I had bought this pocket knife when my money was enough, at a general store. What it was doing in a general store, I didn't know. I only knew that I was now a man, because I had it. I had protection. I didn't agree with violence, but I wanted enough protection by the small knife to be accepted. But not to be taken away. I stuff it in the pocket of my jeans, and I feel tough because of it. Saying it was my friend was over the top because sometimes I didn't close it completely, and it would poke me. Sometimes causing my finger to bleed. So the knife protects me from others and protects itself from me. I was living with my parents, and they didn't allow knives, not even butter knives. And I had just bought a pocket knife, so I guess it was time to move out. I get up, from the couch in the living room, and walk to my room. I begin taking posters down and throwing some away. I toss random magazines and newspapers that had somehow found their way into my room. I take out three bags and stuff two full of junk. The last one I place my laptop in and some movies. I pull out a trash bag and stuff the rest into it, to leave by the dumpster. I look around the empty room and am sad to see it be without my existence. But it was better this way. I walk into the next room to reach out to my baby sis, Sarah. She was eighteen now, but she didn't want to go. I knew the minute I told her I was leaving she'd beg to go with. That's how close we were since a young age. I will tell her to wait until I actually have a place.

"Sarah," I say, watching her look up and remove her headphones. Her eyes were stained with fresh tears revealing she was too involved with another show on Netflix.

"Yah?" she says, through a sob. She sniffles, loudly, reaching for the Kleenex box beside her bed. I clear my throat and flex my arms. She notices and sits up straighter.

"Sarah, I'm leaving. You know, already, that mom and dad don't allow knives, but I bought a pocket knife. So, I'm going to get my own place." I say, seeing her eyes widen. She moves her laptop, off her lap, onto her bed as she gets up. She walks close to hug me, and I hold out my arms.

"Oh? Are you going to be alright, Kale, because that's a big commitment?" she asks, pulling away.

"I'll be fine." I say, surprised that she didn't offer to go with me.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I thought you would want to go with me." I admit.

"No, I-uh am actually planning to get my own place too, but not with you." she says, roughly.

"Really?" I ask as she nods. "Alright, good luck."

"You too, Kale." she says, sitting back on her bed and sliding her headphones back on. She looks at me for a minute before continuing with her show. I stumble back to my empty room and sit in a chair. I wonder what she meant by 'not with you'. We had gone through practically everything together, but she didn't want that anymore. Maybe she wasn't as fragile as I thought. I pull out my pocket knife and admire the carving in the side that said: You're not a soldier if there isn't a war. I decide to detach her from my memories. I pick up my bags and write a quick note. For my parents, so they wouldn't worry. I leave without saying another word and clutch the pocket knife in my hand. I'm a man, and I would make it work away from family.