My grandmother always used to tell
me how pretty and pearly my teeth were. Meanwhile her's were what looked like
when a ship sunk to the bottom of the ocean. There were lined grooves coated
with dark brown. The gums were blackening, a mixed trash of ombre. As a girl I
always knew it was from those cylinder things she'd drag a puff of a smoke
from. I would watch her do just that on the front porch as my bare feet helped
sway me back and forth on the tree swing.
Once my adult teeth set in I would
lean as close to the mirror I could, admiring them. All the empty change I
found would go towards strawberry colored floss, dollar store brushes and
paste. The mouth wash I would steal by putting in an empty water bottle. Every
time my gums first stung from the use of the floss, I would just think real
hard of the rank breath of my grandma and how black wet vile things were in
between the cracks in her teeth for days, sometimes when she talked it would go
flying and hit me in the face. Now every-time I floss, I think of that damp
feeling on my face from it and the pitched scream and fevered swipe of my face
that would follow. My hands still shake with the panic that I'd need to hide
all my tools for my teeth, it takes me a second to remember I'm all alone.
When I finally did run away, I
looked back once, to see that lonely swing one more time. It had a special
place in my heart and always would. But I never would see it again. Not since
the old hag went up in flames with the whole property. They say it was from
someone burning grass nearby.
By the time they figured I wasn't in
the picture I was already legally an adult. I pride myself on the fact that I,
completely alone in the world, made it. I fought to climb higher.
I went to the burial. Of course
there was no one there accept the priest they pay to come out, she pushed
everyone else away - and yet, there I was. I hid in the trees and watched. It
seemed fitting for her to have her final sleep in a cheap coffin since all her
money went on booze and a pack of camels. I felt a certain satisfaction
watching her be lowered into the ground, knowing she could never harm me again.
I had the scars to prove it.
As a baby, they say you don't
remember anything. It's a weird thought, not remembering those first years of
your life. It seems like it should be a right to know about them. I guess young
minds just aren't ready to support so many firsts in memories.
That is why when I wake up, I know
something is wrong. There's a strong pull in my heart telling me there's an
absence of something. I'm surprised by how long it takes me to realize what it
is. It's a forgotten memory.
Of what it was like without having
any teeth.
I sit up in bed and my hand rises to
my mouth. But my tongue beats my hand because I can't wait any longer. It's met
by deep indentions in the gums. My tongue isn't used to this and my whole body
sparks up. The hairs on my neck rise. I yank the sheets back and freeze.
There's blood stained on the sheets.
It leads to a trail out onto the carpet out the bedroom door into the living
room. I let out a sort of strangled noise but manage to scramble out of bed and
yank open the door.
The blood continues, but I stop
before the first tooth.
I pick it up. The roots are long and
of course, the exposed part is white and gleaming from all the tender and
gentle care of long hours I put into my teeth. My first set of baby teeth were
horrid from the pictures. But what grew in its place was beautiful, immaculate
teeth and I took care to make sure they stayed that way.
My first job, after I was all on my
own, I paid for my first whitening strips. It was a surreal moment and all of
those memories just come flooding back. I feel a wave of dizziness and sit on
the plush carpet, trying to make sure I get enough air. I grip the tooth in
between my thumb and index finger.
After a few deep breaths, I pull out
my phone and turn the camera around to face me. There's blood all around my
lips that I look like someone who's sunken her jaws into a carcass of a deer. My
brown eyes are wide and unbelieving. I slowly lift my dry lips. The blood
cracks into a hundred different lines.
The look of the absence of them hits
me. I tilt my head side to side, they're all gone. Every single one of them.
Including my wisdom teeth, because I see an even darker hole and I think I spot
a line of black stitches that's crudely sewn.
Someone took out my damn
teeth!
I drop my phone and put my hands
near my mouth. They shake, shake! I fall to my phone and pick it up and just
stare into a space. I take a few deep breaths then stand back up. I click the
camera back on.
