O how I've hated them. Ever since I've had memory, I've hated them. Back when I was smaller than the chair itself, the chair that seemed to go on forever into the wall, with my feet not large enough to make any sort of kick or dent in it, despite how angry or how fearful the experience all seemed. And then like that's not enough, they have to go and put those obnoxious posters upon the walls, pictures of teeth, or that of a single tooth, with arms and legs and a large toothbrush in hand, smiling the whole time. Imagine the logic of that- a tooth with teeth! Well if that's the case, then who brushes my tooth's teeth, I used to think as the hygienist lowered me- much too far to feel comfortable and, leaning over with her mask, all I'd be left to see was her clunky mascara that really could have gone without that second coat, as my mom would say. Shining the light over my eyes, the squeak of movements every time she moved the lop-sighted light was just enough to blind me with brightness. And the overpowering stench of uprooted tooth dust from one wall over was just enough to insidiously merge me towards terror, as the dentist drilled into the mouth of another that soon would become my own.
"Shut your eyes if the light bothers you," the hygienist would say. I'd watch as her lids wrinkled with humor as she said this, and I knew she was smiling from under her mask. I guess smiling was one of those things you just did when you wanted to, even if no one could see. The mask she was wearing proved that.
I shut my eyes. Only now I couldn't see the silly poster on the ceiling, hanging right above, waiting for me to notice it. It's a picture of a tooth that's got decay. For some reason it owns this wicked smile and looks like it wants to harm me. But luckily the light is too bright and I just close my eyes, and allow for this dumb thought to exude from my mind like the neighboring smell of fresh fluoride.
Now her fingers are inside me. Probing and scraping in their examination of oral wilderness, determined to diagnose my six months worth of lazy maintenance.
"You know you should really brush more along the side here," she says as she presses the spot with her gloved finger. The things they notice, I swear. Nothing gets past 'em. "Do you floss everyday?" she asks with her thumb and index finger resting upon my tongue and cheek. Unable to release anything comprehendible, I am suddenly mute, and so I try to nod but can't since her fingers are pressed and holding onto the side of my jaw, and so instead I just mutter an unadorned 'umh hmn,' from beneath the light. I say this grunt as a means of indicating that yes, I floss everyday, even though this is not the case.
So far though, what I've described, has not been so bad. It actually has never been, only I've made it into seeming as such. For what reason this is, I do not know, but perhaps because the dentist is that person you are supposed to fear and loathe all at once, you do it because everyone else around you does. Nothing ever tragic has happened to me at the dentist, and yet somehow my body thinks otherwise.
Now I am older. I am 29 and still my feeling regarding the dentist hasn't changed. At times I've gotten so nervous, and cried (yes, I even cried!) that I could not bring myself to return. I switched dentists more than socks. More than boxer shorts. More than infinity. So here's the thing. I was having this pain in the back of my jaw because I'm sure it was a cavity, or something that shouldn't be growing within the rim of my gum line. I put it off and put it off, till finally, well, I could stand it no longer. So I had to go.
I asked my best friend Brad to recommend someone. Figuring that he just got back from Iraq, he should surely know someone who could be of help. The last doctor he recommended to me was through his military coverage, and because this doctor had been so good and understanding with those trying to psychologically deal with pain, I figured that maybe the dentist would be too. Plus I thought that if I went to someone that he knew, I could think of Brad the whole time over there fighting and dodging exploding fodder, going days without sleep or comfort and know that were I even half the man, well that I should be able to handle a little cavity for Christ sakes.
He recommended me to a Dr. Pulver, only fifteen minutes away from where I worked. I set aside some time to leave work early that day, hoping that I could at least enjoy the afternoon, (or whatever was left of it) once the appointment was over. It was a small parking lot, but I was able to find a spot easily since there weren't a lot of cars. Walking in, the waiting room looked as any other- magazines scattered upon the tables, an eclectic mix of Hollywood tabloids and who is sleeping with whom. 'What a pitiful existence', I thought just then, to have your relationship troubles scattered upon these shallow, breast-filled pages just so someone like me could have something to read before entering the dentist's office. Made life seem so trivial and my concerns for pain all the more intense.
"Can I help you?" the attractive blonde woman asked me from behind the counter.
"Uh, hi. I'm Po Lam. I'm here for a two o'clock appointment," I told her. The woman eyed me and smiled before she spoke.
"Yes, that's with me," she said. "C'mon back," she instructed, as she wandered over by the door, and opened it to permit me to pass over into her world of smiles and soreness. I have to admit that although I'm in no way sexist, I was surprised to learn this attractive woman was my dentist.
"Dr. Pulver. My appointment is with Dr. Pulver," I said again, just to be sure.
"Just call me Gretchen," she said with a smile. She walked in front of me with a distinct shake, showing off her svelte legs and tight ass that was evident beneath such a short skirt. I think she knew I was eyeing it. Her chest too, was nothing to complain about- big and busty, (unlike my fiancée Margaret) and her blonde hair tied up into a clip. I'd always liked blondes, and I chuckled to myself, thinking that if Brad had mentioned she'd looked like this, that I would have made an appointment a whole lot sooner.
