High End Cutlery

He didn’t like selling knives. He didn’t see it as much of a choice, though. He had been let go from his last job in quite a dramatic fashion. It was his constant consumption of bourbon that led him to throw up on the silky sleeve of a newly pressed suit belonging to a man who just wanted change for a dollar. After this display, his stint as a toll booth operator ended then and there.

But the knives. They had begun to help him. Door to door he peddled his merchandise. Anything to keep him away from his house, his wife, his family. He had started to hate the woman he had married and, because of that, he hated his three children. Everything he despised lived between those walls and he had to get out. Drinking had removed him mentally, but when his career bombed being numb no longer sufficed. So he picked up odd jobs. He had been a janitor at his oldest daughters’ high school, but he tired of her constant bitching of how embarrassed he made her. Although he made sure to apologize for the splashes of alcohol that littered his work history page, the YMCA graciously denied his application. The tollbooth – that was clearly not meant to be.

After answering what seemed like a bullshit ad, he ended up back in a suit with a briefcase full of knives. He was supposed to call it high end cutlery, but he knew that was a crock of shit. They had a blade. They had a handle. They cut. They were knives, plain and simple. But, they were knives that got him away from the people that he couldn’t stand to be near. They were knives allowed him to be invited into the homes of so many happy, successful families.

The wives would welcome him like he was a long lost friend. They would offer him food and drink. They would offer him more than that bitch of his ever did. The children loved when he would demonstrate how the knives could cut through almost anything, giving them the penny halves from the coin his cleaver would hack through. The husband seemed to never be there. So, at times, he would pretend each new family was his own. He would make up stories to the family pictures that hung on the walls. Sometimes little Suzie had a cold that day and that’s why her nose was so red. Little Billy was so handsome and wanted to look just like his daddy in a suit. The wife - always beautiful. When the husband was present in the picture he would mentally paste his face on the body of the tall, sharp-looking, smiling man. These were all his families.

Today was a special day. It was his one year anniversary of selling his high end cutlery.

“Congratulations!” the woman sitting across from him at the kitchen table slapped his hand. Her lipstick was the most amazing shade of red and it glistened like one of his polished knives. “You can have a glass of wine to celebrate, can’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” he coolly replied, “I would love some.”

They sipped their wine as he went through his demo.
Pop. Pop. His briefcase opened to reveal any homemaker’s dream.

“This blade is special because it cuts with the precision of a flat blade but has the power of a serrated one.”  The knife slides through the paper that he pinches between his two fingers. The cut piece flutters to the floor.

“Wow.” Her interest showed in her nods and smile.

The demo continues on like usual. Paper. Rope. Pennies. All are demolished by what he is supposed to endorse as “finely crafted metal:” After thirty minutes he has her signing on dotted lines to finalize her purchase.

“I’m so happy I could help commemorate your one year!” She beamed happiness that was in no way fake. She was so happy for him, for her knives, for her family and her whole entire perfect life. She even made him love the knives he held in his briefcase.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” a forced smile that seemed nearly obscene, “but may I use your restroom?”

“Sure,” her perfect lipstick covered mouth stretched to match his smile, “Upstairs. Second door on the right.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

He took his brief case of cutlery with him as he ascended the staircase. The smile now seemed permanently fixed on his face as he reached the upstairs hallway. The hall was lined with family portraits. One after another. The wife and husband under a tree, hands clasped and laughing as if they didn’t know the picture was being taken. Their two kids on the slide with their arms in the air, smiling ear to ear. The whole family in full Easter dress with an elegant background that brought out everyone’s best features, not those cheesy back drops that screamed Sears special. Everything looked –

“Perfect.” he whispered.

His smile still refused to leave. He carefully shut the bathroom door behind him, He set his briefcase on the toilet lid. Pop. Pop. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. His own smile penetrated beyond the glass to the point that his reflection wasn’t even there anymore. Not to him. It wasn’t even a mirror to him. Instead, a window. A window that he could see so clearly through. His smile still held strong as he observed a family sitting around a dinner table. Holding hands as they give thanks for their dinner. He blinks as a tear rolls slowing down his cheek. He could now see a man and a woman in warm and loving embrace. Their smiles beam from their faces like sunlight that hits his knives.

When she comes to check on him the blood is still flowing freely from his wrists like the wine they just drank. The very knife she had once held was near where his body lay. On his face, the most genuine and heartfelt smile she had ever seen.