Work of Hands

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

"The Visitor"

Excerpts from a short story entitled "The Visitor". Today the twenty minutes of penmanship practice was half over when Mark eased himself into his desk seat. He began, by himself, the conscious examination of posture that is always the first step towards good penmanship, according to Sr. Eustace. His legs were straight forward, his feet planted squarely beneath the desk top. His back was tilted only slightly forward, but without arching his spine. The full length of his forearm from the elbow to the wrist was resting very lightly on the desk and the edge of the paper. Mark was left-handed but Sr. Eustace had never tried to change that. She did tell him once that in the old days teachers would wrap pupils on the knuckles with a bamboo cane if they were caught using their left hands ever. Tony had listened in and grinned as he made a jerking motion with his left hand that the nun alone was not able to see.
Perfecting the vertical loops of the small "l's" and the graceful double curves of the capital "F's" and "T's" had been difficult for Mark. Always with a fountain pen and wet ink he had to be careful not to smudge his work. Being left-handed and writing from left to right meant the palm of his hand automatically followed over the writing smearing it if he was too fast or not careful. Mark was being especially careful paying particular attention, almost sounding his big elliptical "O's" as he was writing them when. "Oh!" Something small and sharp stung him in the back. The dart consisted of a straight pin rammed through a spit ball of wadded paper. (it). dropped to the hard linoleum tile floor with a click. Tony let out an unconvincing cough to cover his grin and Sr. Eustace found him out, and Deirdre was now laughing. She turned her head sideways to share her delight with Mark, but he was remorsefully somber, not wanting to further offend Tony. Mark could not face Deirdre, so he forced his gaze out the window to the school yard and the bushes beyond. He only listened to the cracking of the strap.

Frank Beltrano

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