Grinder? I hardly know her

The black spot on the wall kept growing. That’s how his wife could tell he’d be grinding. David would carefully sweep the black powder from the stone floor after every session. He wiped the windows, cleaned the sink, and opened the garage door to air out the place. But that one spot on the wall next to his workbench always told the truth. The power of those tiny metal shards flying into the wall impressed David the first time he held the angle grinder in his hands. He saw fire, he saw smoke, felt the tremble in his arms, felt the metal give way and obey his command. So entranced was David that when he took his finger from the trigger he saw through foggy glasses what he did to the wall: a small, dark soot spot on his perfect garage wall. 

 The rain came down hard that Friday evening. Traffic was a nightmare but he made it into the parking lot. The soaked shopping list bled blue onto his fingers. David had the shop all to himself, the rain scared everyone away. His wife was out with her office friends. David had room to relax for a few hours. Sorting through the frozen chicken he glanced at the hardware section. He saw a great deal, an opportunity. David flipped the heavy box on all sides and studied it. He was entranced. He thought to himself that the packing was excellent, the colors were great, the angle grinder was made in his great country and it was on sale…why not?

David brought home a leaf spring from an old truck he found at work. He locked the steel in his vice. The man struggled to fit a mask and goggles while wearing a motorcycle helmet. David googled “angle grinder accidents” and decided to wear a full helmet. As soon as the stone disc touched steel the garage lit up in a shower of sparks. He backed up a bit on the pressure and immediately the stream flowed in one direction. David was so captivated he stopped only when his sleeve caught fire. Through labored breaths, he opened the garage door and took his helmet off. David inspected the holes in his hoodie. He was in awe that the spray was able to pierce his clothes and tear his skin. The man felt disappointment and fear wash over him as he tidied up. When he reached the bench he saw the black spot smack in the middle of the wall, right next to his workbench. He touched it and felt the wall scoop a bit where the sparks hit it. David's fears of injury disappeared like magic. His doubts that he’d never be able to create anything from metal drifted away. He felt a tingle under his nails and saw blood mixed with soot. David gripped the metal bar and said out loud: a sword.

Like all married men David had to juggle the time he’d spent at work, with his wife and his free time. It pained him if he stepped away from the workbench for more than a few days. He’d find a way to grind at least ten minutes, enough to see the steel change shape. David envisioned the sword and every time he showed his wife the clunky chunk of steel she would politely nod and congratulate him. One day after two seasons, on a crispy Saturday winter morning a distal taper appeared on a thinner piece of steel. A piece of steel that resembled a sword. A piece of steel that David obsessed over. The black spot on the wall was now a gash the size of David's arm. The man took his helmet off and placed it on the workbench. Every time he used the grinder a slight ringing persisted in his ears. David held the blade in his grimy hands. Mixing in with the high notes David could hear popping sounds or the sound of nails bending. It was as if a sweet, gentle symphony was playing and the sound came from within the black spot on the wall. Like a metal humming, that’s what the noise reminded David of. 

His electronic calipers told the truth: it was perfect. A perfect distal taper, a perfect mid-ridge, beautiful and straight lines that converged into a needlepoint. The blade was ready for finer work. David stored the grinder away and gently fixed the sword blade in his vise next to the black spot. The baby monitor rested on the window ready to alert him if David Jr woke up. They were blessed with a child who slept at night, leaving David free to tinker away into the late hours of the morning. His wife, well, you know how it is... Ups and downs, yes? Such is life. 

With each stroke of sandpaper water slowly turned to muck, seeping into David’s skin, under his nails. He didn't wear gloves. He couldn’t hear the song if he wore gloves, the blade would not sing her sweet symphony, and the black spot on the wall would stay silent as well. The humming kept his spirit up as he slowly shed metal with his bare hands. Just a few more strokes. Just a little more and then David would pick up the baby. Just wait a little longer, your dad is coming to hold you, don’t cry. Let him finish one side before he goes to work. Maybe he can get a bit more done before six and head straight there. Just a few moments child, wait a little longer. It will be worth it you’ll see. It’s a beautiful blade, it will make a fine sword. Oh, your mom came and held you. David knew she was exhausted and promised she could sleep but… It’s almost sunrise, not much time left. A fresh piece of sandpaper and the music plays once again. David strokes the steel unaware his fingers are raw. He sands the blood into the blade making it sing like never before.