Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
Called my Dentist. And it's, I don't know what it is, but every few years I write stories
about dentists. I really don't know why. I can't really figure that out. But, it's called
My Dentist. I think what prompted this story is I was actually sitting in the dentists,
I was sitting in the dentists chair and the dentist got a phone call, he got a phone call
while I was sitting in the chair and it sounded really odd, there was something going on,
and I was trying to figure it out. I took it from there. He kind of left me sitting
there, there with thing in my mouth the (sucking sound). I took that thing out and he said,
"Very good", I'd hire you as an assistant. My Dentist.
He answers the phone and then listens for a long time.
"Yes," he finally says. "I understand." Then he hangs up.
"My goodness," he says, looking inside my mouth. "How long has it been? I feel like
I'm visiting a town, an old decaying town I haven't seen in years. "
"I ignored one reminder," I tell him. I remember thinking how bad can it be if I
just missed one reminder. "I don't send reminders anymore," he says.
"People ignore them anyway." "You mean patients? I ask.
"Yes, my patients," he says, "to decide for themselves when the pain is bad enough when
they know they can't hold out another day and when they call me there is desperation
in their voice. Is this you, Mr Zimberg, I ask? Sol? Is that you? Why it doesn't sound
anything like you 'Help, doctor,' he says. 'Please, I need help.' "But Sol," I tell him,
"I'm booked. I'm booked till December. It's July you see. You should have answered your
reminder back in April."
And the whole time he's telling me this he's scraping and knocking and moving my tongue
about this way and that inside and out. "You have a funny tongue," he says. "Anyone else
ever tell you you've got a funny tongue?" "Well, one time my wife. . ." I say. "Of course,"
he says. "That would make sense. Look," he says. "If you're interested I can always send
you to a tongue man. I know a lot of tongue men if you're interested. "
"Maybe," I say, "if you think it's. . ." The phone rings.
. . . dangerous," I say.
"Yes, he says not to me but into the phone." I do not understand. I just don't. It seems
I've done everything you've asked and still . . . You won't have to do that. It will be
there. I assure you. It will still be there. "
He hangs up. He comes back to me and tells me to keep my mouth closed. Just for a while.
"Trust me," he says. "I'm your *** dentist. Of all the dentists out there you chose me
for a reason. Am I right?" "Yes," I say, though I don't really remember why I chose him. "If
there's a problem," I tell him, "I can always . . ."
"Always what?" He asks. "Floss?" "Is that your solution?" "No," I say. "We'll, let's
hope not," he says. "Because you are way beyond that now. Way, way, way beyond that. We all
are!"
The phone rings again. "Angela!" He calls out to his assistant. "Yes, doctor," she says.
"Do not answer that phone!" "But what If it's you know who?" She asks as if she knows "you
know who" a lot better than she really ought to know "you know who," but the phone keeps
ringing. Then it stops. "Damn it!" He shouts. "Do you think . . . "
Then it rings again. "Answer it!" He yells at Angela. "Hurry!" She answers it. "Dr. Liverstone's
office?" She asks. "No, Yes, No, Yes, of course you're not. We are. I'm sorry. Yes, this is
Dr. Liverstone's office. I'm so sorry. I did not mean to ask it as a question. Of course
I know it is. It just came out that way . . . Dr. Liverstone's office! Dr. Liverstone's office!
Is that better? Oh thank you. Thank you. It will not happen again. Thank you for understanding.
Yes the dentist is right here. It's for you," she says to Dr. Liverstone, handing him the
phone.
At first, Dr. Liverstone listens but says nothing. Then he says, smiling at Angela,
"Dr. Liverstone speaking? You're damn right I know who I am. Look, I told you. I don't
know. About 8 or so. Just keep her tied up. Are you good at knots? I have a feeling you're
not very good at knots. Sure she's getting loose. What do you think? Look I've got a
patient here with his mouth open. I'll talk to you later."
I picture other patients as well in other rooms all with their mouths still open waiting
for his word to close them again. I wonder how many he has never told to close their
mouths who walk the streets now still afraid, still waiting, for his word, whose mouths
remain wide open, swallowing flies, teaching, shopping, applying for jobs, looking like
Zombies, too afraid to close them.
