By Juulia Smith
I am a member of the silent majority, but I can’t be silent any longer. I have to wheeze out, because I can’t live like this.
My mother vapes. She vapes all day long, and I can’t stop her.
Everytime she takes a puff, a strange feeling overcomes me. I lose my sense of identity. I’m supposed to be the cool kid, not the soccer mom on the sidelines making jokes about wine. I walk around, utterly discombobulated. .
A string of incidents present themselves.
It’s my parent’s anniversary. He gets her a strand of juuls.
A faint smell of grape-juicy apples-tango melon fills the air. I choke.
An e-cigarette ends up in the salad instead of a vinaigrette. We all stare at it.
We drive to the supermarket in the car. I stare straight ahead. The light flickers. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see a Vineyard Vines visor. The light changes again. She takes a drag of the e-cigarette. I pretend not to notice the khaki shorts peeking out under the seat.
I can barely remember, but it didn’t used to be like this. I remember when Saturdays weren’t for the boys and puff, there she goes again. I sink back into the haze and dream.