Just by stretching my jaw far enough
there's a tugging sensation and some blood leaks into my mouth so I snap it
closed. I turn off my phone. I need to find all my teeth and get to the dentist
at once and maybe when I'm there I can get someone to call the police for me. I
try to talk just then but the words sound more like a toddlers, gurgled but
manageable to understand I think.
In all my years I've had no one to
ever rely on. I didn't need that. After I left what was supposed to be home, I
didn't want to depend on anyone else. Not for myself. Not for my needs. And now
in this moment I've realized just how bitterly wrong I was. I never
intentionally pushed anyone away like the old hag did, I just was never close
enough to someone.
I scramble into the living room. A
breeze hits me. The window is open. I slam it down. So someone snuck into my
room last night and pulled all my teeth out. What the hell? I turn and grab the
teeth that are scattered here and there. Then I race into the kitchen and pour
a glass of milk.
Oh god, there's teeth in here too. I
slap up top my head to try and get my sluggish brain tow work but it won't. How
many teeth does one adult have? Thirty-one? Twenty-five? I can't remember. It's
there in my brain though, of course I'd know. It's nearly impossible to count
with my wide range of thoughts so I just scrounge around the entire apartment
until I find them all. They plop into the fresh buttermilk.
The milk turns the color of a rusty
abandoned truck from all the blood. There's even some gum particles still on
the teeth. Then, the gums that are still intact begin to thrum like a car
engine. Whoever took them out at least put some pain killers in me but they're
starting to wear off. How could I sleep through such a horror? Maybe they
knocked me out with something.
All I remember of last night was
getting some extra work done for the agency, taking tender care of my teeth as
always (floss twice, brush with two different pastes, swish and gurgle thrice),
and went to bed in fresh pjs. Ones that now had blood splattered on them,
making their girly design twisted. I go to the sink and roll my tongue against
the foreign feeling of the gums. It's all slick ridges and little nooks that
drip blood. I lean forward and spit out crimson with a lump of gum covered in
black goo. It splats against the porcelain.
I stare below at the sight in the
snow-white sink, such a contrast. It reminds me of my monthly occurrence and
vomit creeps up my throat with hands that dig into my tongue. Acids burns the
back of my tongue. It mixes with the blood and burns the new craters in my
mouth. With a wince, I swallow it all back down.
I toss a coat on and grab my purse
and head out the door flicking my keys out and balancing the cup of milk at the
same time.
The milk swirls around the glass
when I pull out of the parking garage and into the overcast day. I know the
route to my dentist like the back of my hand. It's the best dentist in the
whole damn country of course. It's three hours away. That's how much of a
priority it is when it's the matter of my teeth. While I'm about to turn into
main traffic I punch into the GPS to take me to the nearest dentistry.
Less than one mile.
A car behind me honks but I ignore
it and turn. I hit the gas hard. The milk sloshes onto my seat.
"Dammit." I sneer and the
words sound so odd and foreign. Slippery.
I cup my free right hand to put over
the milk while the other swerves into the shabby little family owned dentistry.
The milk and a bump of teeth greet my hand, leaving it sticky. There's a small
parking lot for paitents but it's empty. I park sideways and unbuckle.
I pop the door open.
It had grown slow over the ride but
I tried to ignore it. Or maybe the sheer gaping fact that my teeth were gone
managed to be my first priority. It comes white hot and then stabs. It sears
me.
The dizziness takes over me. I
collapse forward onto the steering wheel and sink into the delicious darkness
that provides relief.
I'm still woozy when I awake.
Instead of my forehead resting on the steering wheel my heal is tilted back,
along with my seat. I'm just about to question it when pain rackets my gums
like a knife slicing a fish open. It doesn't stop me from rushing out of the
car with the milk in my hand. I try to run up to the door and wish I had seen
the closed sign sooner. There's also a for sale sign in the small lawn when I
turn around. I lower my shoulders. But then a spark of hope ignites as I see a
light on in the building. Maybe there's still someone here that can help me.
