Baby Teeth

Old photo albums, ribbons from the fair, sea shells from vacations past, baby teeth... all of it went into my cardboard box, along with many other things from the past that I could do without thinking of every day. I make my way through my small house, looking over the knick-knacks on shelves, the photos on the mantle, and decide what stays and what goes.

Once my box is full, I begin dragging it through my living room and up the stairs to the attic. On my way there, however, the box breaks. So many memories begin to leek out, things that I had told myself I didn't need to remember or think of anymore, but they begin spilling onto the hardwood floor, demanding that I look at them. For a fleeting moment, it seems as though some of the stuffed animals sitting in there are trying to make an escape, to run and hide so that I'm forced to think of where they could be, pursuing them endlessly as they change their hiding places.

I shake my head, discarding the thought, though I toy with the idea as I gather everything and look for some kind of tape to use on the box. However, when I return with the clear packing tape in my hands, the box is at the foot of the stairs; empty and torn in many places. Everything inside of it, including the pile beside it has vanished seemingly into thin air.

"Is someone there?" I ask my empty house, hoping that this is just my partner playing a prank on me.

"Very funny Ryan, you got me." I force a smile and turn around in a circle, trying to see if I can spot them behind the furniture or down the hallway. I look at the clock on the wall and notice that it's only 4:30pm, they won't be home for another hour or so.

I see something moving in my peripheral vision, and I turn to face it, expecting to see the cat, but instead, I'm met with a small furry gremlin-like creature. I don't mean the furry, cute kind of gremlin, I mean the creepy lizard like ones. It stands on four legs like a feline would, and has ratty looking grey fur. The head is comically large, but it grins at me with a mouth of small human teeth, red eyes staring up at me. It stops a few inches from my feet and sits, its tail wrapping neatly around its paws. It looks as though it wants something, but I don't know what.

Its then that I hear the sound of something clicking, like dog nails on a tile floor. However, I don't have a dog and the noise is coming from above me. I look up to find a large spiderlike creature on the ceiling, staring back at me with black voids for eyes. I nearly scream and raise a hand to my mouth to cover the terrified gasp that escapes my lips. To make things worse, next comes a whooshing sort of noise, fabric blowing in the wind or softly caressing a silk sheet; that's what it sounds like. Instead, I look in the direction of the living room and see and an amalgamation of what looks like wood, metal, the body parts of various stuffed animals, and shards of glass. It has no face that I can see, but it slithers like a snake across the hardwood floor and raises its head like a cobra when it reaches where I'm currently frozen in shock.

I look back up at the ceiling to find that the spider is actually made up of seashells, and all the fragmented pieces thereof. It dawns on me then that these things are all representations of the memories I had put inside the box only moments earlier. The feline, baby teeth and memories of a bittersweet child hood, the spider, vacations where I once spent time in ignorance of what was truly going on in my fracturing family, and the serpent, all of things that cut me like broken glass, that tore me apart as though I were a ragdoll, the smiles that hid all of those things within wooden frames and glass faces. I'm still afraid, but a sudden clarity breaches my mind and everything makes sense; they're afraid too.

"I won't forget you, but we need to move on and figure out how to live together peacefully, can we do that?" I ask the creatures around me.

They show no sign of hearing me, and I shrug before I begin to tape up the box. I plan on getting these things to the attic where I can be left in peace and they can do what they like, as long as they leave me out of it. They run away as I fix the broken cardboard, which means that I'll have to find them and catch them somehow. The feline creature will be the hardest to find because of how small it is, but the others should be easy enough. I think to myself as I walk to the attached garage and search for the large fishing net and baseball bat.

I enter the house, take a deep breath, make sure the garage door is locked, and then begin searching for the creatures.

You will never be good enough.

The thought floods my mind, overwhelming me with a crippling dread. I feel cold, and I stand motionless. I know the voice ringing in my head, a voice I want to forget, to never hear again; my father.

You lack motivation and drive, are we not enough for you? You're so selfish, we make so many exceptions for you and this is how you treat me?

