Like Heaven

by Adam Jeffries Schwartz

I went to the dentist today, a new one--to me--he was actually kind of old. He was a joking kind of dentist, my favorite kind, not too prim or mortician-like; he didn't fill my mouth with drills and tools and whatever else before asking personal questions, no, he told jokes--some of them funny. It was just like heaven.

I'm at the dentist because everything falls out of my mouth. Yes, I am that powerful; it's just like heaven.

The tooth fell out years ago (some uncooked rice) at a market stand in Costa Rica. Lunch was otherwise delicious, the trip a disaster: little things kept poking me (glass, in the street) or being taken away (sandals I particularly liked, my trust, the will to live, hope).

Here's the future of the tooth: in five years or in ten--no can say--it will drop out again. It'll probably be sooner; I'm not just powerful, I'm also a tooth grinder with an acidic mouth--you're shocked, right? I know I was. While we all wait for the new crown to fall to pieces the stump underneath will retract, and who can blame him?

I'll cut the suspense, here's the end: I'll need a bridge or an implant; all this technology just for me, it's just like heaven. But I don't want it. The astronauts should have stayed home, played golf or done whatever else they do.

All this technology misses the point; the tooth left me--years ago--it's only an empty space now and I like the empty parts the best. I can't wait until the rest of the teeth jump ship also--they've just been holding me back, chattering away--concerned with only themselves; I'm looking forward to the solitude; I'm looking forward to the silence.

The market in Costa Rica had too many fruit, it had too much colour, it smelled like decay; it was just like heaven. The woman behind the counter had chubby arms, a frying plate and a blender. In addition to the uncooked rice, I ate: fried bananas, a mango shake, coffee grown just outside. I don't remember if she had any teeth at all. It was heaven.

The Author

Adam Jeffries Schwartz has a column, "Observations, After" on Sorrowland Press.