Being "O"
 

You have heard of the letter of the law, I suppose. I don’t imagine you ever bothered to ask much about it. There aren’t many who do.

​

It is, “O” by the way, and I am O, and I suppose that makes me the letter of the law. One of them at any rate.

Why O you might ask?

It is a fair question. After all, the word law does not even contain the letter, O.

​

Not unlike justice, O is circular. You can start and end anywhere you like. At some point, you’ll just wind up where you started.

While it isn’t in everything, O is in lots of things, sometimes more than once. There are of course the other hard-working letters – E and T and R and S and L and so on. They have important jobs to do. They help ensure words continue to have power. The word Power itself is a fun example showcasing my teamwork (yes, I said teamwork) with E and R…and P to boot.

People work because language works and language works because we work. And this is really a story about birds’ eggs, but I’ll get to that.

​

I saw L and G and Y in a gallery of all places, complimentary cups of wine in their hands. A couple was regarding a painting and, as I entered, they seemed to be arguing about whether or not it hung straight on the wall.

“It’s fine,” the man insisted. His partner rolled his eyes. “It’s clearly askew.

Askew – what a well-balanced 5-parter! But I digress.

​

Of course the fucking painting was askew. The whole gallery was askew to be perfectly honest. L was double-featured and choosing to drink herself silly.

​

“L”

​

I could have screamed her name, but I find that harsh whispers are more effective with her.

“O!” she chimed. “G and Y were thinking you might make it out. And by the by, I have a proposition for you, and I know not every word deserves to be saved, but there’s this poor ole chap studying birds’ eggs….”

I knew what she was getting at before she even got there.

​

“An ology," I said.

​

“Oology” she crooned.

​

Now, you’ve got to understand – L liked being surrounded by me, had been coming onto me since the time of the Greeks. Studies drove her crazy. The idea of following a double helping of me was downright irresistible.

“I won’t. You know I can’t. And you really should quit your boozing. There’s a gallery depending on you to hold it upright.”

“Ah c’mon O…it’ll be like old times.”

​

“No.”

​

“Fine!” she screamed, throwing the dregs of her wine in my face. “Be with your beloved N!”

And that was that.

​

To say the split has been an injustice is the understatement of the millennium. People remember ologies for the moment. Forgetting always takes time. I fear for the future.

​

Unless…

​

There might be a way. It goes against my very nature. The nature of all letters. We are meant to work together, to participate in a conducive workflow. To uphold the order of the world. I could perhaps spellbind L. No one could ever learn I’d done it. And I’d need some help. I couldn’t do it alone. But maybe N….

​

L can suspect nothing.

You won’t tell, with you?

It would mean the end of all L words where O and L are not together. It’s what she meant to do to me. I know it but can’t prove it. Forced cohesion.

But a letter’s gotta do what a letter’s gotta do.

​

I knock on my lover’s door. It is little more than a rap, but she hears at once and opens for me.

I don’t even need to say anything. That’s what I love about this dame.

She looks at me and smiles.

​

“I’m in”