Wisdom Teeth

The office smelled like ammonia.

“We are going to remove all three.” 

She blinked. “What?”

The oral surgeon pointed to the x-ray. “You know, you’re lucky, the bottom ones are real pains to take out but you only have one.” His hair was gray with black grease stained strands slicked back on the sides. 

“My dentist told me I didn’t have any wisdom teeth.” 

They set the appointment for the removal. A month from today.

The whole way home she had to stop herself from reaching into her mouth to feel the nub on the bottom right. The top ones hadn’t come in yet. She discovered the tooth—fang— a few days ago. Poking through the gum, it looked like stalagmite in a cave. The doctor said something about bacteria and jaw pain and how she absolutely needed them out. He said she’d need three days to recover. On the third day she would rise.

In the breezeway to the apartment, Daniella struggled to get her key out of her pocket while balancing her five packages. 

“Kitty, would you mind?” They met last spring at the community garden. Daniella was diligent about her flower beds.

“Sure. My key has been having some issues though, since it snowed—”

Daniella shifted her weight under the packages “You just have to jiggle it a little.” 

Kitty put the key in the lock, failing to force a turn. “I’ve been meaning to ask the building—”

“Here.” Unceremoniously, Daniellad tossed her packages to Kitty, taking her key.

The key stayed stuck, refusing to budge. Kitty wanted to say I told you so, but a tall man in running shoes leaving the building opened the door for them. 

The stairway reeked of weed. Once inside Daniella took her boxes back. 

“You should get a new key.” They separated at the stairs, Daniella was directly below her.

Kitty didn’t like living alone. In fact, until recently she’d never done it. From birth through college she has always shared a room. There were some perks of living alone, like walking around without pants on. Everything was set up the way she wanted. Except for the Christmas decoration boxes that she’d been neglecting to put back in the crawl space above the closet in the living room. The only other downside was that the slightest creak in the night could convince her someone was lurking in the shadows.

One bed, one bath, one living room, one kitchen, one person. In college her and her roommates put up posters and fairy lights. Every surface had a trinket or pieces of art. Her current apartment was lackluster. The faded yellow pastel paint cracked and the window frame warped from rain water. The previous tenants had been smokers, and despite spending her first two nights treating the walls, there was still a thin film of soot embedded in the paint. The vinyl floors were scratched up from multiple move in and out days. The bathroom sink was constantly dripping. The few framed pictures she had were lonely. 

She boiled a pot of water. Spaghetti was easy. In a separate pot she stirred the tomato sauce. Parsley. Onion. Pesto. Garlic. Splash of red wine, and olive oil. She poured a glass of wine for herself and let the aroma blanket over her. A salute to no one. They would have drank a whole bottle over the course of the meal and laugh as they opened the second. She set a place for one.

…

The air was brisk and smelled like ice. Snow was depressing after the holidays. There were no twinkling lights for falling snowflakes to glitter against. Always in a state of half melting, before starting up again. The day of her appointment she walked into town, Daniella agreed to pick her up after. She was a block away from the office when out of the corner of her eye saw him across the street. It couldn’t be. She moved closer, picking up her pace, her blood pumping. 

HONK!

An angry driver yelled. “Watch it lady!” 

She took a step back up onto the curb. She saw his face. Too old, wrong nose. She watched him disappear into the horizon.

…

She could see the operating room before she opened her eyes. Her face was eyes with teardrops warming her skin, a casket lining for the inside of her mouth; cartoonishly inflated but hollow. The suite was blobs of colors that eventually turned into fabric on people. It was very bright. She signed a form, and was moved to the next room over (it was a deep blue). 

Credits started rolling on the TV, curly-q’d names doubled on top of one another. The blonde woman deserved better. Another tear. Daniella brought her to the car and turned the radio off. When Kitty closed her eyes she was sure she’d open them and be at her apartment, but they only moved a block or two.

“Alright, well, you look comfortable. You feel okay? Call if you need anything, well I guess text. I’ll see you probably when I get back from my trip. Bring in my packages if you see any.” The door was shut. Kitty sprawled along the side of the couch, angling her bruising jaw away from the pillow. The nitrous and novocaine fading and taking the oxycodone with it. An ache growing, and the cotton bloated and wet she opened her mouth as wide as she could and let them tumble out like weeds before replacing them. Her body was heavy and slow. Cold mashed potatoes. Another pill. Reruns of Rebha. Everything always worked out on Rebha. 

…

The next morning she forced herself to put on her parka and trudged the loops of road that snaked their way through the grounds. The sky was gray and cold, but warm enough that some of the snow began melting. When she got home it hit her. Faint, but there. Maybe it had already been there. It was sweet. She lifted her sweater and took a whiff, but it didn’t match. She scanned the entryway. She checked the bottom of her shoes.

After lunch she got the mail. Nothing for Daniella, but a package for her. Until she was back in the apartment she wondered what it could have been since she didn’t remember ordering anything. When she sliced through the cardboard, she knew exactly what it was. She debated resealing and returning it. She left the box on the table, showered, read a chapter, watched an episode, and took her pill. She took the package to her bedroom, and resumed opening it. Deep breath. 

After a few too many glasses of wine a few weeks ago Kitty found herself perusing an online boutique Daniella had told her to look at. Drunk on her own over ambition she ordered, and was now holding, ‘The Jack Rabbit.’ Made of silicone, and rather weighty, it was comical. She couldn’t conceptualize it fitting inside of her. Six insertable inches of pleasure. Buying a vibrator in her stupor felt like a bold, positive step in the right direction, but now she was repulsed. 

