"You can have that one."
I flipped open the knife I had in my hand and let it rest there. I have small hands, but it fit nicely. It wasn't too heavy, either. Pretty well balanced and just pretty in my hand. Such a simple knife, but I really liked it.
"Are you sure?"
"I have plenty," he replied. "Take a look."
He must have laid ten knives on the counter. As he told me the story that went with each, he handed them to me one by one. This one from his grandpa. That one from the CO on his last ship. The one that looked scary, but really wasn't.
"What's that weird edge on the other side for?" I asked.
"That's for sawing."
And after he showed me each one and told me its story, he repeated that he had plenty. I should keep the one that fit my hand. The one that seemed perfect for me.
I picked up my knife again. Locked the blade open, depressed the lock and folded it closed, all one-handed. The knife was perfect for me. I opened it one more time, and watched the light glinting off the blade.
A line from that old Meat Loaf song ran through my mind.
"And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife"
But glowing didn't sound right. Glinting was the right word.
My eyes fell to the display on the counter again. I wondered if he ever played with his knives. Which one would he choose? Did he ever trace patterns on skin with the points? Lay the cold metal against hot flesh with an order not to move? Next time I'll ask.
I looked back at the knife in my hand as I ran my thumb along the edge of the blade. It needed some attention; a little sharpening would do it some good. If this was going to be my knife, it should be wicked sharp. So sharp, in fact, that I wouldn't feel the bite of the blade before I saw the blood in the cut.