You know what I was thinking about? I was thinking about that time when Belle Star came over and climbed out the bathroom window. I was thinking about that time when she called and said, "Where's my knife, Curt? You sonovab****!"
Belle Star was screaming into the phone and I was still holding onto the knife. I'd put it on my night stand before I went to bed last night and when I woke up, I picked it up again and held it in my hands. Belle Star was screaming and I wasn't listening. I said, "I have your knife."
Belle Star said, "I know you f***ing do! I saw you take it out of the diner! I want it back!"
Belle Star must have said some more things. She must have threatened me and sworn many more times. She must have asked what I was doing, why I wasn't giving her any answers.
"I have your knife," I said again.
Belle Star. I wonder why she is the way she is, exactly. Why does she care so much about the knife? Why did she slip out my bathroom window? Why does she always raise her voice? Why are her pancakes so bad? When was the last time she'd fallen in love and had her heart broken? I've never really given much thought to these questions before. I've never really cared.
I wanted to crawl through the telephone and into Belle Star's ear. Into her head. I wanted to, and still want to, for some reason, know everything about her.
"Belle," I said, "I have your knife, but if you want it back, you have to come get it yourself."
There was a pause. I could hear her breathing. Then, "Fine, you bastard, fine," she said. "I'll be over tomorrow morning and I better get my knife back!" She hung up and I hung up too. I held the knife and looked at my reflection in the blade.
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