February 11, 2001

this is a memory, and thus, a true story, but not a happy one...so beware...

...

I heard a slight, "Ssshing!" and suddenly the point of a knuckle knife hovered milimeters under my nose. I think he said, "I could cut you pretty badly, right now."

His half-closed eyes and sleepy manner vanished for a sly look and smirking grin. He was watching me, watching my eyes, and standing sideways; a fighting stance...

Even though I replied with an insanely calm, "You know that's very rude," my mind raced out of control. This is a joke. He'd never cut me. He would have done it already, if he really wanted to. He's just trying to feel big; don't let him. Get that fucking knife out of my face!

Sure, as children we wrestled and fought, but that's playground fighting. No thrown punches, no kicks, no weapons. We never fought in anger before.

I didn't understand this threat at all. The person I knew would draw a weapon only in anger; and even then he'd be more of a danger to himself than to others. We were alike in that way, so I understood that way of thinking. But this sober threat was out of my realm of experience.

My inability and unwillingness to show fear (or, perhaps, my complete petrification) must have diffused him, because he put the knife back in his belt sheath, and said, "Uh. OK. Heh. Sorry. Just playin' around."

This was two or three years before I lost patience with that kind of behavior.

Happy Birthday.