A Better Pipe Smoking Community

From time to time I like to write short stories. I've had a few of them published over the years, most of which are fantasy fiction. This story is something that I've been working on for no other reason then I liked the idea. I dreamed this up a few months ago and have been putting bits and pieces of it together for a while now. This isn't a finished product so please keep that in mind while reading it. I just thought I would share it with all of you. Anything you might see that needs corrected please let me know. You can only proof read something so many times...

Majestic Blend (Updated)
By C. Reed (Ol' Briar)
Edited by GezerFan

It was on no particular day in the autumn of the year that I ventured out into the brisk fall air to pay a visit to the local tobacconist. Pulling on my coat and hat, I stepped out into the gentle warmth of the mid-afternoon sun and began my trek through the crisp, windblown leaves drifting from the maples and oaks along the lane. Somewhere in the distance, I detected the sweet smell of a raked leaf pile smoldering to ash as ghostly wisps of smoke drifted along the tree-lined street. All was as it should be and I enjoyed the casual pace I had set for myself as I neared the weather-worn sign of my favorite purveyor of cured and blended nightshade.

Once inside, the rich bouquet of aromatic tobaccos and spicy Spanish cedar filled the air with the promise of many relaxing hours to come. I soon became the proverbial “kid in a candy store” as I lifted the glass lid on each of the blends and breathed in the bouquet of aromas hidden within. Smooth, burley and cavendish blends mixed with cherry and spice calmed my nerves, while stronger English tobaccos thrilled the senses and conjured images of the great detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I could almost see him lounging in his rooms at 221B Baker Street as the scent of Latakia filled my nose.

My friend, fellow pipe enthusiast, and proprietor of the shop soon made his way over and struck up light conversation on topics of common interest. We discussed the weather, as well as coming holiday plans with pointed anticipation regarding turkey dinners, pumpkin pies and hot cider. As always, our thoughts soon turned to the topic of pipes and tobacco, with each of us sharing a new little discovery or advising the other against a particular tin that we found less than satisfactory. For a short time our topic slid to the hand-rolled delights of our humidors and the stogies we indulged in from time to time but as always we returned with devotion to the pipes we loved.

It was only after our initial niceties that my friend and fellow tobacco aficionado glanced around his establishment to check for eavesdroppers before shooting me a devilish grin. I knew in that instant what caused his elated mood. He is, with little exaggeration, a veritable maestro in the art of blending perfect mixtures. It is possible that long generations ago his people were of the sort that toiled over alchemical formulae in the hope of turning more worthless metals into gold. Where his ancestors failed in their endeavors, however, he triumphed in his. Many times I have enjoyed a custom blend he has concocted. While some were more successful than others, it goes without saying that each was enjoyable in their own respect. Never, in all the years I have been privy to these private blends, has he repeated himself.

In my more romantic imaginations, I have conjured visions of my friend as a cloaked sage penning secret recipes into an ancient tome its faded brown leather cover held shut by iron bands with clasps and locks to prevent would-be thieves from gaining the secrets of his years of research and study. I know better than to hope that such a fantasy is true, but the image of him as a wizard devoted to the mystic art of blending fine smoking tobaccos amuses me whenever I think of it.

I returned from my musing in time to watch him dart behind the counter and produce from below a jar containing the deep brown and black flakes of his latest creation. He pulled the lid from the jar and I leaned in to appreciate the smell of this latest opus. What fragrance I breathed in I cannot say, for, as queer as it seemed, it was not my sense of smell that was stimulated by this particular blend... but my memory. At the first hint of the mixture, I was awash with memories of my childhood. Summer days spent with friends, and warm nights filled with the magic and wonder of youth. As suddenly as these bygone visions came they flowed into other remembered moments with family and friends. My wife and loved ones safe at home on cold winter nights. Times of great joy and great peace raced through my mind, each rolling over the other like waves lapping at the sandy shore of my memory. It seemed as if I had breathed in a lifetime of comfort and pleasant moments. All of this was somehow captured in a single breath of rich aromatic spice.

