They were out of chocolate cigarettes at the candy store, so the three of us — Emilio, Pedro, and I — had to find a substitute for our usual recess chocolate-cigarette break. In a jar were tall stalks of incense — which looked kind of like cigarettes. We bought three of them for a penny each. The store’s proprietor (or perhaps it was one of the older kids?) lit the incense sticks for us. We gripped the unlit end between our teeth and pretended that we were smoking cigarettes. And unlike our usual chocolate version, these actually gave off smoke!
The kids in the schoolyard were gratifyingly impressed: It was as if we three had, in an instant, attained adulthood. They followed us around, abandoning the aluminum maypole that had been their energetic focus. We and our followers circumnavigated P.S. 128 — it became kind of a march.
Till we reached the doors that opened into the school auditorium.
We marched in, smoking.
The entire school was there — principal, teachers, all the grades: it was a general assembly. Everyone turned to stare at Emilio, Pedro, and me, backed by our followers.
The principal instructed that the three smokers be brought up on stage.
Our sweet-smelling incense sticks were taken away from us.
The principal said, “What do you think you were doing, walking in here with those?”
I was strangely unbothered. Unfortunately, we were ushered off stage before any of us were able to summon an answer. But now I’d like my response — belated by 60 years — to be entered into the record.
I don’t know what we were doing. We were seven-year-olds enjoying ourselves, making believe we were grownups. These were not real cigarettes, which are bad for you. They smelled nice. It was pleasing to share this fantasy of adultness with one another, and eventually with others. We were celebrating our temporary freedom, during recess, and our joy proved to be infectious. No one ever followed us before. We became, briefly, stars. And it was so gratifying to be, for once, at the center of the kid constellation — to be the leaders — that we didn’t even consider leaving our fake cigarettes outside when we went into the auditorium. For one thing, they were still smoking — so they weren’t done! We weren’t done. We meant no disrespect to the school or its administrators. — Sincerely, Joshy (on behalf of himself, Emilio, and Pedro)
In the wings of the proscenium stage, the school adults consulted with one another for a few minutes. Finally we were told to take our seats with our classmates. The entire school — even the enormous sixth-graders — began clapping rhythmically, then chanting their approval: “Smo-kers! Smo-kers! Smo-kers!”
I smiled as I took my comfy seat. Yes, we were badasses. One day we would take over the whole world.
By me they were called punks.
Josh, this is so funny! About the same time, same age, I could be seen sashaying around the house in my swimsuit, carrying a tray displaying a bunch of my mom’s cigarettes and matches, announcing in my most insinuating voice, “Cigars, cigarettes, Tiparillos?” Just like I’d seen on a TV ad.