Lewis James

My name is Louis James and I'm 52 years old. 

I have a friend named Lewis James who just turned 6.

I happened to be in Lewis' garage early this evening. It was breezy outside and huge white clouds raced across the sky - the first May-like weather in weeks. The garage was lit only by early evening sunlight coming through the side window.

Never mind why I was in Lewis' garage.

I just happened to be quietly alone for a moment in Lewis' garage saying a prayer for Lewis' mom…and dad.

The outside door to the garage opened and Lewis appeared with his buzz haircut and muscle shirt. I whistled casually so as not to frighten him, but he didn't seem to care in the least. It was as if he was accustomed to 52-year-old grey-haired guys praying in his garage.

Lewis was carrying a long screwdriver.

"Hi Lewis"

"Hey" said Lewis.

Before I could try to explain what I was doing, Lewis spoke, matter-of-factly

"I need your help.  I need to find a shorter screwdriver."

No hello, no inquisition about what I was doing in his garage. Just complete trust and a screwdriver help request.

"Ok Lewis. Where does your dad keep his tools?"

Lewis proceeded to show me the dark garage shelves and we looked through the tool boxes until we found something that looked promising.  I helped him figure out the latches, and we dived into the box, trying to feel our way through the hidden tools in the dim light of the dusky garage. We unearthed pliers and wrenches and huge screwdrivers.

"What's this?"

Lewis pulled out a really big switchblade-like knife. Luckily, I saw that it was latched shut. Before I could tell the 6-year-old to be careful I heard a tell-tale sound

"click."

Lewis stood up and a shaft of sunlight from the garage window fell across a very long shiny blade.

I once had daughters this age. Neither of them would have even tried to flick open a knife this size.

Lewis held up the blade and inspected it with a knowing gaze, unspeaking, turning the shiny steel slowly in the shaft of sunlight. After 10 seconds I half expected to hear a movie director call out "cut and print!"

It was a surreal moment.

I was working on the proper words to admonish the little boy to be careful, when he adjusted his gaze directly to me as he held up the huge knife.

"Do you like costumes?" said Lewis.

Long pause.

"What??"

"I said, do you like costumes? Do you have a lot of costumes at your house?"

Long pause.

"I guess I used to like costumes, Lewis."

"I have tons of costumes in my room" said Lewis, slowly manipulating the knife.

I told Lewis that I guessed I didn't have as many costumes as I used to.

"Let me help you with that knife -  I'll show you how to close it."

Before I could make a move, Lewis was trying to figure out the latch and how to fold the knife closed. Trying to show him was pointless- it would involve me having the knife.

Lewis tried a variety of tactics to close the knife, all of them involved grasping the sharp open blade with his bare hands.

Part of me was thinking about how exactly I would explain to Lewis' dad how Lewis sliced off his finger while I was with him in the dark garage playing with a really big knife.

Another part of me was recollecting what Lewis' dad kept telling me about little boys. It boiled down to "little boys are going to insist on figuring out how to close big switchblades without help."

About the time I really thought I was going to see one of Lewis James' severed pinkies wriggling on the oily garage floor, I heard another click. The blade swung mercifully shut, unimpeded by little boy flesh. 

In 30 seconds Lewis had found the desired smaller screwdriver and I, the father of two demure adult girls, had hidden the closed switchblade at the bottom of the toolbox.

Lewis smiled at me.

"Your name is the same as mine, right?"

We compared spellings as he walked to the door out of the garage, heading into the late afternoon sunlight, white clouds, breezy afternoon, small screwdriver in hand.

"Hey Lewis"

"What?"

"Hey why did you need to find a smaller screwdriver?"

Lewis eyed the tool, rotating it slowly in the sun. He pointed it toward the yard.

"I'm working on carving the letter 'L' into that big fence post up there."



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