I love the way people smell. I love the way you can smell them even after they've walked by. Their scent lingers in the air and it's a pleasant feeling. I think of it as birthmarks. Sometimes people will keep the same smell for a long time and it's something I recognize even after all these years. I walked by a girl after class today, and she smelled of cucumber melon. I stopped in my tracks and felt compelled to turn around and follow her. A friend used to use that lotion all the time. It stopped coming out in stores two years back and she changed to a more musky smell. I felt unusually happy that day. It was like meeting an old friend. Sometimes I try hard to remember a smell and hope that it won't ever go away, but alas, just like everything else, it fades. Then, it disappears altogether. There are only three things in the entire world I won't ever forget, the smell of alcohol, cigarettes mixed with cherry blossoms, and the smell of him.

I grew up with the smell of beer, the way it would radiate off of my mother's body when she drank too much. The way it would leave her helpless and a sobbing mess was something I would never forget. The sound of cans clinking together and loud laughter mixed with deep sadness hidden inside was something I can never let go of, despite the years of being able to tune it out. The way she would come in the room, crying, thinking I can't hear her, but I hear every single apology, every single shaky intake of breath. The way she would play that sad song that reminded her of him, the one that left her years ago, and the way she would sing along to it on-key despite having a mental breakdown. The way she would suddenly become silent and I'll hear her try to talk to me, trying to get some kind of comfort from me. I would always try to pretend to be asleep, but then she'll start crying even more and telling me all these things about how she loves me, how she tries to be a good mother, and I can't help but cry too.

Then we'll talk about what goes on in life and what's bothering her and sometimes she'll tell me about her past. She'll tell me of the days she spent studying and getting straight A's, then she'll tell me of the time she fell in love with a man that didn't love her back as much. She'll tell me of how he left her and crushed her heart into little pieces. She'll tell me of the time he made her the happiest girl in the world. Whenever she's drunk, the topic always ends up into the arms of the guy I won't ever call my dad. She'll tell me of her past boyfriends and she'll tell me of how she was treated like a princess. Then she'll tell me of how men will only want one thing and we laugh together about it but then she becomes silent once more. She'll then ask me of what I think of her and that she won't remember it the day after, but I know she does. It's weird to see that someone who' so sassy, sarcastic, and extremely bitchy and confident and holds her head up high, is just as insecure as a teenage girl. It's weird to see that the woman who I felt was the strongest woman in the world, was one of the weakest. She just knew how to hold herself in public. She knew not to let people know that she was breaking down on the inside.

The smell of cigarettes was the same thing. The way she would close the door in hopes of not letting it stink the whole house, the way she would leave for work and I would have to spray the air with some cherry blossom air fresheners, because she hates vanilla. The way the cigarettes and cherry blossoms would mix and create a bittersweet atmosphere and the way it would sink deep into my hair no matter how many times I've washed it. She's gotten me so used to the smell that I can tell from menthol cigarettes to non-menthol. Her car smells of cigarettes and stupid attempts at covering it up with air fresheners, but I cannot smell it. Friends tell me that they hold their breath when they're in the car, because that's how strong it is. I've practically bathed in it. Sometimes when we're walking somewhere, she'll tell me to go ahead and I'll hear the quiet click of her Bic lighter and I'll hear the way she blows out the smoke and I'll hear the way she'll crush the cigarette with her heel and I'll hear the way she suddenly seems calmer and I'll smell the smoke lingering in her hair despite washing it later that night. Sometimes when I'm sad and she'll hold me while I cry, I can smell it deep within the crook of her neck. I find comfort in it in rare times. I feel weird whenever she doesn't smell like cigarettes because then I get a feeling that I don't know who this woman is.

On good days, she'll come back smelling like beer and cigarettes and sweat and she'll flop onto the bed without taking her make up off and she'll smile at me with that little girl smile and say, "Good night, baby." And then I feel as if nothing could ever go wrong in the world in that instant. I am proved wrong when I am still awake because she is heaving and shrieking with sadness and as months go by, I no longer feel obligated to comfort her. Instead, I feel angry. I feel frustrated with the fact that the woman who I thought could solve her problems with logic and thought, instead solved it with snorting drugs and drinking and smoking packs of cigarettes a day, when she partied, of course. Now, when she comes home and does this, I fall asleep peacefully. I do not pity her like I used to. Instead, I laugh.

Then, there's the smell of him. He's like any other guy with a good sense of smell. He buys regular cologne from a popular brand name and wears it. Just like any other guy, really. To me, he smells of that warm summer night when my mother and I laid down on a blanket to look at the meteor showers. She was drunk that night and constantly left me to go get a quick smoke. We laid there for 4 hours but it was the greatest day I had when she wasn't sober. She didn't ask me questions, but instead we both laughed about how the city was stupid and how the stars were stupid and when I saw a meteor and she didn't we would both break into a fit of laughter. Tears would come out of our eyes and our stomachs would hurt but it didn't matter because I saw a meteor and she didn't.

He smells of the nights when I can't sleep and my air conditioner takes in the smell of the grass and the warm air. He smells of the nights when my mom comes home after she's done partying and I find comfort in my layers of blankets and stuffed animals. He smells of the days when I wake up way too early in the morning and instead of getting up, I listen to music and smell the fresh morning dew coming from outside. He smells of the rain that wakes me up and for hours on end, I just listen to the rain hit the window. He smells of the nights when I wake up from a nightmare and when I stare up at the ceiling I realize I'm alone. He smells of the nights when I'm up on my laptop typing up an essay and he's already fast asleep and I realize that I miss him and I wish that the next day would come faster. He smells like memories and sadness. He smells like the dust after rain and he smells like the word 'delight' and sometimes if I try really hard, he smells like happiness.

His smell is the only thing I can still remember and smell it as if I was right next to him.

A/N: Yeah, I do realize that there is a lot of repetition but hey, honey badger doesn't give a shit.