He hangs up the phone. "Women," he says. Just like that. "Women," very neutral like. Very
matter of fact very non-judgmental as if he forgets to be judgmental just at that moment
when he should be judgmental the most. "Yes," I agree, feeling safe to agree, offering
my own non-judgmental take on this topic. "Women," I say. "You sound bitter," he says
to me. "Are you in pain?" "No," I say. "Quite the contrary. I've never
felt better in my life" "Ah!" He says. "Not a good sign. Not a good
sign at all. We'll have to do something about that. "
"That's okay," I tell him."I'll try to live without the pain. "
"But you won't," he says."You won't live without it very long. That's just when the devil likes
to go in for the kill, when we've never felt better in our lives. We'll have to do something
about that." For the first time, unconsciously perhaps, he begins to finger his drill, but
then the phone rings. He answers it. He listens for a long time. Then he says. "It's not my
fault. I warned you. I told you she'd get away." Then he hangs up.
"Hmmm," I utter. "Hmmm is right," he says. "Hmmmm, Hmmmmm,
Hmmmm," he says. "Case in point. Exactly what I'm talking about. A man goes weeks pain free.
He thinks everything is just peachy keen and you know what?
I don't answer. "You know what?" He asks again.
"No," I say. "What?" "It's not!" He exclaims.
"Okay," I say. "Don't patronize me," he says.
The phone rings. He says, "Yes? Yes. Yes. Yes. No. No. Yes. I don't understand. Why
are you bringing that up again? I told you I would. Yes. Understood. No. It's nothing.
Just some sensitivity. It won't have to be pulled. I understand your concern. All right,
we'll have it pulled. Why do I use the passive? What are you a *** English professor?
Because we're all going to do it. Me, my assistant, the shmuck who runs the hardware store down
the block, the guy in the chair with his mouth open, the guy with that chainsaw butchering
half of Texas; all of us are going to pull that *** out from its roots like
it's a big old oak tree. Comprendez vous? Okay, sure that's up to you. It's always up
to you. I understand, you want more time. Sure we all want more time. Good luck. Oh
and you might want to rent Marathon Man." He hangs up.
Then he tells me to open my mouth again wide so I open it again this time as wide as one
of those hippopotamuses with a stick in its mouth. "Good," he says. Then he looks inside.
He reminds me of a thief casing out someone's house when they're not home or, as in my case,
tied up in the basement.
"Hmm, he says. "Interesting. A little wider," he says. "Ah there it is. I knew it was there
someplace. The SOB was hiding. Can't hide from me you little ***. I'll find you
eventually. You can't go far. Not far at all. Okay, he says to me. You can close up now.
I'll see you in six months."
I thought about it for a moment and then I thought maybe someone else- and most of the
time that meant me-would be satisfied about leaving, about being dismissed by the dentist
for another six months, but I wasn't leaving without further explanation.
It sounded like you found something back there, I said. What about it?"
"Nothing yet,' he tells me. "Nothing to worry about. . ."
"Fine," I said. Then I'll just. . ." "Yet!" He suddenly shouts. "Nothing yet"
"Yet?" I ask. Well if not yet . . ." "When?"
"Yes, when?" I ask." "You'll let me know," he says.
"You mean . . .?" "Yes, for a while, who knows how long, things
will be going along swimmingly And then one morning you'll feel a slight ache. Oh it's
nothing you'll say to yourself. Just a little sensitivity.
Nothing serious, nothing worth calling that crazy dentist about. But then the ache will
become a pain, the pain a consistent throbbing, and so on and so forth until one day you'll
wake up with your mouth the size of a football." "How will I know when to call? Should I call
when it's an ache or should I wait till it becomes a pain or something between an ache
and a pain or a pain and a throbbing or an inconsistent throbbing and a consistent throbbing?"
"You'll have to figure those things out for yourself."
"But you must know." "Let's just say I'm holding this one hostage.
I have the right to hold at least one tooth hostage per visit. I mean after all you only
come once a year." "Hostage? I ask. "What do you mean? I could
just as well go to a different dentist," I tell him.
"That would be like going to a different kidnapper," he says. "You really want someone who has
never seen the inside of your mouth before-- all its ins and outs its nooks and crannies--
tell you what to do with that tooth? I'll know before you do when you need to come in.
