EUTR – Smoke Rings & Pride Flags

Hey! This is the third short story from my upcoming LGBT+ short story/advice collection, Everything Under The Rainbow! You can find out more about it on my Upcoming Releases page – just click here! Smoke Rings & Pride Flags covers both the general youth issues of underage smoking and peer pressure as well as the information that gay and lesbian people in the UK are more likely to smoke than straight people. Read on to find out how Jason deals with fitting in and avoiding peer pressure at a youth group in Smoke Rings & Pride Flags!

Smoke Rings & Pride Flags

“Right, it’s chill-out time–if you’re going outside, please be respectful of the general public and the building.”

As a struggle over who got to connect to the speaker began, I moved my chair back and stood up hesitantly. Outside seemed like a good idea. The meeting-room, although large enough, got really hot with thirty or so people sitting around talking about plans for the local pride event and other campaigns they were starting. I’d listened, until darkness cloaked the outside world. There were blinds over the windows (for our safety, it was stressed) but little slithers of the street managed to get through them.

Street-lights blinked on. Cars growled past with their headlights on full-blast. Loud, drunken conversations which fought through the closed windows and assaulted our group.

Our group. Could I even say that yet? This was my first session, after all. I’d been promised a safe space to make friends and get involved with local projects, and it had been provided for me tonight. But there I was, getting up and sidling out of the roasting room without a second glance at the youth workers in their rainbow lanyards and the kids fighting over the music.

I left before I could hear who won.

A small crowd of blurry faces, too new to be recognisable yet, rushed out as if they never wanted to be there in the first place. I knew better, though. The one with the blue hair had debated another person on school policies, and leather jacket guy was full of ideas for the pride float. At the time, they had loved being there, and being a part of it all.

But as soon as ‘chill-out’ time was announced, their chairs were thrown back, bags grabbed and doors wrenched open. All of them filed into the corridor with the locked door (locked on one side but the not the other), which had a little red button for releasing people into the reception area. They took turns jabbing the button and yelling at each other to open the door, until there was only one person left.

It took me a while to realise he was looking straight at me, since my eyes had been exploring the boring tiled floor.

“Are you coming out, or staying here?” A simple question. His voice was a little rough, but not unkind. Sort of down-to-earth, if that made sense. It was the sort of voice you trusted with your life, but not your chocolate. “Jason, right? New?”

“Y-yeah, that’s, that’s me,” realising, with a little mix of horror and embarrassment, that I couldn’t remember his name from the introductions, I was stuck hoping he wouldn’t notice without being able to do anything about it, “I’m gonna–well, I was gonna go out, I guess–”

“Great. Press the button.”

Cutting me off, he started striding towards the door. Still stumbling over useless words, I looked towards the red button. A little bit of plastic had never looked so intimidating. It was only the fact that I’d never pressed it before which made it intimidating, of course, but it still seemed to threaten me, sat there on the wall. No, it was smug. You won’t press me. You can’t.

“Press the button,” he repeated, a little more firmly this time, so I pressed it.

With a grunt, he flung open the heavy-looking door and walked straight through it, leaving me to wonder if he’d just abandon me. That thought lasted for about half a second. The door never swung shut, since he was holding it open, like some sort of polite gentleman. He certainly didn’t look the part, but I wasn’t about to complain.

“Thanks, uh,” still not sure of what my tongue was trying to do, I hurried forwards, almost scared he’d shut the door in my face. He didn’t, of course, because people are rarely as bad as you think they’ll be. Most have some sort of sense of decency. Especially if they hold a door open for you.

“My name’s Leo. You weren’t listening through intros–try not to make a habit of it,” he let the door go, putting a hand on my shoulder and leading me towards the revolving doors which were between us and ‘outside’.

‘Outside’ was a crowd of teenagers, some sitting, some standing and some running about like little kids, with smoke puffing out of them like they were a gathering of old-fashioned trains. It was straight out of a warning poster from school, ‘don’t ruin your life with these losers’, or something a little more subtle than that. A lump formed in my throat.

