The Penknife
That week we had a cold snap. It was the kind of cold that stung your nose and chapped your lips as soon as you got outside. Our wet laundry froze right on the clothesline. When Ma brought in Pa’s pants, they stood up all by themselves. We had to hang the laundry on a clothesline Ma strung across the kitchen.
Walter and I had to make several trips down to the cellar for coal, and Pa sent us to pick up coal near the train tracks. Sometimes coal would fall off the trains, and we could fill our wagon. Ma always warned us to be careful, but Walter liked to do dangerous things. Sometimes he would stay right on the tracks when
a train was coming. The engineer would blow the whistle, and I’d scream and beg him to get away. And then he’d jump clear just at the last minute.
“I know what I’m doing. Don’t go crazy,” he’d say.
We were walking along the tracks, sharing the peanuts I’d bought that day with Miss Rosalie Smith’s dime.
“You’re going to be a teacher someday,” Walter said.
“Maybe,” I answered.
“You will. You’re smart.”
I grinned.
“You’ll be a teacher just like Miss Rosalie Smith. You’ll win a scholarship or something. You’ll even wear high heels.”
I grinned. “Get out.”
“Miss Wanda Malinski. That’s what the kids will call you. Miss Wanda Malinski.”
“Stop teasing, Walter!” I said. I gave him a little shove. He gave me a push and ran ahead.
I chased after him. “You’re going to get it, Walter!”
“Miss Wanda Malinski runs like a chicken!”
Then Walter stopped and picked up something shiny. I caught up with him.
“What’s that?”
“A penknife. Not too rusty, either. I could use a penknife.”
We were standing there examining the knife when Curtis Harrington and two other boys came running up the slope. The two boys were wearing matching knitted hats. I didn’t know their names—they weren’t in our class—but I’d seen them at school.
“Hey! What you cockroaches got there in that stupid wagon?” Curtis said. He stood kicking rocks up our way. The two Hats poked each other and snickered.
“Hey, cockroaches! Answer me!”
“Shut up, Harrington!” Walter said.
“Scram, ugly!” I yelled.
“Yeah, and you got a big mouth, Wanda! You like to tell on kids at school. You’re a tattletale!” Curtis said.
He skimmed a rock at me. I picked up a piece of
coal and threw it at him. It smacked him in the nose. Curtis came at me and knocked me down. Walter pushed him. Then Curtis kicked me when I tried to get up. The Hats started coming at me, too. That’s when Walter jumped in front of them with the penknife.
“Get out of here, Harrington. You’re nothing but a bullyboy who picks on girls.”
“Oh, yeah?” Curtis said.
Walter reached out with the knife as if he was going to cut Curtis’s jacket.
“Hey, quit it!” Curtis said. He was scared. The Hats were nervous, too.
“Get out of here right now, Harrington! Take your ugly face and your ugly friends and get out!” Walter said.
Curtis and the two other boys turned and ran. Curtis tripped on the tracks and fell down, splitting his pants.
We all laughed. We could see his underwear! We laughed harder and harder—even the Hats laughed. Curtis had a big bee-hind, and I always knew someday he’d split his britches.
Walter and I went back to coal picking, and every now and then one of us would burst out laughing at the thought of Curtis sprawled across the tracks with his underwear showing.