Chapter 8: Chesterfield

https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Chesterfield_(cigarette)

     "You and Jimmy seem close," Beat observes from a perch atop a rock retaining wall, handing over a cigarette stolen from her father's carton of Chesterfield kings.

"Twins," Nadia exhales, her word accompanied by a stream of harsh, sweet smoke as they dangle legs above the tinkling stream. "He thirteen, I twelve."

"Happy birthday Jimmy!" Beat laughs, quickly deducing how twins could have different ages.

"Yeah, big boy at 11:12, little girl at 12:13," explains Nadia while pointing her cigarette toward the little kids digging into the shale bank below. "Treasure under that rockslide?"

"Nah," Beat replies taking a slow drag, "I just made that up to keep them occupied."

"You are bad," laughs Nadia with a low guffaw that's interrupted by a clanging of rocks echoing from under the Union Avenue bridge.

"Oh shit, the Crescent Drive Kids," Beat whispers, snuffing out her smoke and starting down the wall. "Let's get out of here."

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     Nadia and Beatrice weren't as well prepared as Jimmy Nedjer for navigating teenage life in 1960s Bound Brook. Young women were still steered into home economics and secretarial prep classes at the otherwise excellent high school. It wasn't until 1972 that Title IX granted equal access to sports and other educational opportunities, and it took about ten years to become a reality for most public schools. As free-spirited and nature loving pre-teens in a male dominated social structure, the two girls would either have to eek out an identity with little support or grin and bear it until they could get the hell out of there.
     Mr. Reed's preferred cigarette brand had been an innovator in manufacturing and marketing. Dubious firsts included double lined packaging to preserve moisture, king sized cigarettes for longer smokes, and advertising to women to double the market. They were also the last brand to add filters, only doing so in 2019 when data was emerging, ironically, that burning plastic fibers in filters was as toxic as tars in the actual tobacco.

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     "I show you how to handle boys," Nadia asserts, climbing down the rock wall and picking her way over boulders to the underpass.

Beat watches in stunned silence as her new friend leans into the tall leader, whispering into his ear before he waves the gang back to their side of the bridge.

     "What did you say to him?" Beat queries as they lead their little siblings in the midday sun across the steaming blacktop of Tea Street to the Dairy Queen.

"Go away or I tell Jimmy you felt my chest," Nadia whispers, her lips tickling Beat's ear with each consonant.

"Talk about bad," Beat concludes, shaking two more Chesterfields out of the soft pack as the children climb around a wooden picnic table, "but here's to the feeling of chests!"