But we kept moving, Leo’s supportive hand still on my shoulder. It fell away as we waited for the revolving door to let out a dad and his two tiny children, one of them coughing hysterically. From the way he was telling the kid off, I reckoned it was just an act, but I couldn’t blame them. There was practically a smokescreen outside.

It was only when we passed through the door and stepped out into the night that Leo’s hand returned, and I realised I kind of liked the warmth of his touch on my shoulder. Not in a romantic way, or a crush way, but just a ‘I’ve got you, follow me’ way, if that made sense. It was nice. After a day of following around ‘friends’ who didn’t really talk to me and a silent car ride with my disapproving parents, it was a breath of fresh air.

Unfortunately, that was only a metaphor. The actual air outside was fruit and tobacco flavoured. Oh–and bubblegum. Wonderful.

It wasn’t that I had anything against smokers (or vapers, for that matter). It just didn’t appeal to me. Getting force-fed second-hand candy-clouds also didn’t appeal to me, but I don’t think asking them to ‘keep the smoke down’ would’ve done anything. My tongue would probably mess up the words anyway.

The building had a little paved section between it and the next big brick block–it was a library, if I remembered correctly, but the shutters were down and I didn’t have a chance to get a proper look at the name printed above them. Benches were placed directly down the middle, with ash-covered bins by every single one. A street-light flickered in the centre of everything.

Despite having all of this room, the teenage crowd chose to huddle against the glass wall of the building, seemingly irritating a few receptionists within it. For some reason, I didn’t think this was what the youth worker had in mind when he said to ‘be respectful’ of the surroundings.

“Oi, Leo! You adopted the new kid or something?” Leo paused to turn and face the fiercely smoking crowd, an easy smile on his face. I was less calm. My heart decided to try and go for a record of beats per minute, and my ribs decided to make every single pulse echo around my entire body. Blood surged past my ears. “Get him over here, we’ll take care of him!”

“You’ll shove a cig down his throat, you idiot. Acting like I haven’t watched you corrupt every one of these,” Leo waved generally at the crowd, who laughed or became mock-offended, “nah. I’ll keep his lungs clean.”

“Mr. Stingy over here’ll never let you have a smoke,” the speaker was coming closer–it was the blue-haired person–grinning and pulling out a vomit-coloured, rectangular box, “but I will, lad. Come hang with us.”

A single orange-and-white cigarette was pulled from the box. It dangled between blue-hair’s long fingers. Brief temptation flitted through my mind. I could… but why would I? I didn’t really want to take it. Disease and another reason for my parents to hate me didn’t sound like the best idea.

But another terrifying thought lingered in my head–how exactly did I refuse him, when my tongue refused to work?

“Give me that,” Leo rolled his eyes and grabbed the cigarette, taking me by the shoulder again and moving me away from the now-protesting blue-hair, “what? You were gonna give it away anyway!”

“Not to you!”

The crowd erupted into another wave of laughter, but I didn’t look back at them. I couldn’t. My head was fixed in one position: forwards. I’d get used to them eventually, I was sure, but right then they were all as scary as monsters under the bed used to be. Or still were, on some nights, but that was a secret.

Leo was leading me towards one of the benches, sitting us down on the cold metal without a word. There was still a smile on his face as he shook his head and passed the cigarette between his hands. I stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. The crowd were making enough noise for the entire town, so I suppose I didn’t really need to say anything at all.

“Jason,” he began, reaching into his pocket but looking me in the eyes, “promise me,” a neon orange lighter appeared in his hand, staying still in the air for a moment, “that you’ll never smoke.”

“Are you… are you joking?” I asked cautiously, as he proceeded to put the orange end of the cigarette between his lips and begin clicking the lighter. It didn’t seem to be working very well, but a little flame appeared a few seconds later, licking the white paper and turning it black. He breathed in heavily, turned his head and blew the grey smoke away. “You’re smoking.”

