It was the last time we would all meet and
debate. It was something of an
anti-climax. My time a University
had been a mixed affair being both pleasant and terrible. I was glad it was ending. We sat in a room in our pub that we
always used to go in and was always only reserved for us. It was a special privilege that the
debating society used to enjoy. I
was glad it was ending but I would miss it. The speakers were coming to a close complimenting to those
who took part in the debating competitions and preparing the ground for next
years committee. All in all I
think we were satisfied. I never really took part in the debating, was never
really that good at it but I enjoyed the pretence at being intellectual though
in reality I was no wiser than when I came.
I was aching to get home. I
finished my pint ages ago and I was ready for bed. After three years I had become tired and was not looking
forward to the next part. It was
all finishing and with it felt that so was my life. Now on the drudgery, to full-time work and full-time
boredom. Really what was the
purpose? I had come with a coat but
as the heat had come in the last month this piece of clothing was
unnecessary. That could have been a
motion, is it better to be practical or to be fashionable? I knew I would lose the argument for
either side being neither. There
was applause and I joined in only vaguely listening but then something unusual
happened. We could stay if we
wanted to, said the speaker, and since the owner’s daughter was a member of the
society we were allowed, if we wanted to, to open a pack of cigarettes and
smoke. I didn’t smoke but I was
excited by this prospect. Smoking
had become outlawed some years ago, at least indoors, so this private
disobedience was something liberating.
Different brands of cigarettes were brought out, brands that I used to
know but no longer recognised due to the covering and hiding of packets in
newsagents. Some had borrowed
(cadged they call it) and others had given with that in-crowd familiarity and
generosity that I had often noticed between comrade smokers. Soon there was smoke in the air,
wonderful floating bands of the stuff.
No one talked, we smoked and passive smoked in silence. I was reminded of bonfires as a child
looking into the fire and becoming suffused with smoke. It was tribal, the need to smoke and I
felt included in an ancient rite before law, before health and safety and
political correctness, a time perhaps even before civilisation and I wondered
what was the good of it when what we only needed was our natural instinct. Ash fell from the tar and nicotine stem
that was smoked by a woman I used to fancy. More or less I had gone through all the woman in terms of
fancying and more or less in turn I had given up without really trying.
That was disappointing about Uni, the myth that you would meet someone,
a partner, a like-mind, when actually you had spent most of your time on your
own, going to lectures without talking to anyone, going to seminars with people
you didn’t meet up after coffee, only speaking in the most rudimentary of terms
to the people of the one society you did bother to join, but sometimes you
might as well think that it would be easier to do without. Still you did your best and there’s no
need to feel bitter about it, though you do find it uncomfortable and it even
hurts a bit. You had one close friend
who disagreed with everything you believed in and never stopped criticising but
that was something.
Here you felt strangely close to everyone as if all you ever were was a
close knit family. It was as
illusive as the smoke you breathed in and easier to believe in when you were
all breaking the law. Why smoking
was banned indoors was beyond me and I missed the smoke in the pubs. It’s the lack of freedom that I hated
and I thought that there really should be a better way for consenting adults to
organise their differences but I had come to the conclusion that difference
between people was fundamental to their relations. I studied politics in the hope of uniting people for a more
peaceful world but my ambitions are not so high anymore. All I wish for now is a quiet desk job
where I am allowed to keep my opinions no matter how unfavourable.
When Margaret Thatcher, the subject of my disseration, died me and my
friend argued over her funeral, me for, him against, and although it had costed
a lot I don’t see the matter in terms of money. For me it was really a sign that the old life was really
coming to an end and that it was time for me to move on even though I’m not
sure I’m ready for it.
People coughed and began to stub their left overs of their
cigarettes in the prelude of leaving.
I knew it was late and I knew I had to go home but I just wanted to stay
for a little longer, just for a minute more, just let me be a student, don’t
send me home. I thought about
asking someone for a fag, as they call them, but the time had passed. I got my coat and walked out of the
door.
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