Jackknife by Jeff Donnelly and Erik Randall

Christmas is my favorite holiday. Who doesn’t love getting presents? I’ve been trying to get my birthday on the national calendar for years, but until that happens Christmas is my favorite. The months leading up to Christmas I am constantly dreaming of what commercial goods I will receive in celebration of Santa Claus' birthday. But, this last Christmas was among the most awesome. I received a jackknife.
 
My Jackknife came in an army green pouch made of that material that only a jackknife can justify. The manufacturers don’t mess around, the pouch comes standard with a Velcro seal, and the knife itself has every gadget a Man could ever need. They even thought ahead and added a flashlight. Have I used it yet? Heck no, son! But, I am ready for anything!
 
I’ve run through the scenario a thousand times in my head.  I’m just sitting there in my Chevy Love pickup, while my buddy runs into a Circle K to fetch us two Thirstbusters, Oh, man what I wouldn’t do for that Thirstbuster right now. It's so hot the heat waves formed a union and  are suing the Miami Heat for mis-representation  and I am trying to figure out why I’m sitting in this non-air conditioned chevy love! Then someone that obviously means me harm begins his approach toward me.  I already know what he is thinking, “Hey, that guy must have air conditioning, screw robbing this Circle K … easy target!”  Well pal, you thought wrong.
 
My assailant approaches. Despite the fact that he says nothing, I know he means business. Not like negotiating business, like fighting business. Maybe its one of those gang initiation things you are always getting mass emails about. I hate those things, like the one about hypodermic needles in seat cushions.  No time to think, it's GO time.
 
As he approaches, I pull the Jackknife out of the glove compartment as casual as James Bond. Not, the new Bond - but like Pierce Brosnan. And not the last Bond movie Pierce was in. That one sucked.  Anyway, I step out of the vehicle, looking as tough as a guy wearing Birkenstocks, plaid shorts, and an Amish-style neck beard can look.  Without warning, he tries to roundhouse kick me.  He thinks I am looking for a punch, so I will never expect a kick. What an idiot! I spin quickly to the side, cunningly dodging his kick.  I give him my toughest Dirty Harry look, which just so happens to be the face I make when I try to add numbers together and I have to carry. My angry math face doesn’t deter the attacker. Instead he one-ups me with his angry multiple division face. It looks like he is even trying to divide decimals when it is obvious his math skills cannot go beyond the 4th grade! He pulls off his shirt to show his steroid-laden muscles and a tattoo of a pirate flag on his chest! Really pal - did you once work at the Pirates of the Caribbean ride? A crowd starts to gather – a few old people, random children, and a few good looking women in bikinis carrying 18x24” cardboard signs with numbers.  No one intervenes, and the crowd is hungry for blood.
 
The shirtless man spits a huge wad of snot and saliva to the battleground. It makes a bat-ting sound like in cartoons, then he swings at me with a right cross.  I duck it, and do one of those get-a-load-of-this-guy faces while parading around the ring.  The crowd laughs. Its time for the grand finale: I reach into my pocket, and grab the knife.  Just as I make the transfer, here comes that big dumb idiot swinging the putter he just stole from the back of my truck.  As he comes down to try to pop me on the head I dart to the side and plunge the blade into his spleen.  He drops - I’ve stunned him. He looks at me confused, and then looks at his side. Falling to his knees, he sits there for like three seconds, before finally falling directly on his face.  The crowd bursts into a golf clap which progresses into a game winning home run roar.  
 
My buddy rushes over, and we do one of those jumping in the air high fives. I pull my knife out of the guys’ side, wipe it clean and tuck it away in the belt holster. Oh yeah, it came with a holster. My buddy is still standing over the dude’s body in shock. “It’s about time you get here with my damn Thirstbuster!” I say loudly, making sure the bikini girls hear me. I snatch the drink and escort my buddy to the Chevy Love. As I drive away, I wave to the crowd and the beautiful girls blow me kisses.
 
When my friend finally gets over the shock, he asks what happened. “Not much… I had a JackKnife, he didn’t.” We both laugh and high five again as I burnout of the Circle K.

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Bits of Egg and Cheese

My grandfather’s face was red and swollen, and his eyes appeared shrunken like black marbles hiding behind his cliff of a brow ridge. His smile had gone flat, and his lips were the color of an over-ripe raspberry. He clenched his liver-spotted fists until they turned the same shade as his face, and his broad shoulders tightened as if he were preparing for a low blow. The thrift-store oxford shirt he was wearing was unbuttoned, showing a tank-top undershirt with an outline of a pacemaker on the right-hand side of his barrel chest. His legs were powerful trunks despite his age and his well worn Velcro shoes were tattered and made flip-flop sounds when he walked.

“Rose, you must be a gall-darned fool!” He shouted at my grandmother in a beastial voice. He then took a slight step backward, plopping down on his overstuffed chair. “Honey, I swear, the good lord gave you the sense of a child.”

