The Autism Dairies?! (Part 14)

A new occasional series here at “Sounds Good“

There’s one knife in our kitchen drawer that is shorter than the others, has a different weight. It’s a different brand. It isn’t like the others, and it’s not supposed to be there. It probably followed one of us home from a work kitchen, just as one or more of our actual (correct) knives has been lost in the war too. One in, one out, or whatever. But this one we’ve held onto for far too long, and it’s always bugged me. I swear I have never eaten from it, never spread toast with it, never even used it to jimmy a lid or stir a drink or fish anything out from a tight spot. When I grab it in a handful of cutlery to set the table I always make sure it goes to someone else. Anyone. And yet, just a few days ago I found myself sitting with it in front of me. And I went to eat the scrambled eggs, and something didn’t feel right. I could tell by the weight of it. I was holding the wrong knife. I said to my darling wife, “I just have to get a new knife sorry” — and then went on a rant about how much I hated the short knife. And shared, without it being at all necessary, that I was always sure to give it to anyone else, to never eat from it. I said that I had thought about throwing it away several times a week — for years. “So”, the most intelligent person in the house said, “why don’t you just throw it away. Put it in the bin right now”. She was smiling at me, holding back a laugh, and also it looked an awful lot like she liked me, not like she was dealing with a mangled bird, or an irrationally angry fool, but someone she loved. I threw the knife in the bin. And smiled back at her. A weight lifted. I used one of the correct knives, confident I’d never be faced with a choice, nor the frustration of misplacement ever again.