Little Bobby and The Pocketknife Part II

Little Bobby and The Pocketknife Part II

In the days long ago when the automobile was in its infancy and all cars were black, massive and scary, our hero, a little boy, let's call him Bobby, was having an unusually bad day. He decided he'd had enough of the domestic life and, packing his entire worldly belongings, consisting of two pennies, a half stick of Wrigley's gum and an old boy scout folding knife, into his pocket, headed out to cross the wilds of the multi-lane highway. This busy highway was the boundary between the safe, known world of Bobby's suburban home and the wild unknown land of the big city.

The crossing of the west bound lanes with its vast hoards of fast moving cars and trucks, although frightening, was uneventful. Upon reaching the median, that safe haven of grass separating the two lanes of traffic, our little boy surveyed the scene and began to doubt the wisdom of leaving the comfort of home for the wild and unknown land across the busy thoroughfare.

In his haste to leave home our little man didn't think about such things as mealtime or acccommodations: a fact that was beginning to dawn on our hero. Travel across the eastbound lanes would not be so easy. Fear of the unknown land and of the fast moving traffic began to erode the little one's resolve. Maybe home wasn't so bad. Maybe the gnawing hunger was a signal to return home to the arms of a loving mother and family.

Working up his courage to return home, the little one moved to the edge of the relative safety of the median grass and closer to traffic on the, so recently crossed, westbound lanes. Wanting to return to the safety of the familiar side our hero waited 'til the traffic cleared and he made a wild dash for the distant refuge that he had recently fled.

The fear of the on-coming traffic caused the little boy to abandon all thoughts of leaving home and in his panic he didn't notice his prized pocketknife slip through the hole in his pocket. When the knife hit the pavement, little Bobby heard the metallic scratch of metal hitting concrete and sliding a few feet, but in his state of near panic he continued running for the safety of the distant shoulder. Any thoughts of the prized knife were erased by fear of the on-coming traffic and the imagined perils awaiting the hapless boy.

Safely on the home side of the dangerous highway, Bobby watched in horror as car after car sped by. It seemed that the cars were actually trying to squash the little knife under their massive, speeding tires. Bobby watched as his battered knife was assaulted again and again by the wheels of the on rushing traffic until the case was broken and the blades were scattered.

With tears flowing down his dirt smeared cheeks, Bobby headed home vowing never to tell a living soul about his adventure or of what happened to his treasured pocketknife.

For years Bobby imagined that the telltale marks on the highway would give his secret away. As the years went by and Bobby went off to school with the other kids, he forgot the incident of the knife.

Many years later someone nudged the memory back to the fore by mentioning a repavement project on the very spot where Bobby lost his nerve and his pocketknife.