February 7n2014

Writing Attempt: Writing x 5

 

 The tooth was rotten. Had been for years. The problem was that the tooth was not aware of this fact, instead it rested comfortably in the place it grew up in and was determined to die in as well. So when woken up to the quick sharp prod and scrape of a sharp metal object, the tooth could do nothing but fight for its life. Its whole being radiated with rage and pulsed with fear. The tooth pushed its whole weight down into the squishy holes that held it home and puffed itself out as big as it could get over and over again.

***

Nate had ignored his molar’s slow decay for numerous reasons. But the day his insurance card arrived in the mail, he decided it was time to be a fucking adult and get the grey, shifting mass checked out.

The woman at the front desk knocked the tip of her pen against her teeth as she read through Nate’s freshly filled out intake sheet. Nate found this incredibly insensitive and wondered if it was actually some strange fetish she had developed from years of filing smelly mouthed, broken toothed losers like him. The woman clicked the pen on more time, then slid the form across the desk towards Nate.

 “You forgot to sign it.”  She said.

“Oh, sorry.” Nate searched around the intake window for something to write with.

“Here.” The desk woman pulled the pen out of her mouth and tossed it on top of the paperwork. “They go missing all the time, use mine.”

“Um, thanks…” He took the pen carefully between the tip of his thumb and forefinger and drew a shaky line. She grabbed the form and added it to the ‘in’ pile. Nate worried that he had just committed himself to a signature he’d never quite remember again.

 “Take a seat, Nathan, Dr. Oulette will be with you shortly.”

Nate did as told as suavely as he possibly could, swiping up a magazine on his way.

            Parenting was less insufferable than expected. In fact Nate was pleased to find 7 great D.I.Y. birthday cake recipes even though he couldn’t remember 7 birthdays to save his life. The door into the dentist’s area rumbled open and a small lady stood in its frame.

“Nathan?”

“Oh, yeah, me.” Nate stood up from his chair and moved his hand around his body to check for everything.

“Ready?” She said, then snapped her gum twice. Yet another offence in Nate’s eyes. 

“Isn’t gum-“ Nate knew he had to stop himself from sentence completion but was so alarmed by the sound of his voice expressing aloud what he had meant to keep in his head he couldn’t make it in time. “…like uh no-no for teeth?”  

“Excuse me?” The desk woman slowly leaned her body against the doorframe and lifted her right brow. Nate noticed her eye color for the first time. They were blue. He nervously took note of this. His ears began to burn. He hadn’t meant to say what he just did. He really didn’t mean to say what he just did and he knew that, his acid reflux knew that, but desk woman did not at all know that. He figured the best course of action would be to apologize and explain that his diarrhea mouth had everything to do with his nerves and nothing to do with her lovely, lovely self and freedom, (that’s it!) freedom to do with and chew whatever she and her mouth pleases.

Nate took a breath, put on a smile and said, “My tooth is dying, I-.” Desk woman rolled her eyes, stepped to the side and Nate walked forward, forward until he was swallowed into the dental violet light.  

***

The tooth held it had lived a worldly life thus far but something about the way it had been touched in the strange bright light made it feel manipulated and dirty. Back in its familiar darkness and less woozy, the tooth was able to reflect more coherently on what was actually going on. It wondered if it had been so foolish to believe that its home would always be its home. It worried that it had been living a life that was never actually its own. It realized that if the events of today meant anything, it was that existence was fleeting and all any tooth ever has on its side was a base function not relating to its own happiness.

That night, the tooth and the toothbrush didn’t speak to one another during their nightly routine. The tooth began to realize that it was the last one to get the joke and could sense the toothbrushes’ pity. It wanted to throb and thrust itself down, down into the soft gum holes and disappear forever, never to be seen again.

***

Nate couldn’t sleep for a mixture of reasons but mostly from the emotional cocktail comprised of anxiety, ennui, self-pity and dysfunction sitting in his belly. As he closed his eyes for the tenth time, he willed himself to imagine something soothing. Something soothing. He thought. Something to soothe. A sooooooothing image. Nothing came. Figures. Nate snorted out the last of his breath, looked at the clock (5:27am) then opened the blinds behind his head. The early light outside reminded him of the violet light and threw him into a shame spiral.

            Why did you let that tooth get so fucking bad?

            What’s wrong with you?

            What are you so afraid of?

            Pain?

            No.

            Money?

            Yes.

            Admitting that after 32 years, you still don’t take care of yourself like your younger brother does and seemingly every other rational, functioning, prospering person you know at your age and younger?

            Yes?

            Seriously, what is wrong with you?

            I’m depressed.

            I’m afraid of life.

            But you’re afraid to die.

            Yes.

            So, I reiterate – what the fuck is wrong with you?

 

A ray of sunlight broke through the narrow alley that Nate’s bedroom window faced and cast a great shadow on the wall across from him. The shadow was explainable, the empty soda bottle chilling on his windowsill provided a smooth and menacing shape when hit by the morning sunlight. What wasn’t explainable was the sudden tsunami wave of fear and inadequacy that engulfed Nate as he imagined the shadow as a deity approaching, ready to take him away from his earthly home.

 

***

Dr. Oulette stared at the pile of intake forms on his desk and muttered one word over and over: fuck. He called Rachel into his office. Her slow approach was accented by her signature gum snap sonata.

“David?” Rachel’s hip opened the door and kept it open. “What’d you need? I got through the call list. Only four pick-ups. Joaquin Jackson is finally paid in full.”

“Suprising.”

“Only took 6 years. Pretty sure he lost the fillings by now.”

“Rachel, don’t judge. You know-“

“I know, sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“So what’dya want?” Rachel pillaged her pocket for her pen.

“This mandatory healthcare act is fucking fantastic until I have to intake 34 patients in three days and decide who to make priority. I need some front desk intel, if you will.”

“Okay?”

“If I’m going to make this work, and get us actual profit for my services, I need to find the exact right order to accept these patients in.”

“Okay?” Rachel hit her pen against her teeth three times, then scribbled, ‘riGht Order – PAtients (?) WTF Mr. O’ on her notepad. She touched the end of the pen to her temple. “Maybe something as simple as alphabetical order could work just as well?”

“No. I need the long vs the short term. Who, from what you could tell, is a long-term over a one off? We need to get the one/two visit customers first so we can collect the funds, while slowly courting the possible new relationships.” He pushed the intake mountain towards Rachel. “Just sift and organize – first calls top, descending from there down. Make sense?”

The snap of Rachel’s gum echoed through the empty office. The squeak of Oulette’s sneakers made Rachel’s blood pressure rise. The chill outside made the Dr. thankful that he could afford a car with remote start and seat warmers. The draft from Oulette’s exit shifted the intake mountain from the desk to the floor. Rachel sighed angrily and picked up the only form left on his desk. It read Nate Gowarski.    

 

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