Bone Light

To See Letters

13 To See Letters Everything I write requires this: Alphabet. It was a notion I did not know when I was six years old. In kindergarten I was more interested in the image of a letter on a flash card. I noticed its shape distinguishing itself from its background. Then,withmyeyesItoretheOinhalf. InthatmomentIfeltlanguage separate from its form. I recall my mother playing a word puzzle. She’d circle a line of letters amongst many other letters scattered on the page. She treated each word carefully never touching the pen to the letters. Then,she would give me the pen. I would circle random letters. She’d smile and give me a hug. my mother once told me that my step-dad found a picture of my real father. He ripped it up. to this day, I still do not know who my father is. I always called my step-dad, David. And he called me by my middle name, Orson. to him it was better than looking at me and calling me“son.” I am still ashamed of my middle name. He tried to teach me how to spell. I showed him homework from my first grade class. It was a list of wordsassignedformetospell. Helookedatmeashewassharpeninga pencil with his knife. I remember the way he forced my hand to write. How the pencil stabbed each letter, the lead smearing. I imagined each word bruising as I stared at them. 14 The words reminded me of the word puzzle. But without images it meant nothing at all. He said,“Spell them out.” I could not. “Then sound them out first!” I recall a day, like many other days in grammar school, when an older boy made fun of me because I could not speak proper English. I always mispronounced words,and I would wonder how to spell them. I still could not move the pencil in my hand. I saw the letters lined up on paper, but I wanted to circle them. He shouted out,“Spell them out you little fucker! I am going to hit you if you don’t.” I remember the shape of his fist. No one was around, not even my mother. It was as close to intimacy as I got with my step-dad. I did not say anything to anyone. He bought me toys as an act of contrition. I forgave him. When David hit me in the head, I saw stars in the shape of the Alphabet. Years later, my fascination for letters resulted in poems. ...