Coming of age in a dental office

I almost choked on the chlorine odor

of the dental room,

feeling squeezed on all sides, like a mouse in a trap.

In that grim chamber

where everything was white on white,

the walls, the windows, the shelves,

and even the wall sockets,

I lay nailed down to the dental chair, shaking in pain.

My swollen left cheek throbbed in scarlet agony.

My future was bleak. In fact, I didn’t have any future.

To my left, the drill gleamed ghastly from the steel tray.

Next to the drill, the extraction forceps grinned at my distress.

My life was over, or I wanted it to be over.

That was when HE emerged through the revolving doors that creaked as if they were about to fall off.

“Dr. Fedorov,“ said his badge. He was new. I never met him.

The whiteness of his dental gown was so bright; it made me squint.

A blue mask hid one quarter of his face. I couldn’t make out his features, but saw his shiny green eyes.

They made him look like a wise cat from a cartoon — that brought me some solace.

“Don't worry, we'll get this over,” he said, putting on a pair of blue gloves.

“Open your mouth wide, and keep it open.”

I obeyed.

“Yes, just like that,” he said. His latex fingers grazed my upper gum then over my swollen cheek.

“It is your wisdom tooth, he concluded, while looking down my miserable mouth, “We'll pull it out.”

I nodded.

He placed soft cotton balls against my swollen gums, with his warm fingers.

The injection prick came next — that didn't hurt. The numbness spread over my nose to under my tongue — and everywhere except for the right side of my face.

I saw he took extraction forceps. Uh, those inquisition pincers.

“Open wide,” he instructed me again, and capped my head firmly with his left hand.

Somehow, I felt both vulnerable and safe in his bear grip.

The monster pliers lowered into my mouth and circulated there in its darkness.

Then, CRACK! He yanked out my tormented tooth with a fast jab.

I felt nothing, only saw the blood-drenched wads of cotton which he, removing from my mouth, tossed into the trash.

My eyes watered. “It's over,” I heard him say, “Now, please rinse well and you can go home.”

That's when THAT happened, right THERE!

For a few seconds, my body got engulfed in a worldwide fire.

I didn't want to go home, I wanted MORE…

I wanted to lounge in this dental chair and listen to his voice and feel his hands, more.

There was something else... a longing for something…

But what?

I couldn't name it —

Raising my chin, I looked at him.

He returned my gaze — the corners of his eyes in joyful crow's feet.

“We're done,” he said, pulling off his mask.

His crimson lips curled upward just slightly.

I blushed, looked down, feeling embarrassed, and confused.

“Sorry…” he said, “for your tooth,” still smiling.

It was weird — I wished… he’d kiss me. He didn’t. He - did - not.

Yet, he was close, I inhaled his scent. He smelled of something, something so pleasant, like a tea tree oil with lemon…

Ahh, the bliss. It was like spooning slowly a rich chocolate cake in the coolness of midnight. I hoped he couldn't hear what I was thinking.

“You can go now,” he smiled again, pulling off his gloves.

I slid down from the dental chair, my head down, went out to the lobby, feeling miserable.

“Why, why am I not a golden goddess from a glossy magazine?" I thought.

“Why is my hair a haystack… Even my leggings have a hole… I hope he didn't notice.”

September, Russia, the 70s, I was thirteen.

Five years before I got my first boyfriend.

A few decades before I met my real love.

It was… my first and finest lesson on infatuation. 😊

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Dear Readers, thank you for reading! I write mostly about love and the meaning of life. Feel free to share stories with your loved ones. I also read my writing at public events as a professional performer. Special Thanks to Pamela Mayer — my tireless friend, editor, and collaborator.