“And it’s bad for you, so you shouldn’t do it,” he returned, shrugging, the smile gone from his face, “don’t listen to Kai. He’s an idiot. An idiot who’s gonna get lung cancer one day and wish he gave all his cigs away.”

“Are they all idiots?” I don’t really know why that question left my throat, but it did. It made him laugh. The laugh turned into a cough after a mistimed drag from the cigarette, so I patted his back gently, likely doing nothing. The coughing stopped, but he kept smiling.

“Yup, and you’re an idiot for coming here. For coming outside, anyway,” when he noticed I wasn’t laughing with him, he shook his head and patted my shoulder, “that was a joke, Jase–can I call you that? Rolls off the tongue nicer than Jason, doesn’t it?”

“I–if you want to, I guess,” I nodded, not really minding what he called me as long as it wasn’t some sort of insult.

Even though he just invented a nickname for me, he didn’t speak for a little while after that. My eyes wandered over to the boisterous crowd, who had started clapping as one of them ran around with a pride flag draped over their back like a cape. The non-binary flag, if I wasn’t mistaken (which I might’ve been). My own identity wasn’t new to me, but knowing the name for it and simply the fact that the rest of the community existed was a bit of a surprise a couple of years ago.

I blamed a sheltered upbringing and religious schools which didn’t want to utter the word ‘gay’ in case all their students suddenly ‘caught the gay’, or something ridiculous like that.

None of this is real, Jason, you’ve got to remember that. It’ll all be over in a few months, so stop messing around with this stupidity.

Where did that come from? Startled, I looked around, almost expecting my mum’s tired, disappointed face to appear out of nowhere. Instead, a chilling wind decided to invade my hoodie, forcing goosebumps to pop up all over my arms. I could feel every single one, accompanied by a frozen hair. Being inside that warm meeting room didn’t seem so bad any more.

I’m not talking about this now. Don’t bring it up again.

She’d said that a million times, but it never stopped her talking about it. Dad didn’t talk about it, but he never really talked about anything. For years, I’d tried to get him into all sorts of conversations, even venturing into the few interests of his that I knew (various sports, the outrageous fact that prices sometimes went up at his favourite supermarket and half marathons) but he never really responded. Sometimes, he spoke to my friends more than me, but that might’ve just been him being polite.

I hadn’t gotten the chance to test that out recently, since all my friends seemed to suddenly take after him and lose all their interest in me. It was awful, when I thought about it, but it happened so gradually that I barely realised at the time. One day, people stopped laughing at my jokes. By the next week, they didn’t look at me if I talked. Another week and I was being talked over.

Quickly, I learned to keep quiet and just follow them around.

“So, what are you here for?” Incredibly grateful for Leo’s question, I leapt out of my depressing thoughts and rushed to find an answer for him.

“I’m bisexual!” For a few seconds, I didn’t understand why he was laughing. I didn’t really mind–his laughter was nice to listen to, just like his voice but with an added helping of joy. Then, it hit me.

“Thanks for telling me, but I sort of meant ‘I’m here to make friends’ or ‘I’m here to change the world’,” he used air quotes for each little reason, “like, I’m here because a youth worker dragged me here. ‘Beneficial for my mental health’, or something like that. So, wanna try that again?”

“I–uh, they came into school. Shirley and Mike,” he nodded, so I kept going, “and, at the end, I sort of went and asked if I could join. I think–I think I just wanted to make friends.”

“Support system,” he said knowingly, taking another drag from the half-gone cigarette, “that makes sense. You automatically have something in common with everyone here. Even those lot,” he pointed his cigarette at the crowd, who had started arguing over who got to wear the pride flag, “if you can believe it. Yeah, that’s fair enough. You’ll fit in just fine, give it a couple weeks.”

