I sat down on a bench outside the filling station to watch the newest of the 1960 Chevrolets and Fords come to fill up with cheap 19 cent gas. Jack Dawson, a grease monkey, sat down on the bench next to me. With his greasy, gritty hands he flipped an apple up in the air; then out came the knife, a switchblade. Even I knew they were illegal. As he began to eat the apple, he spoke, and juice ran down the side of his lips - he had thin lips and eyes that were scary - kind of like a goat’s. “Bobby, he said, I never told anyone this, but with this very knife, I cut a man’s throat many years ago.” I said, “sure Jack, sure you did”, as I slid to the other end of the bench. Jack’s eyes followed me.

He could tell I was nervous. “Don’t worry Bobby, I like you - you can keep a secret, I know”, he said. When I left, I was too, afraid to say anything to anyone and never went back to the filling station.

As years passed, so did Jack. I was a young man living in another part of the world at the time. Sometimes I would think of the filling station and Jack and the secret. After many years, I returned to my home town. I got up the courage to go to the filing station —not much had changed except Jack wasn’t there. As a young man filled up my car with gas, he told me his name was Greg and we shook hands. I asked about Jack, and said I had heard he had died. Greg lowered his head and said “yep, it was a heart attack.” I walked over to the bench where I once sat years ago. I said, “Greg, Jack told me he had killed a man.” Greg said, “yep, he told nearly everyone that.” Greg sat down on the bench and I sat down on the bench. Greg picked up a stick from the ground and flipped out a switchblade. He whittled and spoke frankly. “You see, Jack was in the Army in 1942, Germans overrun his unit but he survived. He ran a mile to the command tent but it was too, late, a German had captured his Captain; but, Jack slipped up from behind and cut the German’s throat … saved his Captain; and he did it with this very knife”, Greg said. “He never got a medal or nothing”, Greg added. I told Greg I had to get going and shook his hand. “What is your last name Greg?”- I said. “Dawson”, he said.

Copyright © 2006 Carlton Calcote