A Carpenter's Best Friend

I know what you're thinking - a carpenter's best friend is his hammer. Well, yes and no. I have a lot of hammers for a lot of different jobs. Some are for framing, some are for roofing, some are for trim work, some are swung by arm, some are powered by compressed air, some are powered by batteries, and on and on. I have a bunch of saws, too: cross cut, ripping, trim, coping, powered, etc. Here's the thing: I have only one utility knife and I use it for everything. I mark my cuts, sharpen my pencils, cut strapping, start my trim cuts when I need a clean edge, and when I pack a little coconut cake for lunch I even use it to pick my teeth. It's with me all day long and I use it constantly. Like my hammers, it has become a natural extension of my hand.

For those of you who don't know what a utility knife is, it's a three inch blade and only the last inch and a half long triangle sticks out beyond a solid grip that fits my hand perfectly. The rest of the blade is locked in the handle to give it strength. With just a flick of my thumb the blade retracts and I can carry it in my pocket whatever I'm doing. I change the blade regularly so it stays sharp and I can cut anything I need with just one or two swipes of the blade. The utility knife is my best friend!

So why am I telling you this? Ok. My name is Carl Kantner and I live in Kensington. I know, I know! I'm Carl Kantner the carpenter from Kensington. I hear it all the time. My girl friend is Karen; or, at least, she was. After high school I went into a trade school to learn carpentry. My father said if I'm going to do it, I'd better be the best and I took my classes seriously. I studied hard. All through trade school I kept dating my high school sweetheart and afterwards I worked to establish a steady job. I was hired by a local guy who builds high-end homes. I was in love and I bought Karen a ring. I was just waiting for the right time to propose. Life was good until it wasn't.

Like most accidents, there was nobody to blame but myself. We were feeling good and moving too fast. I drove a nail into the side of my boot with a cordless power hammer. It wasn't life threatening, but it hurt like a bitch! Once my buddies quit laughing, they wrapped my foot and Henry drove me to the hospital. I know, I know, they laughed; but that's what guys do to their friends. They laugh, they say "You dumb shit!", and then they help you. I didn't call Karen because I didn't want to worry her. Eventually, Henry drove me home to our apartment, and with a bottle of pain pills to keep me company I limped through the door.

It took me maybe 10 seconds before I heard the sound that broke my heart. I know it's a cliché, but I heard Karen's moans coming from the bedroom and I froze. Then I heard his grunting and I thawed into a red hot fury. Anyone seeing me would have thought I looked ridiculous as I limped my way down the hall to the bedroom. With every step there was pain and with every shot of pain my anger rose. I opened the door and there it was in front of me - that hairy, white ass rising and falling as that soft fucker drove his dick into my girlfriend.

I didn't know who it was. I never did find out and I never asked. I didn't care. All I knew was that he was pounding into Karen and she was clearly enjoying all of it!

In hindsight, I know I was lucky. If I'd had a bat, I would have killed him and then I would have gone to jail. If I'd had a hammer, I'd have done the same. And we all know what I'd have done if I'd had a gun. All I had was my utility knife - my trusty, all-purpose utility knife.

I watched that hairy, white ass rising and falling. I heard his grunting and Karen's encouraging screams. I reached into my pocket, drew out my knife, flicked open the blade, timed it right, and on a rising tide with one deliberate stroke I cut an inch-deep slice across his ass from right to left. My blade was sharp and it passed through his skin and muscle with relative ease. For one fleeting moment I saw that crimson red smile crossing both his cheeks. He reflexively jerked away from the knife, although not in time, making Karen scream in pain as he practically pushed her off the bed with his blunt tool still inside her and my sharp tool still in my hand. Now that was a scream I could appreciate! Actually, there were two - his and hers.

He all but flew across the bed and off the edge, landing on the floor with another scream (yes, he landed on his ass). My cheating girlfriend was on her side yelling at him, still unaware I was in the room, until she saw the fear on his face. She turned, saw me with his blood covering the blade of my favorite tool, and let out another scream. I must have looked insane. I certainly felt it.

With my foot in bandages and barely able to walk, there was little I could do. If he'd come after me, I probably would not have been able to defend myself. He didn't. I looked at him, then at her, then back at him, and then I turned and left the apartment. I limped next door to where I had friends and I banged my fist on their door. They did admit later that seeing me at the door with rage in my eyes and a bloody knife in my hand was more than a bit disturbing, but I told them what had happened and they took me in. They ran back to our place in time to see Karen's fuck buddy scurry out the front door while holding a towel to his ass and blood soaking his pants. They said that Karen was hysterical. (Not the ha-ha kind of hysterical - more the "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God..." kind of hysterical.)

I figured it would be only a matter of minutes before I was arrested and then my friends, who had returned from Karen's apartment, said, "It's a good thing for Karen that you were able to save her from that rapist!"

"Oh, he wasn't..."

"We said, `It's a good thing for Karen that you were able to save her from that rapist!'"

It's good to have friends.

The cops did arrive. My friends, our neighbors, said they saw Karen's rapist running from the house shortly before I arrived at their door. I said the same and added that I'd gone next door to get help for Karen. I may not get the boyfriend-of-the-year award for leaving her at home (after I drove away her rapist - we were all clear on that), but I was in shock from my foot injury and then walking in to find my girlfriend being assaulted.

Karen wasn't saying much, but in a short time she decided it was better to play the victim than the cheater, so she went along for a time. Her fuck buddy told a different story, and when confronted Karen gave up the truth. I don't know if we ever convinced the police that I really thought I saw a rape in progress, but they never had any proof to the contrary. (Hey, I was on pain meds at the time! I might even have been in shock! It was an honest mistake.)

With her admission to the police, I was free to dump her cheating ass without attracting further suspicion. Those same friends who laughed at my foot helped move me out of her place (it stopped being "our" place the moment I saw her in our bed with that hairy assed fuck) and I moved back in with my folks for a time. I paid the usual moving fee - beer and pizza. I couldn't help but admire the blood stain on the carpet next to the bed that everyone asked about as we packed my stuff. Sure, they all knew the story. They just asked so I would have a chance to smile through the pain.

Karen called for a few weeks, but she eventually got the message. Her parents tried to intercede, so I told them the story and that ended those efforts. It's a shame because I really liked them and they seemed to like me. I think my parents were at least as disappointed as I was. They really loved Karen, but they did admit later that she was too immature for a serious relationship. I sometimes think about the years we had together and I imagine what awful hell my life would have been if I'd married her. Like I said, I never learned who it was and I never cared. I never listened to her excuses, or her explanation, or her apology. Karen and her lover's bleeding ass were all in the rear view mirror now (sorry, I just had to say that) and I was moving forward.

So that's the story of how I dodged a bullet when I couldn't dodge a nail. I learned that I have good friends, even if I had a cheating girlfriend, and every one of my friends has a wife or a girlfriend who has a friend they want me to meet. I think that once I get past this limp I should be just fine.

***

Sorry. I know it's not much of a story. For weeks I've had this mental image of taking a utility knife and with one stroke slicing deep across a rising and falling back side that was so very much in need of a sharp blade! It's hard to imagine a more degrading way to extract revenge that will not be fatal. It felt good to get it out of my system.