Piss on my shit job for not providing better dental insurance. You spend your whole life slaving away to fill some other asshole’s pockets and what do you have to show for it? A busted back and rotted luxury bones. Not that it matters, no dentist could fix this. I’m sorry, I’m cranky. My goddamn mouth hurts.
My ex-wife, Janet, called me a pushover. It drove her crazy except when she wanted to get her grubby little fingers on my wallet. She left me six months ago. I don’t talk about the way she laughed in my face as she fingered the last of the loose bills on her way out.
Instead, as I always have, I swallowed my words like teeth. The roots pricked my tight throat on their way down. My mouth is painted in copper.
But I guess that isn’t really the point. This morning, I woke up with a toothache. As I slid my finger across the gum, dread hit as I grazed across a bump. An abscess. There’s no way it’s not. The tooth jiggled as I jabbed at it with my tongue. At least I won’t have to spend any money.
I stumbled to the kitchen, took a long pull from last night’s whiskey bottle and reached into my mouth. The pads on my finger tips dented with effort, yet I hesitated. What if it doesn’t come out on the first pull? What if I make it worse? And then I thought about how Janet would have rolled her eyes and scoffed.
The tooth gave easily with a quick pop that I felt in my jaw. What I imagined to be an even mixture of pus and blood filled my mouth.
I turned to the sink determined to spit, begging God not to have my reflexes kick in. Please don’t let me swallow it. My stomach knotted as the liquid hit the sink with a firm splat. I washed the dry heave that rattled my body down with another heavy gulp of whiskey.
It hit me in that moment: I’m a loser. My ex-wife had left me, I’m drinking at 9 in the morning, and I’m ripping out my fucking teeth. The only win I’ve had lately is managing to spit into the clean side and not the one filled to the brim with month-old dirty, food crusted dishes. I screamed and slammed my fist on the counter. The sharp pain that shot up from my hand through my elbow brought me back.
A sudden sharp and steady rapping at my door threatened to unhinge me again.
My neighbor, Debbie, has a distinct knock. The quick raps spelling, “I’m a miserable cunt” in a code that only made sense to my alcohol soaked, serotonin-deficient brain. The small snicker wormed its way down my chest, tickling the upper bits of my stomach. If Debbie had let up, hysteria may have slithered into my stomach and made its home there.
I cleared my sore throat and cracked the door. Even as we make eye contact, her fatty biceps bounced like a speed bag taking a beating as she continued to knock. Frustrated, I step out onto the mat, putting myself between the door and her over-excited fist.
“Dan, I’ve absolutely had it with the noise! You can’t— ” Her eyes stop first on what I’m sure was crusted blood on my mouth and chin and once more on the bottle I’m white knuckling, “Jesus Christ, are you drunk? What in the world are you doing in there?” Her small chin dove into the much larger double chin as disgust spread across her fat, wrinkled face.
Eyes lowered in shame, I opened my mouth to apologize. Before I could find the words, another voice— a voice belonging to someone who had a pack of unfiltered Camels and glass shards for breakfast every morning answered for me.
“Why don’t you fuck right off, you nosy old cow!” Shocked, my teeth rattled as I slammed my mouth shut.
Debbie stumbled as she took two defensive steps back, her biceps wobbling as she threw her hands up between us. Her thin lips opened and shut like a fat fish trying to breathe air. I sputtered, desperately trying to apologize. The voice inside my mouth responded again. “Eat shit, hag!”
I slapped my hand over my mouth and scrambled to shut myself back into my apartment, leaving Debbie purple-faced on the doorstep. This time, she didn’t knock.
I ran to my bathroom and opened my mouth. My heart slammed erratically, missing beats. On the bottom row, just behind my canine tooth, a small man’s head bobbled just above my gum line. “Hi there, Dan. Sorry about taking over back there, but somebody had to tell that old pig to leave, and we both know it wasn’t going to be you! Things are going to change for you now, man. Oh, you’re gonna love it! No more taking any shit, Dan. No more swallowing teeth!” His smile beamed across his small face, exposing needle-shaped porcelain teeth.
I closed my mouth, slowly this time. The stress had clearly become too much. I was overworked, I wasn’t sleeping enough. Hell, I’d been drinking since the day Janet left. I’d lost my mind. I stared at my bloody face and shirt in the bathroom mirror and cried. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the tooth out. Maybe the infection had hit my brain. Maybe I was in so much pain, I was hallucinating. My thoughts raced.
I looked away as I put my finger back into my mouth to confirm my suspicions when a sharp pain shot through the tip of my finger.
“You little shit! You bit me!” I screamed at the little man in my mouth.
“You’re damn right,” the little man growled, “and I’ll do it again. We’re friends, Danny boy, and don’t you forget it.”
I eyed the pliers still on the counter from last week’s plumbing attempt. I needed him out.
My hand shook as I snatched the pliers off the counter and raised them to my open mouth. The little man screamed and cursed as I shut them firmly, one side on his forehead, the other against his dark, saliva-soaked hair. I had to be careful. I didn’t want to crush his head, what if he grew back? No, I wanted him out.
There was no pop this time, only pressure as I plucked his head from my mouth. I was rewarded with sweet silence. I threw his head into the toilet, vomited, and flushed. The pliers dropped from my weak grip, and I headed to bed.
Drunk and exhausted from the pain, I collapsed. I don’t remember falling asleep or dreaming. Only darkness.
I woke up twenty minutes ago in agony. I’m screaming and pulling at my hair. Debbie isn’t knocking. It isn’t just one this time. It’s all of them.
All of my teeth hurt.