Julia and I were very close. We shared all our secrets and deepest thoughts and were constant pillars of support to each other. Being a teenager is a wonderful thing when one looks back on it. The sort of friendship that can be gained at that younger age is incomparable to anything that may proceed. Together we went through life's rich tapestries sampling all the terrible and wonderful experiences along the way.
The first time I smoked a cigarette was with Julia. I can remember the occasion clearly. She had come to my house and had stood panting at the doorstep pleading with me to come out and try it with her. I followed her with a thick lump in my throat at the danger and excitement of what we were about to do. We found a discreet hiding place in the local park and stood there nervously for some minutes before opening the small white box and peering in at its sleek ominous occupants. Its odd how certain images can stick in one's mind years after the event. I will never forget looking at Julia, cheeks rosy with excitement, golden hair lapping gently in the breeze staring at the long white cigarette with a look of almost humbleness in her soft blue eyes. As she placed the cigarette in her mouth I could see small creases appear in the corners of her mouth and minute parcels of moisture clinging to her soft unadulterated lips allowing the cigarette to pass smoothly into her mouth and rest precariously balanced between her two quivering lips. I stood there in that park looking at my best friend sucking in what seemed like billows of smoke and then with much spluttering expelling it in clouds of gray. When it came to be my turn I must confess that I wasn't really very impressed by the whole thing and decided that smoking would not enter my growing list of vices.
Julia and I lived relatively near to each other and therefore attended the same school. Each morning she would come flapping up to my house and I, rather groggily, would meet her at the doorstep and we would then proceed to walk along the long avenue that would lead us to our school. Those walks were a real treasure to me and I would like to think to her too. It provided us with an excellent opportunity to discuss our worries, thoughts and of course men. We both started dating at roughly the same time and were therefore able to discuss our adventures without fear of incomprehension on the other's behalf. Julia was keen on the macho boys - the ones that would swank around the school courtyard with their orchestrated haircuts and their unoriginal designer clothes. I was always convinced that they would be complete disappointments in bed - their style covering up for deep imperfections on the emotional side. But Julia maintained that having an attractive hunk on your arm was all that mattered and that small endowments really didn't bother her anyway. Personally, I liked the quieter boys, the ones that were different, original and most importantly tender. A tender and integral man is always without fail a master of love as far as I'm concerned but Julia refused to concede the point dismissing my perfect type of man as being 'too effeminate' and 'too weird'.
And so, we carried on, walking to school each day, arguing about the utopian male, going to parties and generally doing what we though best. Julia took to smoking like a house on fire (for want of a better simile) and gradually the spluttering ceased and the gray clouds turned to deep blue mist expelled in cool succulent waves.