“Harold,” my grandmother asked, “why do you have to get yourself all worked up? It isn’t like we don’t have the money!”

By now he was shaking his head from side to side, and the color had drained from his face. He squinted his eyes as if he were chopping a raw onion, and his mouth drew open, showing his teeth like he was forcing a smile. His sweat-stained, ragged hat sat uneven on his head. The stitched cursive which said ‘Disney’ on his hat had faded to grey, and at the edges the needlework was coming unraveled. His white hair stuck out and flipped up in the back around the bottom half of the cap. Once powerful shoulders now seemed to be pressing him down as he crossed his arms over his chest and gave a cat’s glare at my grandmother.

“Hmmphh” he said. “I damned well know how much money I have. You think I don’t? I had to work my rear off at that goddamned shipyard for thirty-five years. We woulda never made it if I let you spend money whenever you damn well pleased. I’m telling you honey, we ain’t got the kinda money we can spend on a whim. So I say, get rid of that thing.”

My grandmother stood with her mouth in an “O” shape, and her lucid eyes stared back at my grandfather. Her face was the color of linens, with the ruby blush on her cheeks providing the only color in her face. She began to pace back and forth. When she walked she took tiny steps with tiny feet, and she left the smell of dish soap lingering in the air. My grandmother began to fidget with her little arms as my grandfather glared at her. She continued to look away as if she was a child, lying to her mother about cleaning her room. Her head than shot up suddenly, causing my grandfather to jump.

“Well Harold,” she sneered, “I thought I wanted it so I bought it! You think what I want doesn’t matter? It should matter for something shouldn’t it! You think after fifty years your opinions would matter - but mine don’t. And I can tell you this much, Harold, I have had it!”

She wrinkled her nose and glared back at him with quarter-sized eyes. Her flower-printed shirt was unbuttoned and wrinkled, and had bits of egg and cheese on it from the breakfast she had just made for my grandfather and me. Her rose tinted hair was in bright pink curlers, and her faded blue jeans were wet from either bacon grease or water from washing dishes. She scratched a nervous itch on the right side of her head, and then took a small step back.

“I’ve had it.”

Her voice sounded like the screeching of brakes. She mimicked the arm-crossing of my grandfather, and took two steps forward to hover over my now sitting grandfather.

“So there,” she stated between long breaths.

Her voice had gone from booming to tiny like the rest of her. She began to pace around again. She checked the clock and picked up her half-broken duster and ran it along an oak cabinet. Her motions were choppy and sharp as she hunched over the piece. Her knees bowed out as she stood with her feet shoulder-width apart.

“Rose, I don’t care. Hell, we already got one phone in the house, and as far as I’m concerned, we don’t need that. I didn’t even have a phone till I moved out here. Back in Indiana I had no use for phones. Hell, my momma couldn’t even afford one of them phones. We was too poor for one of them. When we wanted to tell someone something, we cupped both our hands around our mouth and screamed till we was blue in the face.”

My grandfather laughed. He slammed his trunk-like legs on the coffee table, just inches away from the cell phone. He slowly reached down and grabbed the phone with his thick fingers. He brought it up close to his eyes and scrunched up his face..

“We got no use for portable phones.”

“Why don’t we?” My grandmother asked. “Why don’t I? Because you don’t want it? Can’t you let me make some decisions? Shouldn’t I be allowed to spend money sometimes. Can’t you…”

“No,” he said back. “If I let you spend my money that I earned, when will you stop spending my money?”

My grandmother was frustrated. She had been through this all before. Her cheek muscles drooped, and her back was hunched. From years of arguments she had learned that she was getting nowhere. Both my grandparents sat in stale silence.

“You are impossible,” my grandmother said. “I stayed home and raised the girls. I coulda worked, but then I wouldn’t have been there for them. I wanted to be there for them! I earned some of that money raising our children, Harold! Don’t you remember our children?”

“Leave them out of this,” he snapped. “They ain’t got nothing to do with this. It’s about my money and you spending it.”

The room felt cold. In the winter time, the house was always cold – heating a house was an unneeded extravagance in the eyes of my grandfather. The air tasted smoky from the burning of logs in the fire place. My grandfather grunted at my grandmother but she did not respond. Instead she turned and went over to place a log in the fireplace. When she turned, she had an absolute blank look on her face. She walked over to the stack of wood which lay in a cardboard box. She took great care in selecting the piece of wood, and gently set it down in the fireplace. She turned around one last time to say something to my grandfather. He was already fast asleep. His head was tilted to the side. He snored heavily and made whistling noises when he exhaled.

“You win, Harold.” My grandmother said dejectedly. She took timid steps past where my grandfather was sleeping and turned toward the stairs, then stopped to pick at the bits of egg and cheese off of her shirt. She glanced back at my grandfather one more time as she slowly climbed the stairs.