I confess I had to fight back tears. That knife was very handy. Pocketknives aren’t just for boys. I believe everyone (who is an upstanding citizen) should carry one. I used my knife to spread the peanut butter my mom sends me. And I used the scissor function several times when regular scissors were scarce, including on the flight to Delhi when the condiment packets in my dinner just wouldn’t rip, even when I employed my teeth. I used the Philips’ head screwdriver to fix several things, from another volunteer’s Christmas party outfit (she had blinking lights that petered out) to the easel-shaped whiteboard in my classroom in Balkanabat.
And I always felt a little better knowing I had that knife with me. I planned that if I needed to, I could use the corkscrew placed between two knuckles to punch in self-defense, the body of the knife doubling the effect as a roll of quarters in my fist would. This, I decided was a much better option than using the blade since it didn’t lock into place. I didn’t want to risk it folding in on me. I think about these things, as a smart, single woman who was raised on James Bond would. Now I’m knifeless and only have my wits and martial arts training for defense.
Maybe I can buy something at the bazaar but it won’t be the same quality, I’m sure. And maybe won’t even have all the gizmos. And it just won’t be the same at the trusty knife I carried all these months here. I feel naked.