February 9, 2009 (Originally posted to my Facebook Wall) — Friday morning found me awake early and happier than I had been in quite a few days. Not only had I hit the 5-day mark without a cigarette, but my 13 day streak without in-the-flesh social interaction of any kind was about to come to an end. Only a few hours before, around 3:30 on Friday morning and just as I was completing my nightly ablutions, spitting toothpaste into the sink, I heard my phone ring.

Somehow, I made it to my desk before the call to voicemail.

"Yes ...?" I drawled in a voice dripping suspicion and possibly outright paranoia.

"Geoff?" a small voice answered, clearly a little discombobulated.

"Yes, who's this?"

"It's [niece's name] — did I wake you up? I'm sorry I called so late ..."

"[Niece's name]! No, you didn't wake me up! And I've told you you can call me any time!" I was smiling, maybe even laughing a little, and I think that came through in my voice.

Though she didn't explain why, my niece told me she was thinking of coming to Toronto the following day and would I like to see her? (Would I like to see her! Asking Young Geoffrey that question is kind of like asking the God of Job if he enjoys unquestioning adulation and obedience. But I digress.)

She told me to expect her around 6:00 on Friday evening and I quite literally danced my way to bed.

And so, on Friday morning, I found myself with the urge to not only sweep, but to organize — in particular, my desk.

I went through files and piles, tossing much correctly putting away some; and within only a few hours I could once again see my (physical) desk-top.

And that was when I saw ... IT. The virgin-white, blue-tipped cylinder of pure poison, laying in wait where it had no business being at all.

"No way..." I deliberately shook my head, as if that might prove the villain a mere illusion, then took a step back from the desk.

When I looked again, the cigarette was still there.

And it was calling to me, a surprise Syren singing and me without anyone to tie me to a mast.

And as if that song had taken full control of my extremities, I watched in helpless horror as my right hand reached down and delicately took the cigarette between thumb and forefinger.

And at that moment of physical contact, it was rather like that moment when you pick up a ringing telephone and — in that moment, that instant! — you experience a phase transistion. You were alone; now you are not.

And though I knew it was an enemy that had called, still its voice was smooth and seductive, its lies sweet with honey. How could I not listen?

Didn't expect to see me again, did you Geoffrey?

"No. No I didn't."

I'm not here to try to win you back, I know you've beaten me. I know when I'm no longer wanted.

"Then, why are you here?"

Just to say goodbye. We had a lot of good times together, didn't we?

Grudgingly, I had to admit that yes, we did have some good years. Too many, in fact. "But that's done now, it's over."

I know, Geoffrey, I know. I just want us to say goodbye properly, to part as friends.

My free hand, also outside my conscious volition, picked up my lighter, while my right hand raised the cigarette to my mouth. My lips parted in automated response to a quarter-century of conditioning.

But I didn't flick the lighter. "Not inside," I whispered. "My niece is coming to visit ..."

My antagonist chuckled, a tone of fatherly understanding. Of course not. I wouldn't have even asked you to say goodbye inside, where we've shared so many memories, made so many memories.

Why don't we go out back? It won't take long. Just a final smoke, a proper farewell. You won't even have to tell anyone we did it; it can be our little secret, in memory of all that we once shared ...

And there I was, cigarette dangling from my mouth, lighter comfortably in my right hand, striding down the hall to the back of my building, out and up into the open air.

I flicked the lighter. Let the flame come to within a millimetre or two of the cigarette's tip. I closed my eyes and pondered. After all, it had been five days! I had beaten the addiction! I could have this one, final, smoke; could enjoy it in full consciousness, then walk away, having given ritual to this ending ...

God knows what woke me from that seduction — maybe just the memories of all the other times I've tried to break up with that carcinogenic nemesis — but I was, all of a sudden, myself again, deaf to the whispered lies and promises.

I returned the lighter to my pocked and slowly and deliberately, tore that cigarette into tiny shreds, then threw its shivered remains into a carbage can and returned to my abode.

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The visit with my niece, by the way, was an absolute delight, but one I won't even attempt to detail. Suffice it to say she arrived around 6:30 and we spent the subsequent 10 or so hours talking and laughing, talking and laughing (all right, and watching a couple of episodes of the "Sarah Jane Adventures", which she had yet to have had the pleasure of experiencing).

There were no ulterior motives (as I had feared might be the case), no problems Uncle Geoffrey might solve, simply a desire to see him. And what greater joy can there be for an uncle than that one?

As per orders (mostly — she convinced me to metaphorically permit her to hit the snooze button a few times), I awoke her at a reasonable hour and we spent another couple doing that talking thing until I sent her away laden with books on physics, cosmology and philosophy — and, er, the first season of The Sarah Jane Adventures.

Long story short, I am proud of my niece and proud of both her mother and her father. And damned pleased that I have been uncle enough that she includes me in her life.