The Knife

She was cutting up meat for supper using one of those huge butcher knifes, you know the ones - foot long blade.

As I entered the kitchen she said, "Don't mess with me, I'm busy." Thinking she was not really serious I approached from behind. She said, "Don't even think about it. Don't touch me." I thought I heard a playful note in her voice. I was mistaken, it was the edge of almost anger.

I reached out and tickled her sides, or poked her in the sides, I'm not sure which, it was, after all, twenty six years ago.

She spun around, knife in hand. My hands flew up and out as I sucked in my gut and moved my hips/abdomen back, that's all I had time for. The tip of the knife missed me by a quarter inch. Okay, maybe a little more than that since it didn't cut my shirt either.

Strangely, I felt no fear. I guess it was because I was still young enough to feel immortal.

She then proceeded to wag the knife at me like some people do with their finger while yelling at me. I do not know what she said, I was too busy keeping my face back away from the knife. This went on for an eternity... okay, fifteen seconds, maybe thirty.

Then her eyes focused on the blade and widened in horror. She turned enough to drop the knife on the counter then started crying and apologizing. I held her and told her it was okay, that it was my fault for being a jerk and messing with her when she was busy.

Strange how things happen. There I was comforting the person that almost gutted me. But it was as it should be because I was the stupid one and was not upset about the incident, just about her being upset. After all, she couldn't hurt me, I was immortal.

This, by the way, happened long before the door incident.