I want it to go away, but I can't do anything to keep it out. I take a few deep breaths and center myself, taking steps forward and potentially towards the source. I haven't thought things like this for a long, long time, and if I were the person I used to be a few years ago, I would have fallen to my knees and cried. I used to believe such things, but now, I don't put as much worth into them as I used to.

What gives you the right? Where do you get off?

I continue taking deep breaths, ignoring how the words cut me like shards of glass.

I am not worthless, and I'm doing my best. One day at a time. I repeat over and over again in my head, taking deep breaths and focusing on each step I take.

I reach the living room and stop, waiting to hear or see something, but instead, I find that the pictures, stuffed animals, and ribbons are all sitting in a neat pile on the coffee table in the center of the room. I approach it cautiously, thinking that there may be a surprise attack if I take my eyes off of it or make any sudden moves.

Nothing happens, and I carefully begin moving the items from the coffee table into the box. I make multiple trips until the table has been cleared off, and when I'm finished, I take up my net and bat before making my way upstairs. I enter the room, our guest room, and see the spider sitting on the bed. It stares me down and I wait for it to move, to make a sound, but there's nothing and the silence causes my anxiety to spiral.

I can feel anger radiating off of this thing, and I know that it's going to explode in rage at some point, but before it can, I open my mouth first. I'm tired of all of this, of being afraid of silence before someone speaks, especially when they're angry.

"Before you say anything, there's no reason for you to be angry with me because I did nothing to you. I won't let you intimidate me, nor will I allow you to hurt me in any way possible." I speak slowly, though I'm near a panic attack. My throat and chest feel tight, and I want to run away, but I know that this isn't real, and that I haven't done anything to deserve being yelled at.

The spider springs at me and I raise the bat to defend myself. I catch the thing on the side of the head, but it didn't have any effect. I start screaming and charge at it, intending to herd it to the box.

"I CAN YELL TOO! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!" I shout at the creature and begin to run towards it.

The spider springs back and away, out into the hallway it moves backwards, and then runs down the stairs and jumps into the box at the foot of the stairs. Turning into nothing more than what it had been; sea shells and sea shell fragments. Two down, one more to go. I'm about to go back up the stairs when suddenly I feel a pain in my leg. I look down to find that the feline has bitten my calf, right where my old scars are. I'm sure it would hurt a lot more than it does if I hadn't been wearing knee high socks beneath denim jeans. Baby teeth sink into my pant leg, and I cry out from the pressure behind the jaws of this creature.

The old scars ache, and for a fleeting moment, I'm reminded of all the pain I've been through and endured. All of the words that tugged the rug from beneath my feet, all the things that left unseen scars all over my mind and body. Everything hits me at once, and though I'm tempted to swat at the creature until it lets go, I know it won't help. I've tried fighting my depression with force, which didn't work and resulted in a few scars, so, I know that this requires a gentler approach.

So, instead of trying to forcefully remove the thing, I sit down on the stairs and reach down to pet it. It growls low in its throat and pins its ears when it sees my hand, but I don't care. I gently rub its head, finding that the fur is surprisingly soft. It doesn't move, it just sits there with its mouth around my leg. I move on to the ears, scratching behind them, and I can feel the pressure lessening, the teeth retracting. Instead of growling, it begins purring deep from within its chest. I don't stop petting it, instead, when it's completely let go of my leg, I gently lift it and set it in my lap, still stroking its fur. Eventually, it begins to almost dissolve, leaving behind the faint smell of burnt popcorn and wet asphalt, and the baby teeth. I carefully put the baby teeth in a bag and then set them in the box.

With that done, I close and tape the box, label it memories that don't need to be looked back on, and carry it to the attic. I set the box in a far corner, but I make sure that it's beside the window and make sure that it gets plenty of light. I leave the attic after that's done, and when I reach the bottom of the stairs, Ryan is standing there waiting for me.

"I didn't hear you com in." I tell them, getting their attention.

They give me a small smile before giving me a bewildered look.

"What's with the net and baseball bat?" They ask.

"Spring cleaning? A squirrel got in and I chased it out." I say with a shrug and a goofy grin.

They grin back and we make small talk about our day, but I leave out the most important, and also the craziest, part of mine. I don't tell them about the creatures, I don't tell them about the memories, I don't say a word, because they don't have to know.