"Have a seat," she said with a smile, showing off her perfectly white teeth, and patting the vinyl chair with her pink polished fingernails. I sat down in it and felt childish. My feet were too big and dangled away from my body like two awkward clunks that did not know whether to keep themselves upright, or fall sideways in a sort of frog-like fashion. Either way, their positioning made me look dumber than I would have liked. It was also odd to notice how quiet the office was. Usually dentist's offices had several patients at once being cleaned or checked, hygienists bustling by over the electric sounds of the drill, payments being made and people waiting, but today there was no one.
"It's awful quiet around here. Did everyone get a vacation except you?" I asked.
"Oh, I only have two hygienists, and they are both actually in training today, to extend their certifications. You know, boring dentist stuff."
"Oh," I said.
"So we're all alone, just you and me today," she said. I laughed nervously, and for a whole slew of reasons. I had made up in my mind at that point that this would either be the greatest or worst experience of my life, depending on how I chose to look at it.
"So Po is it? Is that how you say it?" she asked me while eyeing my chart. I admit that I was a bit distracted by her gaze, as I watched her pull the strand of dental floss across my purview, and then clip it from its source.
"Oh yeah," I said.
"It's interesting. What is it?" she asked while lowering the chair. I admit that I was confused by the question- maybe it was the light in my eyes, but I had to ask her to repeat herself.
"Is it Chinese?"
"Well, I'm Taiwanese," I informed her.
"Oh. Isn't that pretty much the same thing?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On who you ask."
"Oh. 'Cause my ex is Chinese, and he said that Chinese and Taiwanese were pretty much the same thing."
"My mother wouldn't think so," I said.
"Sorry, does that offend you?" she asked. I wanted to tell her that nothing she could do could ever offend me. Hell, she could spit in my face with that water shooter thingy, and I'd look at it as a baptism.
"Po Lam. Cute," she said to herself. "Poor little Lam, I won't slaughter you," she said with a chuckle. It was a bad joke but I forced myself to laugh anyway, as a means of avoiding embarrassment, and pretending that I'd never heard that one before. Of course I'd never heard it. And nor did I ever hear the whole 'Edgar Allen Po' joke, or references to ravens or people shouting 'nevermore' out from nowhere. Margaret had made that one after a few dates, once she was comfortable enough for me to hear her squawk like what was supposed to sound like a raven, but really it sounded more like an overgrown chicken.
"Isn't that the name of a Teletubby?" she asked.
"Huh?"
"Po. Isn't that also the name of one of the Teletubbies? I could have sworn…" she trailed off.
"Oh…yeah…right…I suppose it is…lucky me," I said as I leaned back and opened my mouth, hoping this would give her the hint to quit talking and just begin. My comment about being lucky made her laugh. But after scraping a few minutes, she spoke through the mask, telling me that I seemed tense. Imagine that. Me. Tense.
"Can I do anything to relax you?" she asked. I began to nervously laugh.
"Do you really want to go there?" I asked as I lifted my head by the strain of my neck, that now felt ever more burdened by its weight. A smashed grapefruit dangling from a twig, I lifted it just enough to look down at my feet that had decided to cross themselves at the ankle. At least they looked a little better than before. Hoping too, that I had not gotten an erection throughout this time, I asked her again to clarify what she meant.
"You know Po, if there's anything you need to help relax you, you can just ask." Any guy would have known what I was thinking at that moment, and what I wanted to ask for, but instead I just played it safe and asked if she had any tequila.
"You like margaritas?" she asked.
"Sure, I mean, I don't want one now, but a shot would always be nice," I said in a joking manner.
"Wait here," she said as she got up and went into the back room. I sat there a moment feeling helpless and stupid all at once. I didn't expect her to think I was serious. She was gone for what felt like a long time- just long enough for me to adjust the situation going on in my pants. Damn. Margaret would kill me if she knew I was flirting with my dentist. After a few moments she returned with two shot glasses, one in each hand.
"Here, you drink one and I'll drink one. Then we can really have some fun," she said as she handed me the glass. What was I to say? If I rejected her, she might think I was rude, and if I went along with it, then… aw hell. I just took the glass in hand.
"Hey, you know, Dr. Pulver, I…"
"It's Gretchen," she reminded me. And I only wanted to remind her that I was only kidding, and that laughing gas would have done the trick. But before I could object, she downed the shot in one single swig, leaning her sensuous, soft neck backwards, as I watched the tequila go down her smooth esophagus. I downed my shot as well, and while still staring at her neck, I noticed her small silver chain with a red heart set against her peach colored nape. How vulnerable she looked only a few seconds ago, swallowing the liquid beneath such blooming pink skin, where below her a fresh pulse could be seen. When we both finished our shots, we could not help but to laugh.
"Shhh. Don't tell. I could lose my license you know."
"I wouldn't hear of it," I said as she lowered me and found my mouth.
