The Letter N Pronounced as a Vowel

He walked into the living room where his girlfriend was folded into an armchair, reading. Having spent the last several minutes calming himself down and trying to figure out the best way to announce his new discovery, he had settled on a casual unveiling. Just a quick, conversational twist and the cat was out of the bag.

“Honey,” he said, “I think I'm going to change my name to Nathan.”

Sheila barely looked up from her book.

“Nathan?” she mumbled. “Why?”

He shook his head and took a step closer, letting her notice him.

“No, no,” he insisted, “you didn't hear me. Listen. Sheila.”

Sheila tilted the book away from her eyes, pushed up her glasses, looked at him directly through her lenses.

“I'm changing my name to Nathan.”

Her fucking jaw dropped.

“What. The. Fuck. Was that?”

“Right?” he said, throwing his arms up in the air.

“What was that sound I just heard?”

Sheila sat up straight in the chair, the book forgotten.

“As far as I can tell we haven't got a letter to describe it!” he told her. “But what it feels like is the letter N, pronounced as a vowel. Try it.”

She shook her head. “How?” she asked.

“Just do it!” he said. “That is literally all I did.”

Shelia cocked her head to the side, felt around inside her mouth with her tongue.

“Nathan,” she said. “Holy shit! That was so easy! It really is just the letter N, pronounced as a vowel. How come I've never done that before?”

“I don't know. Maybe it's just because everybody told us it was a consonant, so we never thought to look for it.”

“Does it work on anything?” asked Sheila.

“Almost,” he confirmed. “Check it out. Nomad. Nuremberg.”

“Neurologist. Nationalism.”

“But listen,” he said, “this is interesting. Say 'knife'.”

“Knife. Whoa! It didn't work!”

“I know! The silent K stops it! How weird is that?”

“What should we do?” Sheila wondered. “Should we tell people? Should we look for more letters first? And why would someone hide letters?”

“It doesn't make sense,” he agreed, his eyes coming to rest on the coffee table. “National Geographic,” he said.

“Jesus Christ!” yelled Sheila. “Did you see that?”

The magazine was gone.

“Dude,” he said. His eyes were more eloquent.

“How many words did you say before you came out here and told me?”

“I don't remember!” he cried. “Do you think we disappeared something every time we used it?”

The actor Nathan Lane – gone. The fictional character Nathan Detroit – forgotten forever. That guy Nathan Cordova from high school – well, he isn't in my yearbook. Probably not in yours either.