*I was kind of a dumb 16 year-old. Dumb on a number of levels, but one was that I had no fear of people. No fear whatsoever, not even the healthy fear of a couple of gang members out at dusk while I was alone. I just didn't care. I saw them as people, as potential friends. I suppose that kind of courage did get me new friends, but it also put me in rather dangerous situations.
That particular evening, I was out for a ride on my bike down Henry Street. It was the usual honking horns, old men joking with each other on door-steps, and families out for a stroll. Nothing unordinary. Things felt safe (not that I had a category for unsafe). Life was good.
By the old, run-down park, I noticed these young dudes sitting on the curb, laughing and smoking. I rode up to them, jumped off my bike, and smiled.
"Mind if I join you?" I asked.
"Mind? Haha!" They laughed. "Who'd mind a pretty little girl like you joinin' them for a smoke?"
I plopped myself down and started talking and asking all the life questions.
One of them, the bigger one that I sat right next to, finally stated, "I'm surprised a little white girl like you ain't scared of us big boys."
"I ain't scared o' nothin'." I smiled.
"Nothing?" The "big boy" asked with a smirk. "Ever seen a knife before?"
Suddenly, it dawned on me that the sky was growing darker, the other happy noises were dying down, and we happened to be in a more secluded part of the park. I decided for some reason that I didn't want to die that night.
"Oh, yeah! I know all about knives. Dude, I should show you mine. I gotta bunch right over here in my back-pack. I use different ones for different occasions," I explained as I stood up and looked at them with fire in my eyes but a sparkle in my smile. "Wanna see?"
It was strange how quickly those "big boys" changed. The biggest of them stood up.
"I keep my switchblade right here in my pocket," I said as I stuffed my hand in. "It's my pride and joy."
But instead of coming closer, the big boy was backing up. "Yeah, so we gonna be on our way, lady. Maybe see your knives another time?"
The whole kitten-caboodle of them got up and cautiously made their exit.
I pulled my hand out of my pocket and smiled at my little Swiss Army pocket knife.
From that day on, there were at least two things I realized: Sometimes life isn't too safe, and, apparently, men are scared of women with lots of knives. Eventually I did keep a few real knives with me. Just in case.
*This story is purely fictional, just in case you hadn't noticed.