Everyone's mouth is my mouth. I feel your pain. I wake up in the middle of the night
with my tooth throbbing and I say to myself, 'It's probably Goldberg.' I told that ***
he was due for a good throbbing if he didn't come in."
"I'll come in when it's an ache, then." "Would you really?"
"If you say I should." "What about now?" I ask him. What can you
do now?" "A preemptive strike you mean? Like maybe
pull it out is that what you want?" "If that's what it takes."
"Takes for what?" "To avoid pain."
"If it only would." "Why wouldn't it?"
"Think of the poor tooth next to it. And the poor tooth next to him and so on and so forth.
Look it's like a set of dominos in there. One goes, they all go. That is God's plan.
Whatever you do, do not try to be the dentist here!"
Then the phone rings. "All right, I'll get the two ply. Look are
you the only one entitled to a mistake. Sometimes other people make them too. Look, it's untraceable.
There is no way they can trace it. What else do you want? Two ply? What else is there?
Is there really still one ply out there? Pot Roast? Fine. Gluten free? Oh, no. That's a
different matter. That's where I draw the line. Hello? Hello? Are you still there? No?
Fine. But you will not have it your way." Then he hangs up
When he comes back I think about getting on his good side, showing him how much I appreciate
him as my dentist. "How's the family?" I ask.
"A mess, he says. "My daughter is missing and some guy keeps calling claiming he kidnapped
her but I know he's lying. I know it's her boyfriend. I recognize his voice and I can
hear her giggling in the background. This is how she gets her thrills and who am I to
deprive her of her thrills? And besides, at least, I think, she's still not on drugs . . .yet."
"Yet," I agree. And your wife?" I ask. "Also not yet. But just as bad. Let's the
dog escape. Ties her up with a string like she's tying up a cake box."
"Sorry," I said. "She'll come back. She always does."
"Your wife?" "No, the dog. The dog is smarter than all
of us." "And my tooth," I say.
"What about it?" "I decided you don't have to hold it hostage
anymore." "Of course. I do."
"No you don't. I'm handing it over to you. Pain and all. My pain is your pain. The moment
I feel the ache I will begin to think of you and how I am not alone-how you too feel my
pain." "Feel, yes," he says, "but not feel feel,
do you know what I mean?" "No," I say.
"I mean not really," he says. "Of course not."
"There are too many of you." "I understand."
"To feel anything." "I don't believe that."
"You're making a mistake, a terrible mistake," he says.
"Thank you anyway for being my dentist," I say.
"It's my job," he says. "No, you're a good dentist," I tell him. "And
. . ." "And what?" he asks.
"A good man," I say. "You're wrong," he says. "If I were a good
man I'd kill my daughter's boyfriend and never let my wife near the dog."
"I don't think so," I tell him. "See you in six months?"
"Yes, six months," he says, "unless . . ." "Unless what?" I ask.
There is a long pause. Then he says, "Look, I think you should know
something." "Yes?" I ask.
"Sometimes," he says, "there is a moment between ache and pain..."
"Yes," I say. "When there is no ache and there is no pain."
"Yes," I say. "And no one can tell you when that comes,
not even your dentist." "Yes," I say.
"But you'll know it when it comes." "Yes," I say.
"Because," he says, "it is the moment when not just your teeth, but the whole world,
all of existence, will hang in the balance." "Yes," I say.
"So you agree with everything I'm saying?" he says.
"Yes," I say. "How else would I know when to come back at all? How else would I know
when a reminder becomes a warning, a warning a threat, a threat becomes—becomes something
much too late?" "Yes," he says. "I understand."
"Yes," I say. "You understand." The phone rings. "Yes?" he says. Then there
is a long pause." Yes. I understand," he says. "I'll do whatever you want but just let me
talk to her. Hello? Hello? Is that you? Are you all right? Has he done anything bad to
you? Good. Good. Okay, so I just thought you should know that in case he lets you go, dinner
is going to be at 8. And the dog, yes, the dog will be waiting for you at the front door
as always and yes we're having Pot Roast-gluten free- Yes, yes of course you can bring him.
Why the hell not? He's part of the family already, isn't he?"