Sweet Macanudo

Eddrick

“Ladies and Gentlemen the Captain has switched on the seatbelt sign and we will land at Hartsfield Airport in Atlanta in approximately 15 minutes. Please move your seats to the upright position…”

Cyntal peered out the window of the plane trying to catch a glimpse of the Atlanta skyline. All her years of hard work and dedicated studies had paid off. Two days before she received her master’s degree Cyntal was offered a managerial position from Coca-Cola in Atlanta. The offer included a signing bonus, company car, and very cool apartment. It was a dream come true for her.

She tried to control her emotions. She was getting too excited. Cyntal pulled out a black business magazine she’d bought. She quickly thumbed through the pages. An ad caught her eye. It was for a cigar, but what surprised Cyntal was that a woman was depicted savoring it. The fine sister in the ad was dressed in a Channel business suit and she had that head tilted smiley look that models have when they’re faking having fun. But the ad was effective.

Cyntal was twenty-four, educated, and striking. She was a shade under 5ft. seven in flat shoes. The struggle for the soul of America was visible in her features. The spice of distant Spanish descent had been wrapped in a deep caramel African coating, which had simmered with periodic European inflection down through the lines of her family. She was poised and articulate, yet her undeniable urban roots hadn’t been lost. She was exactly what American idealism offered.

The plane landed and she eagerly got her bags. She noticed all of the black folks working in the airport. She’d heard about this being the capital of the black south, and she was finally seeing it up close. Several fellas offered to assist her with her bags, but she politely declined. Cyntal was always ready to do things for herself.

24 hours earlier Cyntal had been a college student in L.A. with ice water and three hot dogs in her refrigerator. Now she confidently strolled through the airport with travelers’ checks and keys to a company sponsored luxury car. Cyntal passed by a tobacco store in the heart of the airport. She stopped and remembered the way the woman in the ad looked with the cigar. Into the store she went and five minutes later she emerged with a box of Macanudos.

She got lost on the way to the apartment. It took about an hour longer than it should have. The apartment was on the third floor of a modern building. Once inside she giggled, kicked off her shoes, and inspected all three bedrooms. The carpeting was thick and plush. It felt smooove to her bare feet. It was just a shade before the evening hour and she was a little tired. Coca-cola had stocked the fridge with all kinds of food and goodies. And the bar was also well equipped.

She took a shower which seemed to wash away some of the euphoria of her new situation. The enormity of the change in her life came down on her in the shower. For a moment she became scared and shed a tear or two. But it didn’t last long. Cyntal had met and conquered many challenges in her short life. By the time she finished drying off, with the heaviest towel she’d ever felt, her moment of uncertainty had passed. She dressed in a pair of cotton boxer shorts with a long sheer pajama top over them.

Cyntal opened the freezer and took out a TV dinner. She decided to have a drink and listen to music while her food heated up. With drink in hand, Cyntal went to the sliding glass door that lead out onto the balcony. She could see her reflection in the glass. Cyntal looked at herself for a long time. She tried to look serious and business oriented. Then she remembered the lady in the ad. She went over to a counter and opened the box of cigars. She took one out and cut the end with the cutter the store gave her. Cyntal gulped down the rest of the drink and moved back next to the glass door. She placed the cigar between her fingers, like the lady did, and she held it up to her lips. She looked at herself in the door again, and this time she felt business like. She decided to smoke the cigar but she didn’t want the smell in her apartment. So she opened the sliding door and stepped out on the balcony.

There was a slight breeze, but the weather was nice. It took her three flicks of the lighter to light the cigar, and when she got it lit the first hit made her cough real hard. There was more smoke than she anticipated so she closed the sliding door. Cyntal positioned herself by the railing and gazed out at Atlanta. Her fascination with the Macanudo began to wane and Cyntal became light headed. The smoke was making her eyes water. She stubbed the cigar out after about five puffs and went back to the sliding door. To her horror, it was locked.

Panic swept over her as she desperately tried to open the door. She tugged and pulled on the handle but it wouldn’t budge. The last light of the day crept away from the balcony. Cyntal realized that she was trapped. She looked over the balcony and down to the street below. The noise from the evening’s rush hour traffic drowned out her attempts to call out. Cyntal walked over to the door again. The breeze became cooler and she shivered for the first time.

After five very hard tugs on the door she began to cry. Her first night in Atlanta had been tarnished by a temporary diversion from her core self. Cyntal was definitely not the woman in the ad. She learned a quick lesson about being herself and staying true to her own tastes. Cigars? Not anymore.

Cyntal stopped crying and started thinking. There was an old rag tied to a chair on the balcony. She removed the rag and stepped to the edge of the balcony. Cyntal took the lighter from her pajama pocket and lit the rag on fire. She swung the rag around her head. The flames moved quickly up the rag. Her action worked. Someone across the street called fire department. Within twenty-five minutes Cyntal, surrounded by three tall firemen, was back in her apartment. The firemen had also rescued her dinner. When they left she threw the Macanudos in the trash!