“Did you…” not really knowing how to phrase the question, I thought for a few seconds, giving Leo the chance to take a long, long drag on his cigarette, before puffing out something which looked sort of like a deformed ring, “did you feel scared, or sort of alone, when you first came here?”

“I mean, I was here when it all started, so everyone was sort of new and nervous,” his eyes became a little distant, maybe looking into memories from long ago, “it’s probably worse for you, joining when everyone already knows each other. It’s the difference between starting high school and going to a new school in the middle of the year, you know?”

“That makes sense,” I leaned back onto the bench a little, regretting it as the cold metal sent a chill through my back. Leo noticed me flinch away from it.

“Bring a coat next week,” he advised me, the knowledgeable tone back in his voice.

Casually, he draped his arm around me. Blinking a little, I wondered what to do for a second. It only took a second for my nervousness to be shouted over by a need for warmth. Leaning my head onto his chest, I fell into a warm embrace which smelled like cigarettes and the boys’ changing rooms at school: deodorant. Somewhat reassuringly, there was nothing ‘else’ about the interaction–no roaming hands, no close face, no whispered words. Just a hug. A sideways hug, but a hug nonetheless.

I hadn’t been hugged for years.

He continued to finish his cigarette, sometimes remarking that ‘so-and-so’ was Under-age and shouldn’t have been smoking at all (there were quite a few ‘so-and-so’s) and that ‘they’ used to be in a relationship but had a messy breakup, or that Shirley always made jokes about Mike’s weird ties, especially at Christmas and Halloween. Any holiday, he said, or any day of the week when Mike decided pink and green polka dots were in fashion.

“Do me a favour,” putting the end of his cigarette out in the bin’s ashtray, he looked down at me with a serious expression, “and never, ever listen to Kai. Well, you canlisten to him, ‘cause he can be funny sometimes, but never take him seriously. He’s a good comedian and a bad influence.”

“Why’d he call you ‘Mr. Stingy’?” Instead of actually replying to the question, I decided to ask something which had been on my mind ever since my encounter with Kai.

“I never give him cigs. Or anyone else.” Leo shrugged.

“Because you don’t want them to smoke?”

“Nah. I just can’t afford it. Smoking’s an expensive habit, y’know.”

For the first time that day, I genuinely laughed. Leo started too, his chest shaking with every chuckle, and I was filled with the wonderful feeling of friendship. Sure, I’d only known him for half an hour at most, but he’d decided to make my first day at that group better. He’d made me feel welcome, something which even the youth workers and their friendly smiles couldn’t manage.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket with his free hand, he near-blinded me with the white electric glare of his home screen. A band I didn’t know flipped me off from behind the time: 19:56. Almost time for everything to end; almost time for that awkward car ride home.

I knew the only reason my parents allowed me to go to the group was because of Shirley’s home-visit, required for every new member of the group, which had been a lot of persuading and highlighting the ‘benefits’, without directly calling them out for anything. Being a youth worker seemed to take a lot of skill.

But even Shirley couldn’t stop their reproving looks and critical silence.

“Remember a coat, next week,” Leo told me, a gentle smile on his face, “and stay as far away from Kai as you can. Got it?”

“Yeah,” chewing my lip, I considered asking him something which had bubbled to the surface of my mind, his friendly expression inviting me to ask the words: “Do you, uh–can I sit next to you? Next week?” Picking a seat had been one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life, sending adrenaline pumping around my body as I desperately searched for Shirley. Luckily, the seat next to her was available, but I didn’t really want to repeat the process next week.

“Sure, Jase. Just find me in reception, I’m always here early.”

“Thanks,” my words were coated in relief, a real smile curving up my lips.

Maybe everything else in my week would be rubbish, but at least I could look forward to this.

Author’s Note – This is a draft of a to-be-published work. The content may be altered or changed prior to publishing. This is not indicative of the exact content of the published work.

Oskar Leonard