The Dream knife.

johnny twoshoes

johnny twoshoes

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Feb 3, 2011
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I could hear my Grandparent’s bedroom door close and very soon the house went dead silent. I sat up in bed, and with my 10 year old brain, decided, tonight would be the night.

Pappy had an old red boned jack knife that would sit on his table by his chair. Every Sunday he would slip out the old stockman knife he carried, then, ever so gently, he would check over his jack knife and slide it into his pocket. It had become my obsession to try and get a feel of the jigged bone, but Pappy was protective of that little knife. I was pretty spoiled by my Grandparents and I was Pappy’s best buddy, so when I asked to see the knife I was surprised to always get a “No”. He would always tell me, “Not yet, but someday soon”.

It was too much to resist. It was a mystery, a lost treasure, it was to be my discovery and it would happen tonight no less. Curiosity has a cruel way of torturing one’s self.

I listened ever so carefully to the snores coming from my Grandparent’s bedroom. I let the minutes tick by, but they felt like hours. I needed them to be asleep, really asleep, before I could make my move. Finally the time felt right and I eased off of my bed. The old wood floors of the farm house were freezing on my bare skin, but I had to shake it off and continue my journey. I tiptoed my way to the door and slowly twisted the nob, it let out a low sounding “creek”, but it was nothing to worry about, I had bigger obstacles in my path.

I swung the door open and peered outside of my room, it was a dark night and the moon was my only lighting. I had to go on feel. Slowly making my way to the top of the stairs, I swallowed hard and began my descent. Each time my foot touched a new step it let out a soft “whine”. It sounded like a scream to me, but I knew it wasn’t bad enough to wake them. Thirteen steps later, I breathed a very quiet sigh of relief. There was a bigger challenge ahead of me though.

I walked through the dining room and started toward the hallway. The hallway could have been a mine field in my mind. My Grandparents room was at the end of it and on the right, but if I managed to get through without waking one of them I knew I could slip into the living room which was on the left. The thoughts of that soft, white carpet sounded all too good to my freezing numb feet. I pressed on.

Each step was my quietest possible. I inched my way through the darkness and readied for the true test. The door to their room was not just mere inches away. A drum began to beat and it startled me from my focus. I listened and started a shallow breathing a little faster. Where was that noise coming from? Finally, it settled down and I realized it had been my heart telling me it was a mistake. My mind knew better and I continued past the door.

I made it, I actually made it. Relief swept over my body and I could finally breath easy again. I had to take a seat just to ready myself. There it was, it sat but few feet away. It was nestled in with my Grandfather’s possessions, an old zippo, a pipe, his glasses and a couple of books. It seemed to glow, well, at least in my mind it did.

I finished my quest triumphantly and picked up the jack knife. The jigged bone showed but little pocket time. The blade had just a few specks of grey started, it had been babied and was so well taken care of by Pappy. He oiled it with care every night before turning in and the fresh coat of Hoppe’s number 9 glistened in the moon’s beam.

I felt the edge and it was magically sharp. It would cut through anything I thought. The mirror edge was so perfect, so pretty. This experience was so worth the trials I had gone through.

As I closed the knife I heard my Grandfather wake up. I knew it was him because he always kept a glass of water on his night stand. And his swallows sent shivers down my spine. The drums started again and I was frozen. I would have stood there for hours if it wasn’t for the sharp pain I now had in my hand. I looked down and the site about killed me. That perfectly polished edge had clamped onto my index finger.

I quickly set the knife back down, sucking the blood from my finger as not to spill any on the floor. The blood kept flowing and I knew my time was up, Pappy would know and I would be a dead man. I made my way back to my room as quickly and as quietly as possible, but I knew I was too loud. I just knew I would be found out.

I was finally able to get the blood stopped and I prepared for my doom. I was exhausted that night, but I got no sleep. The morning sun would soon rise and my grave would be dug.

That morning, everything went about as normal as could be. Grandma called me down for breakfast and Pappy was in his chair reading the morning’s newspaper. Nothing seemed out of sorts. Had I just dreamed my nights adventure?

To be continued.
 
Six years later.

I had completely forgotten about that night and that knife. The knife seemed to disappear and I never thought about it again, not thinking about it made me forget any of the advents.

Now sixteen I didn’t have a real care in the world. I was on summer vacation from school and I had just started my first real job. I worked for an old farmer who lived right down the road from my grandparent’s house. He was an older fellow who just need a hand once in a while. He would always say, “It’s a shame to just get things half figured out and be to old to do anything about it”. He taught me a lot as I worked and he paid me a decent wage for my work.

He had a beautiful farm and a lot of acres that was just filled with game. Our place paled in comparison and I loved to spend time on his farm even when I wasn’t working. He had a little lake on his property that he used to arrogate his farm with, but he allowed people to fish. It offered some of the best fishing around and no one left without at least hooking a blue gill.

I spent almost every evening fishing at Tom’s lake with my Grandfather. Many times it supplied us with a good supper of fresh fish. Pappy’s health had declined and he spoke of not being around long, but he had been saying things like that for years.

I was just finishing up another day on the farm and said my goodbyes to Tom before heading home. It was a humid summer evening with the buzz of birds hunting down a few insects before turning in for the night.

