The first vocabulary word I remember learning was in ninth grade, ‘grotesque’. It was most certainly not the first which was taught to me, just the first I remember learning. Mr. Hill was explaining the meaning of this particular word using my sweater, a cheaply bought and unfashionable sweater worn with pale blue leggings. This word also taught me the practical use of figurative language. Shortly after Mr. Hill’s example, Jason Fleming, a cliché of adolescent athletic arrogance, yelled across the room, “Catherine Cory is a badly dressed number two pencil!” Jason may have been a dolt, but when slinging insults, he could surely master a metaphor. I remember the way my sweater felt, before and after Mr. Mills’ lesson. I learned the double edge of words, their beauty and their terror. Eventually, I would learn to hold them by the end that didn’t slice.