Yesterday, on the way home from Hodge’s Army/Navy, Jack took his new butterfly knife out of its box, ran his fingers lovingly along the handle, and sniffed the metal.
Lo: What does it smell like? Can I smell it?
JackMan: I’m not gonna let you smell it.
TR: C’mon, Jack. Just let her smell the dang knife.
JackMan: No way!
This evening, I took Jack to his friend Miki’s to spend the night. Lo was in the backseat. As I was pulling out of Miki’s driveway, I suddenly had a hunch.
TR: Lo, do you think Jack has his new knife with him?
Lo: Yeah, I saw him with it right before we left.
I imagined Miki falling on it, the blade piercing his heart, and JackMan using his socks to stop up the gushing hole with one hand while googling “stab wounds” with the other. I pulled back up the driveway and went to the front door.
TR: Did you bring the new knife?
JackMan: (Slight hesitation) Uh-huh. I wanted to show it to Miki.
TR: You can’t take that out of our house. Give it here.
JackMan: Mom, don’t be such a loser. What’s going to happen?
TR: Someone will die, and I’ll be arrested, because you’re not eighteen. I’m not leaving until you hand it over.
JackMan: You suck.
TR: I know.
He took the knife out of his pocket and slapped it in my palm. I went back to the car.
Lo: Did he have it?
TR: Yes, he did. It’s right here.
Lo: Can I smell it?