As if awakening from a dream, I immediately purchased a pouch of the tobacco without any question of its origin or inspiration. I bid my friend a hasty farewell and made my way home. Of leaving the shop and my return voyage through the afternoon autumn streets I have little memory. I returned to find that my wife had prepared dinner while I was out, and the smell of meat and potatoes swept away the cobwebs of my reminiscences. We ate our dinner as the setting sun cast long shadows over our leaf filled lawn. My wife gently reminded me that tomorrow’s chore was to rake. After dinner we cleared the table and then, armed with a cup of my favorite coffee and the pouch of custom tobacco, I vanished into my study.

Majestic Blend was its moniker. My friend the tobacconist had written the name of his custom blend on the pouch and as I filled my pipe with its dark, moist leaf, I once again found the aroma peculiar. It soothed my senses and brought happy moments to mind. There, warming myself by the hearth in my worn leather chair, I filled my pipe with flakes rendered by a master of his craft. I had selected a tried and true pipe from my collection to enjoy my first sampling of Majestic Blend. It was a smooth, dark briar bowl that had a healthy cake built up in it from years of relaxed enjoyment. I went through the process of lighting the tobacco and ensuring an even burn. Then I sank back into my leather chair to enjoy the evening.

As the rich, thick smoke filled the room my attention was drawn to one pipe that stood apart from the rest of my modest collection. A pipe from which I had never smoked and out of respect never intend to. It had belonged to a man I had never met, as he had passed from this world long before I was brought into it. I studied the simple pipe on the self and imagined the kind of man who had smoked it. It was a simple type, with no marks to hint at a maker or origin. I suspected that it was purchased from a drug store, as the man who owned it was a simple working fellow. I’ve been told that while he lived he enjoyed a tobacco called “Union Leader”, which at that time was sold in cans. Having only ever seen him in faded photographs, I tried to picture him working on antiquated automobiles or farm equipment with the stem of the pipe gripped firmly in his teeth.

As I created images of this man in my mind, time seemed to slip by and before I realized it, I had finished the bowl of Majestic Blend. A cloud of pleasant smoke lingered in the air just above my head as I laid my pipe on the table next to my chair to let it cool and relax before I cleaned it. My eyes felt heavy and I sank deeper into my chair in front of the fire. At length, I closed my eyes to drift off into sleep, knowing that before long my wife would find me there and fetch me to bed.

I don’t know how long I slept, but I awoke to the sensation that I was not alone in my study. The fireplace had held freshly lit logs when I drifted off to sleep, but now contained little more than embers. It was then that I noticed the fragrant plume of Majestic Blend filling the air. From the corner of my eye I noticed a movement near the picture window, and in the moonlight - for the briefest of moments - I thought I captured a glimpse of a man I had never met.

Fully awake now, I leapt from the comfort of my leather chair and switched on the lamp. As light flooded the room, I found that I was alone and very safe in my study. The clock on the mantelpiece reported that the hour was shortly past midnight. From down the hall I could hear the television, in front of which my wife was likely fast asleep. All was as it should be; I relaxed and convinced myself that these strange fancies were all a product of my overactive imagination. Perhaps it had all had been a trick of light from a passing car, or a cloud moving past the autumn moon. I turned to my pipe on the table near my chair... and it was then that a gasp escaped me.

There, on the table next to mine, was a pipe - a pipe I never intended to smoke. With shaking hands I lifted it and felt the warmth of a freshly smoked bowl in my hand. I raised the briar to my nose and breathed in the scent of Majestic Blend. Slowly, carefully, with measured movements and weak knees, I sank into my worn leather chair.

Perhaps it wasn’t a half-waking dream or a trick of light from the street. Perhaps I wasn’t alone when I woke to find the low-burning embers in my fireplace. For long moments I sat staring at the pipe in my hand, a pipe that belonged to a man I had never met. After several silent moments, I realized with surprise that I wasn’t disturbed or haunted by these thoughts. In fact, I found myself smiling as I held the warm briar bowl in my hand.

I sat holding the pipe until it had cooled before gently cleaning the ash from the bowl. Rising from my seat, I walked across the room to the shelf that held the rest of my collection. With a smile, I placed the simple, unmarked pipe back on its stand next to the picture of the man I have never met. A man with whom I had never spoken, whose hand I had never shaken. A man I would never meet, but with whom, on this magical night, I had shared a smoke. I smiled as I looked at the picture of my grandfather before turning out the light and heading to bed.

** Special thanks to GezerFan for proofreading and editing the above story! **