Being Futterman.

The name is not elegant: sounds like too-heavy stones being chucked into a murky lake filled with seaweed. Each syllable a new rock tossed. Futt-plop-er-plop-man-plop. It does not roll off the tongue, as words like effervescence or lemon do, delicately sliding out of your vocal cords like honey. Lemon is my favorite word, with lethargic being a close second. Neither sound anything like Futterman, which is too thick and too Jewish and sounds fat and unhealthy, I can feel my arteries clogging up as I say it. It isn't a movie star's name - I can't picture it being featured on a big poster: Starring Tom Hanks and Annie Futterman. It isn't glamorous. I couldn't be famous, or maybe I could if I was willing to change my last name to Lemon. But I'm not willing. It's not pride or family legacy that I'm concerned about. I just feel as if my appearance fits the name well. Slow and awkward and Jewish. I don't sound like lemon - lemon sounds like someone stingy and tart and flirty and Christian, and I am anything but. So changing my last name would be wrong, because no other name could sum up me, Annie, so well as the not-so-pretty Futterman.