Jungle Fever

"Hi, Dad. I was wondering if you happen to own a machete."

I hung up my voicemail and called his cell. No answer.

The funny thing was, I do happen to own a machete. I don't know exactly where it is. I don't know if it's sharp enough for whatever jungle my son was planning an expedition into. In 1979 I worked in a gas station. One day a black guy in an old white Mustang pulled up and asked if I wanted to buy a machete. He showed me a blade that had been sharpened many times, with a black handle and a brown leather scabbard. He wanted five dollars. I had always wanted a sword and this was close enough, so I took it. It's lain among my ever-accumulating effects ever since. Somewhere.