her only real escape
saving jane: part two
This work of fiction is part two of a four-part short story titled “Saving Jane”. To read part one:
On the way home from work, “You do not have to live in pain” echoes between Jane’s ears. Pain was normal, she thinks, as memories of family and friends who talk often about random aches come to mind. Cigarette in hand as she pulls into her driveway, flashes of all Jane’s recent ailments overwhelm her, scaring her for only a second as her son’s greetings bring her back to the present moment. Back to the cigarette between her fingers. Relief.
Jane loved the way smoking cigarettes made her feel. That first puff leading to full body relaxation. Cigarettes transported Jane somewhere calm, where life was easy. Where her shoulders could rest and so could she. But there were also sore throats and clogged nasals. She knew the cigarettes could not be a long term solution to her stress. But with little time and little help in drafting other options for relief, cigarettes would have to do. She had a child to care for, a business to run and a home to tend to. Her body was inundated with things to worry about. For over a decade now, smoking was her only real escape.
Before the sun could rise, Jane wakes out of her sleep in a coughing spell, her son Lee races into her room, turning on the light, “Are you ok, mom? That cough sounds terrible.” “Lee — get out. I appreciate you, but get out and turn that light off. You can go back to bed.” Jane gets up, limps to the bathroom, the pain worse than days prior. She turns on the light, still coughing as she catches a glimpse of her skin. Tugging on her face, she’s skinnier than she was when she last looked in the mirror. Have I been eating enough? She can’t recount. The days flow together like water.
Jane looks at her alarm clock. She has to be at the shop in a few hours but her cough endures. She stumbles to the kitchen for some water and a bite to eat. A few boiled eggs and some buttered toast will have to do.
Jane is now on her fifth night of disrupted sleep — should I be worried? She knew so many people who smoked cigarettes, who were also completely fine. She smoked with friends often. On their balconies, on her backyard patio — their ritual before nights of Bridge.
But there is Theo, the family friend who is recently diagnosed with throat cancer but his symptoms are way worse than mine are. Hers, a leg cramp, his — coughing up blood. She shakes the thoughts and sips cough syrup before trying to get one more hour of sleep.
As she arrives at the shop that morning, Monique is outside again. This time, her hands are empty, but her joy feels the same as it always is. Jane is not as excited to see Monique today as she’s been in the past. It’s the cough. It’s super noticeable and will only worry Monique. And for Jane, a worried Monique will intensify her desire for a smoke.
It had been at least a decade since Jane had a new friend. She was close to her family and all current friends were long term, more like sisters, but none of them demonstrated the type of love Monique did. Even on days when they didn’t see each other, Monique and Jane spent evenings on the phone, laughing, gossiping, recounting the day’s drama. It had taken months for Jane to settle into this new friendship. She liked her circle as it was, but Monique came as a welcomed exception.
As Jane exits the car, she inhales before flicking her cigarette in the can. Monique is here to invite her to the bakery for breakfast and a taste of a new holiday flavored latte she wants to add to the menu - white chocolate cranberry. Jane’s shoulders relax at the thought of the taste, eyes closed, her mind already delighting in those flavors. Jane and chocolate go together like Jane and Lay’s and Jane and Coca-Cola which is to say they go together like peanut butter and jelly.
The two arrive at the bakery and Jane gets cozy in her favorite corner booth. She loves Monique’s choice in interior design, how you can feel the outdoors from all corners. It’s unlike anything Jane has seen before, a rich visual feast. Monique’s feels like home in a way Jane cannot describe.