One fateful Halloween, Chris Cs, the man of the house next door to my family's, had allowed me to enter into his home to share his prized tactical gear fopr the purpose of turning little Savage D into the most stoked little soldier-man EVER. He piled it on - I was a fully loaded super-secret soldier; black garb head-to-toe, with all manner of high-speed vests and gear hanging off me. I was in heaven.
*I had discovered a friend, and learned quickly that he had the -coolest- new and interesting toys*
Some time later (months? perhaps year?) I was over at the Cs' residence after allowing myself in, and overstaying my welcome. I found my way back to Chris' private lair where he would sharpen his knives with his bandaged, amputated arm. Pushing the blade, the other hand gripping said lethal device by the handle, he would perform this meditative act periodically, and I loved to watch. This time, however, he was not there. It was early evening, with the sun very low and the light outside turning a faded blue hue on the outside world for all the surfaces too low to directly see our star. And there it was - a large, wicked device - powder-coated to divert the prying and revealing rays of light, yet long and svelt and lanky. It's edge was bright and reflective, like the edge of a mirror not spacious enough to show more than a hint of sight; an Edge of dancing light, of living flame...
To a lad of only thirteen or fourteen, this was burning mysticism, a connection between a man and his curious, fascinating devices that performed acts both great and terrible that I could not yet know or understand.Years later, when I discovered the Navy SEALs and began to educate myself about America's most elite inter-personal killers and snake eaters, Chris brought out the US Army Special Forces (Green Beret) flash, a powerful emblem of an applegate-fairbarn commando knife over crossed arrows, all surrounded by an elegantly laid scroll.
I came over to the Cs' house to talk with Chris, as I would periodically do in some of the many free nights I had in high school. I presented him with Douglas C. Waller's _The Commandos_ and one of Orr Kelly's documentary books on the Navy SEALs, and he retreated back to his room to retrieve and present me with his own Green Beret Flash, which he was immensely proud of...Whether or not he had earned it in truth, I didn't care. I looked up to that man, and I loved world that he seemd to be a part of. Rich with experience and character, stepped in heriosm, courage, and immeasurable fortitude and pride, he was the master of a realm, and a gate-keeper of his own unique, noble manhood.
Only later did things fall apart between he and I. He would loose patience with me; me with my constant curiosity, my prying eyes and eager questions. Sometimes I would ring the door and find that he would not answer, and others he would tell me to go away. Finally, around the age I was sixteen, one day he lost his Green Beret Flash. Unable to find it in his lair, he blamed me for entering into his private sanctuary and stealing it. In disbelief, I was unable to speak, and only later would tell my parents angrily that I didn't take it. Many months later, he emerged. I remember it clearly: I was finishing washing cars with my family when he came over to our house. He apologized to me, in front of my parents, that he had found his coveted metal trinket, and that he was sorry he had blamed me in his anger. I escaped to my room. Followed soon in by my mother, she haughtily chided with me at the silly amputee man who blamed her son for stealing his stupid piece of metal. I agreed, devoid of emotion, and after she departed, I closed the door and wept for the noble man I once knew and adored...
The Knife, is now mine...
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