The Pen

It has signed who knows how many documents by this point, dotting lower case 'j's' with a pounce. Crossing upper case 'H's' with a quick flick. It's titanium ink ball always offered the smoothest glide; ink to paper. The faint scratching of pen to sheet mews out as I write.

It's just the right size for my small, slender hands; with the right heft and weight. In thought I'll flick it through my fingers, braiding it around and around in the air, pausing to quickly click-click before I twirl it again, around and around. Click click. Around around. Click click.

When bored; I might sit and watch the sun glint off it's translucent red barrel, casting colorful shadows on my notepad. When anxious I might slip it's end between my lips and bite at it thoughtfully or slick it across my lips while in deep contemplation. It tastes of plastic and rubber, sometimes lotion and mint.

There's nothing special about this pen; other than it's my favorite. It's my favorite because it's red. It's my favorite just because it is. I bought it two years ago, it came in a pack of 10 -- why it became my only pen, I have no clue. Maybe I lost all the other ones or maybe they all broke while doing cabinetry; stepped on and crushed. I can't remember.

I know it's the same one, though, because I carved my initials into the barrel just above the nib, now hidden by a black rubber comfort sleeve to stave off the soreness in my fingers from all my excessive writing. Sometimes if I twirl my pen to fast my pinkie will catch on the rubber cocoon and send it flying -- 5 second rule.

It even holds my hair up from time to time when I have to twist it up into an unplanned bun while away from my stash of hair quills and paintbrushes that I use to run the bun through and secure it into place. Yes, my reliable pen.

If I sit with my arms folded I might drum it on the table or do the stupid 'magic pencil' maneuver in the air trying to trick my eyes into seeing a Gumby endowed pen. A fascination from childhood that never goes away even in these later - much later adult years.

Drum, flick, spin, twirl, secure.

My pen has a personality disorder -- the only thing it hasn't done is cook dinner and murder someone.