So Now I Know What It Feels Like to Be Punched Inside the Mouth

Golf course, acrylic on canvas, across from me. Chair in descent, the whir of motors, the gleam of blinding light. The face looking over me, transformed into a masked, hook-and-mirror-bearing assailant, Open wide.

The scraping and the swallowing of concrete chunks, the occasional intermezzo to let the blood in my head return to normal dispersal throughout, a sip of water, press the silver button for more. Spitting blood, per normal. Upside down, hook, mirror, light, the occasional pointer: To get the bit at the botton of your teeth and prevent buildup, hold your toothbrush vertically. Good tip, almost as good as floss-rinse-brush / Moving on, to the flossing, the vigor, the head lift, the snap and the new sensation of her knuckles making contact with the left side of the inside of my teeth and then the right, full-flossing-force, ohmygodimsorry, ping-pong-punch-mouth. Try again. The vigor, the head lift… snap. The inside-mouth ping-pong-punch, again.

But this time, a bit of floss stuck. She tried with floss, then I had my turn. Overheard, from another of the open rooms, after a drill, while she was filling out a form and I was fiddling inside my mouth (needle-nose pliers optional): You have to wait to eat until your tongue starts to tingle: don’t eat before that, otherwise you might bite down on your tongue.

Finally, extrication, more apologies, obvious mortification. The 12-year-old dentist emerged, probably the same one who just educated the previous patient in methods for the avoidance of biting off one’s tongue, told me everything looked fine but came up with new problems that weren’t bothering me until he told me about them but didn’t bring up anything stuck in my back 19 so I assume the punch-remnant is out of there though even now, writing this, my jaw still fucking hurts.

Second round in the ring scheduled for November.