I found the wood knife today it was shoved in the box squeezed between the wall and a stack of half-used notebooks.
I grabbed it by its rope- still strung through the hole in the center of the blade - played with the wood disks and tiny beads that dangle from both sides.
I held it up by the hilt, the metal ring clinked against the wood disks - imprisoned.
Grandma made these puzzles out of found objects all the time - Contrpations that were usually a clever a mess of metal and wood. All based on designs created before electricity was a thing. The knife was the sole survivor from a box of flood damaged puzzles
Smiling to myself, I held the knife behind my back, in my right hand.
"Sometimes, I wish you never even had kids" I still recall her words to my mother as I tip the knife and slip the ring down to the base of the blade "Write?! Josh that's a hobby! You're twenty, what are you going to do for a living?"
I push one disk through the hole with my thumb "What if you get this girl your with pregnant? Then what?" I bring the metal ring up and over the tip of the blade by tilting it downwards.
"If your father had done a better job raising you, we wouldn't be having this talk" with a flick of my wrist, I fling the metal ring though the hole and off of the knife.
It's been four years. I still remember how it goes. Muscle memory, I guess. Engrained in my mind from years of practice.
Sometimes I think of her, and I wonder if I miss her or if that's just muscle memory too.