Note this was a second-year assignment written in 2013 that needed to include certain aspects.
After.
The sun filtered through the amber leaves on a peaceful November afternoon. The stones still wet from last night’s rainfall got stuck into my work boots. Anthony stood by the side of the river and thanked us for being there. Why did he choose the priesthood? Who knows, but it made him happy, and once he joined, my concern for him subsided. Not that I needed to be concerned. He was in his 40s, after all. But a mother always worries.
As he gave a sermon about the Holy Ghost, I caught a hauntingly familiar smell. It perfumed the air. I pulled my sleeves down instinctively to cover my dry, red, cracked hands. My eyes found the man fishing across the stream. He flicked his Bic lighter and lit up another cigarette. Even though he wasn’t close, I felt the heat emanating from it. You never forget the taste of a cigarette. My first drag was when I tried to impress Marc in high school, the one my brother told me to stay away from, and even though it felt like a million years ago, the moment was still so vivid. His greasy curled hair, how his lips hugged that warm Belmont, the way he cupped his left hand to the lighter in an effort for it not to fade. He had this firm yet gentle grip on the cigarette when he removes it from his mouth to exhale. The passion, the smoke, the heat; brief…
