walking far from home -- open!

[ELIJAH DANIEL ACKERMAN]

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IS INACCURATELY NAMED,,

and everybody knows it - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Now that he was associating a crummy habit with a crummy mood, Eli was finally starting to accept that he might just be on the road to a dependency. He had learned over and over in various health classes the dangers of the smoke that was currently entering and exiting his lungs, but in his current crummy mood, he didn't care. Later in the day seemed like a good time to start minding these things, but thankfully, for the sake of his lazy responsibility, there was always another "later" and another "tomorrow" on it's way. He had reached a professional level of procrastination, which was not something to be particularly proud of, yet was something the tobacco-induced pessimism found to be the accomplishment of the week. Taking a long drag on the cigarette he held expertly between his fingers, the boy found himself feeling a fraction of a percent better. However, any progress towards a better frame of mind was duly noted, and unfortunately, so was the cause. Eli held the smoke in his lungs for a matter of seconds, being inconsiderate of his own health to selflessly consider that of those around him; he hated when people were aware of his growing habit, and even more so when they had to deal with it. Finding the space around him was vacant of Ridgewood civilians, he exhaled like a dragon: puff, letting the smoke drift off with a passing breeze rather than getting the scent trapped on his clothes, in his hair. Eli was careful during these rare points of weakness where he succumbed to his cigarette cravings. The way he saw it, it was bad enough he had to smoke, being reminded of such things after-the-fact was both unnecessary and unpleasant for everyone involved.

The sharp, watchful eyes examined the smoke as it twisted off into the atmosphere, soon unable to follow the cloud due to the brightness of the mid-day sun. That was another hint that the "occasional cigarette" he had allowed himself thus far was evolving into something more formidable: he had never in his quasi-eighteen years of life smoked in the light of the day. But then, the irritability of his stepfather often peaked after the sun dipped below the horizon. Today he had thrown the household a curveball and flew off his ever-loose handle directly following a "family" lunch. Despite being the one who had retreated to the outdoors, where the wide array of open space would swallow up his frustrations and smoky exhales, Eli found an almost sadistic and immature amount of satisfaction in the fact that this was one of the few arguments his mother had witnessed. It was a bittersweet victory, to say the least. He was still following the pointless pavements of Ridgewood, arguably a condition for the loser, but this way the circumstances of the fight wouldn't be misconstrued when they were retold to the increasingly frustrated woman of the house. Eli felt guilty about the poor relationship between himself and his stepfather, for his mom's sake, but apart from how flustered she got with their bickering, there was nothing to regret. Nothing apart from the side effects, of course. Smoking, for example, was among the worst. But the dark optimism that Eli often practiced supplied a bright side for the emerging habit: at least this way he was spending more time outdoors. At this thought, the boy shared with himself a short-lived, sardonic laugh, the kind specified for situations that weren't funny, except in an insipid and ironic way. A second followed with the slightly mad-man realization that "insipid" was far too colorful of a word to match it's definition.

After following a senseless direction, Eli found himself in just about the last place he wanted to be: right where he has started. Ten minutes previously he could have sworn he had been flirting with the borderline into the less-wealthy residential areas, but it seemed he had come full circle to the regal and rich. The upper-class string of houses was unmistakeable, and due the mountainous architectural structures looming on either side of the street, impossible to miss. Even with his poor knowledge of the town's layout (which, because of his desirous sense of adventure, was most of the reason he had been wandering) he knew exactly where he was. With, out of lack of a better term, a misplaced sense of himself in terms of the new surroundings, one might think Eli would take comfort in knowing his whereabouts. However, these specific coordinates were too close to "home", too close to Dan, and too close to another argument (ergo, another cigarette) for comfort. With a sigh, the boy stopped in his tracks, not daring to take another step in what was deemed the wrong direction. There was one last drag available in the cigarette, and without hesitating, he didn't squander it. The dead cigarette had offered all the poison it could for the world, and it was shortly spiked into the asphalt as Eli took a perch on the curb outside a house that was not his own. Letting his long legs stretch a short ways into the street (the people who lived here didn't own cars to drive them, and therefore he anticipated he wouldn't find them under the wheels of a passing car anytime soon), Eli contemplated which route to take, next. In one pocket was a small tin of breath mints he made use of after smoking, in the other was his lighter and pack of cigarettes. Quickly enough, he analyzed the crummy mood that still remained and, offering himself no other excuse from a shrug, retrieved his cigarettes with the lighter to accompany them. After all, there was still a "later" to start caring.

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