29 Minutes

• Henry Vu, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2013

“Watch the pot for Mommy, dear. I just need to step away for a moment.” With a kiss on the forehead, my mother swept upstairs.
I stared, mesmerised, into the flames. I thought about how my father used to sit me on his shoulder whenever he cooked. I remembered catching him dip his finger into the pot to taste our dinner, then laughing when he realised I was watching. Such an unhygienic father! At the dinner table, my dad would sneak me chocolate under the table even though it wasn’t time for dessert yet. My mum would scold the both of us afterwards if she found out, but we would always have a good laugh together. I wish those days hadn’t disappeared. My dad is gone now.
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“Every cigarette you smoke, shortens your life by 29 minutes.” The television announcer intoned gravely. I looked out the window, where my father was outside puffing away happily on his cigarette, oblivious. “29 minutes, that could be better spent with people you love. Now do the maths; how fast are you killing yourself by picking up that cigarette?”

I quietly stepped outside and approached my dad. “Can I have a cigarette?”
“No Alicia, they’re bad for your lungs and you’re too young. I’m an adult so it’s okay.”
“Then how long will you live for?”
“Forever and ever.”
I didn’t believe him. I knew the cigarettes were shortening his life. I hesitated for only a moment, before grabbing the cigarette packet from his pocket.

I could hear the faint noise of my dad yelling as I ran back into the house. I briefly glimpsed the concern and confusion on my mother’s face as I whizzed past her. Once I reached the toilet, I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it, so my father couldn’t follow me in. My eyes widened with fear as I heard my dad bashing at the door, warning me not to flush the cigarettes down the toilet. But I had made up my mind. With shaking hands, I drop the cigarette packet into the toilet bowl and pulled the handle hard, again and again, until the contents of the cigarette carton completely disappeared.

I sat down on the cold tiles, too scared to face my dad’s anger. I heard my mum pleading on my behalf, saying I was brave to do what I did despite knowing the trouble I would get into. “She’s doing this because she cares for you. Why are you scaring her like this?” Right at that moment my hand lifted up and unlocked the door on its own accord. My dad opened the door. His eyes were full of tears.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. I reached up and squeezed him tightly. He promised to never pick up another cigarette. But it was too late. He caught what we thought was a terrible cold, and kept coughing up blood. But after the doctors ran all their tests, we found out the truth.

He had cancer.