The night was very still and the land very quiet now, as I reached the door. I dusted the dirt off of myself and took my mud covered work boots off. I walked inside and headed for the kitchen. The house was so quiet I figured my Grandparents had turned in already. As I passed the living room Pappy’s chair creaked, I could feel his stair on my back.

“Have a seat”, I knew he was there, but his words still startled me. I sat down on the couch and took a tired yawn. “How’d your day go Son”? He asked as he was interested in my life. “Just fine, I said, it was a full day, but a good day.”

Then we talked about a subject we never had. My parents. They were killed in a car accident when I was young and I had been living with my grandparents ever since. I hardly remembered them much.

“Your Dad wanted us to look after you, and I have for as long as I could,” he took a deep breath, “but, I just don’t have the time left to teach you anymore.” “You’ve become a better man than I was and your Parents would have been proud”. I was never comfortable talking with anyone about that subject, so I just sat in silence listening to his words.

“Before your Dad passed, he bought a gift for you. He asked me to keep it until you were good and ready for it, until you had earned it. You’ve earned it over and over again and I want you to have it now”. He looked down at his table and I followed his stair. There, sitting on the table was the old Red Jack knife of my childhood.

Those drums started again and the gears in my head were turning. “I know that knife”, I said with excitement. “I know you do, it’s been a while since you’ve seen it though”, he said. The memories of that night flooded back to me.

He picked it up and felt the jigged bone, knowing that his duty had been fulfilled and that I could be trusted now. He reached out and I put my hand out. He dropped the knife into my palm. It was warm from his touch and it felt comfortable, like a pair of old work jeans.

As I open the blade he looks at me, “Don’t cut yourself this time”. I looked up, a bit shocked my his words. “If you leave blood on a carbon blade, it’s gonna darken it up for ya”. And if you bleed on a white carpet, everybody’s gonna know.” I searched the carpet, but I couldn’t find where any blood had spilt from that knife. He sat up and slid his chair over. There were a few, now brown, spots on the carpet. I looked at him and just wandered.

“Your Grandma would have killed us both”, he smiled and just nodded his head. I could see a real dark spot on the blade and I knew it had been a stain from my own blood. “It’s where is should be now”, he said, “now get on up to bed, you start early again tomorrow don’t ya”?

“Yes sir, I do”, I replied. “Well, then goodnight”, he nodded and flashed me another smile. “G’night pappy”.

That knife has stayed with me forever since then, but my Grandfather met the good Lord a few months later in the fall. He told me, “I’m going home”.
 
Very nice! I'm glad you decided to share some of your talent with us. Now we have two resident writers! ;)
 
I think it's great, given the almost family like atmosphere in this forum, that more people are willing to write what moves them. After all, it's not just the knives that shine here, but what the traditional knives represent as an era in history, and maybe a kinder time in America. Like looking at a Norman Rockwell painting, the traditional knives are a reminder of where we came from, our grand folks, and what they did with sometimes very little.

Maybe more members should write of their grand folks, and past times? I know I enjoyed the stories from Bosse's Swedish woods and Fauto's Sadinian hills. I know lots of us are curious to the traditions of other places and peoples.

Carl.
 
Outstanding, johnny twoshoes! :thumbup: Thanks a million for that great read.

-- Mark
 
Great story johnny. Both of my grandfathers passed away before I was two, so I never got to know them, at least in a lasting sense. I like to think that they would've been like your Pappy or Carl's grandfather. Thank you (and Carl) for letting me live vicariously through your stories.

John
 
Great story, Johnny! I like reading something like this very much. Gives me always a bit time to think.

Kind regards
Andi
 
I like reading these stories as much as I like reading about the knives.
Great story, we've many talented people here.
 
Awesome story!!! do you have pics of your knife?


I too like finding these long narratives which make you take some time out of your day to slow down and take a breath. It reminds me of my child hood, trying to get my dads pocket knife and then finally being given my own.
 
Great story. The stories you read here on this forum are really reason enough to visit, even if you aren't really into knives.
 
Thank you all for the very positive words.
I hope that that some of you were able to get a minute or two of enjoyment from it.

The enjoyment I get out of reading Carl's stories could not be expressed in words. It's a feeling that nothing else gives me, an old knife comes close, but there is still something more to his written words.
My talent is nowhere near Jackknife's, but if he can enjoy my stories half as much as I enjoy his, then I'm happy.

OrcHunter, there are truths to this story that only I know, but there is also a lot of fiction.
I was wanting to write and I couldn't decide what to write about, so I browsed through my EDC box and picked out an old Case 32 Red Bone jack. Then I got to thinking about my childhood and the time I snuck out with my brother to see my Dad's sacred Buck 422. My older brother cut himself nicely and ruined the secret adventure.

I'll post a pick tomorrow sometime.
 
definitely worth the read!
these are the stories that brought me, and kept me here in the traditional forums long enough for the traditional knife bug to bite me :D

thanks!
 
Thanx for that read Caleb,that helps me understand you and your Grandma's story better..PS still carring the blu peanut and thoughts of prayer.Just like the .22's gut to see that red knife.
 
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