Teeth

This flash fiction piece was written as a story companion to the day 8 drawing prompt Teeth from the 2020 Inktober prompt list. Click here to see the drawing.

I know I’m not supposed to mess with the dentist’s tool when they leave me alone, but I’ve never been great with “supposed to.”

They’re so interesting and strange, looking more like medieval torture devices than medical tools. Then again, I guess those things were one and the same in the 1600s. I’m about to pick one up and fiddle with it when the door opens again.

“Well, hello, Mr. …” He consults the chart in his hands. “Yoo-lah? Am I pronouncing that right?”

“Yes, Ula, it’s an eastern European name. But you can call me Drake.”

“Alright, Drake. How are you today?”

“Doing just fine, and yourself?”

“Very well, thank you.” He sits down on one of those tiny round swivel stools they always have in medical offices and scoots toward me. I briefly wonder if part of dental and medical school is practicing navigating on one of those. I’m picturing classes of students squatting over tiny seats and crab walking down hallways, just to make sure their thighs are strong enough for the task.

“I thought the hygienist was going to come back in for the cleaning?”

“Yes, of course, that’s how things usually go. But she noticed something she was concerned about and wanted me to do my check first.”

“Concerned? What, do I have an abscess or something?”

“No, it’s your incisors.”

Inside my mouth, I run my tongue over my top front teeth. I was worried about this.

“What about them?”

“When she was flossing you, her hand grazed the left one and it cut her, so she’s concerned it’s been chipped. Incisors can be pointy, of course, but they’d only be that sharp if they’d suffered some kind of trauma.”

Alarm bells are ringing in my head, but I tell myself to take a deep breath and calm down. How could he know, even if he looks closely? He wouldn’t believe me even if I told him straight to his face, anyway, so it’s not like sharp incisors are gonna give me away.

“Well, I don’t remember chipping any teeth, but yeah, we should check that.”

“Right you are.”

He pushes a button on the side of my chair and it starts to slowly recline.

“If you could open as wide as is comfortable.”

The little mirror on a bent stick starts pinging around in my mouth and I count to ten to calm the urge to bite down.

“Wow.”

“Wha-” I mumble around the mirror.

“Well, she’s right, your tooth is as sharp as a knife, but it’s not chipped at all. In fact, they’re both so sharp that I wonder …”

“Wah?”

“I mean, I was about to ask if you’d had them sharpened, but there’s no marks or grooves that indicate you did.”

I knew I should have cooked up a story about this. That my family has a long line of unusually sharp incisors. That wouldn’t even have been a lie. If Dr. Carson hadn’t died and put Happy Smiles Dentistry out of business, I wouldn’t even have to be here right now! I should have bitten her, that would have kept her as my dentist for the indefinite future. Then again, who would keep working as a dentist once they’d turned?

The seconds tick by as the dentist inspects my mouth with increasing interest and my panic builds. Maybe I could drain him real quick and no one would notice, but how would I carry his body out of here without anyone seeing? Why do dentist’s offices have to be so dang small??

“Huh.”

I try to keep playing dumb, hoping he doesn’t notice the sweat dripping from my hairline into my ear.

“You have, by far, the most interesting teeth I’ve ever seen in my life.” He takes the mirror out of my mouth and puts it back in his pocket.

“Is … is that all?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. I’ll just make a note in your file for the hygienists to be careful around your incisors when you visit, that should take care of it.”

I try to sigh in relief without making any noise.

“Unless,”

Oh no, oh no, what’s he gonna —

“We could file them down for you? We do some cosmetic dentistry here, and if just grazing against them cut Daphne’s hand, I can’t imagine you don’t hurt yourself every once in a while.”

“No!” I nearly shout it and the dentist jumps. Clearing my throat, I choke out a laugh to cover. “Sorry, that came out stronger than I meant it to. No, I’m kind of, uh, nostalgic about my teeth. I got them, uh, I inherited them from my mother.” That’s not a lie, either, when it comes down to it.

“Well, alright.” He makes some notes on my file and reaches out to shake my hand. “Hope we’ll see you again on your next 6 month visit!

Smiling and relieved, I grab his hand with vigor.

“Yes, I think you’ll be seeing me back here for many years to come.”