I bang my free fist against the
rattling glass until a man opens the door. He's short and stocky with a whisp
like fresh toothpaste atop his head.
"Yes?" He calls out and
his eyes widen a bit, probably at the blood on my face. He looks to the milk
quickly, then back at me.
"Sir! Someone has removed my
teeth!" My tongue hits something solid in my mouth. The words come out
still slobber-like, but it's like there's something blocking them and for a
second I feel like I've swallowed a chunky wad of tobacco.
The man's eyes crinkles as he
laughs.
He thinks this is funny?
I notice the neat teeth that only a
dentist would have. "But, ma'am there's teeth in your mouth right
now."
"What?" I then press and
drag my tongue against and sure enough, they meet something again. Not quite
smooth as mine but still, they're teeth. All crooked, odd shaped, and rough
feeling.
"Now, not the best I've ever
seen. But trust me when I say I've seen worse. Need me to take that off your
hand?" He nods to the milk and I hand it to him. Then he sighs and opens
the door wider, "Why not you just come on inside? I can refer you to
someone who's still in business, if you want."
I step in and the front area is
empty, no chairs, no nothing. He has me follow him into a back hall and into
one of the patient rooms. In a sink, he drains the milk and I start forward
with an outstretched hand but only rust colored milk flows out. He sets the
empty glass down and then turns to me.
"I'm sorry that you made it a
bit late. I was just getting the last of my files. I'm retired now you
see." He pats the doctor's coat. "Thought I'd wear this one last time
too for nostalgia's sake."
I blink and nod. There's a
hollowness in my actions, like I'm on autopilot. I force myself to blink again
and my eyes feel a bit grainy.
"Do you happen to have a
mirror?"
He purses his lips and then slides a
hand into his pocket and pulls out a travel sized one. "Here you go."
I snatch it from his hands and clasp it open.
"Now I'd say that it would be
hard to fix, probably need some replacements. I say though, haven't seen the
likes of such a mess like that in such a young person. You're probably in your
what, late twenties? Sure smoked quite a bit eh-"
I drown his voice out like a raging
sea because my ears are ringing. I pull my lips back into a grimace. I know
these rotten teeth. All odd shaped and snarly like an old wolf. Yellowed to the
core, some even are browning along the gums.
They're my grandmother's teeth.
I drop the mirror and barely hear
the crack of the glass. It snaps me back to.
"Gotta be brushing your teeth
now young lady. Never too late to get started."
I grab his crisp coat lapels. He
pulls his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, now listen here."
I shake him and he shuts up.
"No, you listen here. Did you see anyone outside in the parking lot with
me?"
"No... I only noticed you after
you knocked on the door."
I let him go then pull out my phone.
I'd been in the parking lot for several hours. I was in a seat that had been
pushed back. By someone else.
The open window, not feeling the
pain right away, falling asleep in the parking lot; it clicks together like a
twisted and dark puzzle.
I can't take it. I dash out and the
man calls out to me but I ignore him and get into my car. I zoom down the
freeway until I take the exit I haven't taken in years. It all comes back to
me, slowly, on how to get here. It's been seven years since I saw her put into
the ground.
When I park I put the feeling of
these foreign objects jammed into my gums away.
The leafs crunch underneath my
slippers. I pull the coat closer to me as I walk down the concrete sidewalk. I
notice the tree I hid behind at her burial and my heart beats like a rabbit
kicking against my ribcage.
Even when I see it, I don't stop
until my toes are touching the exposed dirt. I peek over the edge and look
down.
The coffin lies open and empty.
There are claw marks that slashed the bargain satin lining.
It's like someone has gripped my
heart and isn't letting it push forward and beat anymore. The wind hits the
back of my hair and a foul sour smell reaches my nose. I cough into my elbow
and fresh rust hits the back of my tongue. I gag.
"Whitney girl. It's been such a
long time, hasn't it?"
The voice is like someone chewing on
bones and gravel.
I don't need to turn to know who it
is. But I do and that is where my first mistake lay.
