me and I'd smoke those crumpled up cigarette butts until I was sick.

My friend Winette was a little braver than myself. She would steal whole cigarettes from her mother's purse. She would say, "Come on Lacy, I have some cigarettes," and off we'd go to the local elementary school. Climbing up on the classroom roof we'd light those cigarettes. Boy did we feel cool.

I hate to admit I had fallen into the trap of appearances but I wanted every other kid in the neighborhood to see me sitting up on that school roof puffing away. I can't say I was ever afraid of being seen by an adult. I guess my fear of getting caught hadn't developed yet. Eighth graders aren't known as the sharpest tools in the shed.
I never actually inhaled the smoke. Doing so caused me extreme nausea and dizziness but I could take into my mouth lots of smoke and blow beautifully formed smoke rings. It all seemed so innocent and fun but such a lot of work. Stealing cigarettes didn't last long. We never got caught, we just became bored.

I didn't smoke another cigarette until my freshman year at college. My good friend from high school, Moxie, enrolled in San Diego State University with me. We got an apartment together and became roommates. Moxie liked to sit and smoke cigarettes while she watched soap operas in the afternoon. It seemed harmless enough so I would join her. I only allowed myself two cigarettes each afternoon. But before long I was craving them in the morning

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