Head resting on her pillow, she lounged in bed reading. In the hall she heard Rikki and Damien. She tensed. Her door was wide open, and she focused on the sound of their voices. She picked her book back up, but accessed no understanding of the letters on the page.

Damien’s head popped through the doorway, and then he was beside her bed. 

“Am I interrupting?”

He took off his jacket and shoes. “Rikki is doing her makeup.” His gloves and hat were on her desk chair now. She shifted towards the other side of the bed, pressing herself into the wall to make space for him. Shoulder to ankle their bodies met in the middle. Kitty pulled her knees up, creating air between his jeans and her bare leg.

“I wanted to say hi earlier but the door was shut.”

“You could have knocked.”

“I thought you might be masturbating.”

Her ears burned. “Why.”

He glanced at her and smiled. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t really do that.”

“What?”

“Masturbate.” She was grateful she didn’t stutter. She had said the word dozens of times in front of her friends before, but saying it in front of him made her invert on herself.

“I just get scared, like, to touch myself.”

“Catholic guilt.”

“Yes.”

“Here let me show you.” He reached toward her thighs. She turned toward the wall and giggled.

On his phone he pulled up an ‘instructional clitorial stimulation’ video. Bare sunkissed skin center screen. Kitty looked away.

“Funny.”

“This is exposure therapy.”

She turned her attention back to the video. Ten thousand nerve endings sounds overwhelming. She tried before, but the idea of putting something up there was anxiety inducing. She couldn’t get a tampon in successfully. Maybe she was bad at being a woman. Or maybe she was just bad at having a body.

She snapped out of the memory, and shoved it back in the box with The Jack Rabbit. There was the smell again, from earlier. There wasn’t an obvious culprit in her room so she went to the bathroom. Checked under the sink, and in the linen closet. Drawing back the shower curtain, she found the guilty party. Brown sugar body scrub with no lid, cemented into a crusty paste from sitting out all night. Without a second thought she tossed it into the trash.

…

Saturday, her mouth was swollen and there was slight bruising around her jaw, but to her surprise it was snowing. With climate change, she was pretty sure there would never be another white Christmas in her lifetime so she needed to make the most of these February flurries. By the time she walked her usual loop the snow picked up. Kids were on the grass building snowmen, and snow angels. Those had been her favorite. As she rounded the other side of the building a white projectile slammed into her cheek. The snowball had been unkind– its abrupt introduction to her face caused her to slip and lose her footing on the wet ground, sending her plopping onto the pavement, butt first.

“Woah, sorry!”

At first she couldn’t find the source of the apology, and then the voice was attached to a body. Hand cupping her face, a man making his way over to her apologized again. She froze. How could he be here? The hair. It’s him. Move, run, do something, she shouted internally, but it was too late he towered over her and reached out a hand. 

It wasn’t him. 

 “Uh, you good?”

She shook herself out of her daze, and scrambled backwards and up onto her feet. Walking backwards, she maintained eye contact with the stranger until she was double sure it wasn’t him. Then she ran back to her apartment.

With the door bolted, chained, and locked her breathing began to slow. She took a pill and then another for good measure. In the bathroom mirror she could see blood pooling in the back of her mouth. Striped down to her underwear, and an ice pack on her cheek, she closed her eyes and dug her nails into her palms. It was clear to her now that if it really had been him, she wouldn’t stand a chance. 

While everyone else was back in the warmth of the common room’s TV glow, and blankets, chinese food on the way, Kitty went to take a quick walk around campus in the snow. It was a silent evening, the snowflakes swirling. Puffs of lint from the clouds. To her delight, Damien joined her, and talked her into walking through the woods behind campus.

Virgin snow engulfed the woods. They held hands as Kitty swung her legs over a fallen tree. Their footsteps were muffled by the soft powder. It was as if they were the only creatures on earth that could produce sound, but Kitty wanted to preserve the peace for as long as she could.

Back in the street, the world was still. Stoop lights beckoned her. Come inside, drink hot chocolate.

“Don’t look, but I think there is someone following us.”

Her ears perked up under her hat. “Really?”

“He’s big and he’s carrying a red balloon.”

She shoved his arm. “There is no one there.”

“You haven’t even looked.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

He smirked and looped his hand through her arm. It was quiet again. Kitty recognized this street. They weren’t far from campus, just in the neighborhood behind it. Delivery would be there just as they arrived back. She wanted the world to stay like this just a little longer. Bottle it in a snowglobe for safe keeping.

“Georgie!” It was a quick, low gravelly noise that came from the back of his throat.

“Quit it!”

He fell silent, they turned onto a new street. A few months ago she’d seen a dead squirrel on the side of the road here. She got close to it. Something about this particular squirrel’s death struck her, and she let the tears well up as she continued on her way.

“Boo!”

She jumped, despite herself. 

Damien chuckled. “You’re such a scaredy cat.”

“Not true!”

“Kitty the scaredy cat. Would you rather I scare you, or Pennywise?”

“Neither.” There was an edge of a whimper in her voice, she heard it and mentally slapped her wrist.

…

After sleeping the day away when she awoke, the smell from yesterday was back. As she got out of bed, the edges of her vision fuzzy, she stumbled over the cardboard box.

“I think you’re gonna be so kinky. When you get more comfortable. I bet you’ll be kinky.”

A rush of nausea passed through her. She made it to the toilet just in time. She needed to eat, yes, a lot of oxy and not enough food. Shutting the lid, and hoisting herself up, the smell hit her again. She took out the trash this morning. Residue from the body scrub? She looked in the shower, but it was still in good shape from her last cleaning. The smell grew in intensity and itched her nostrils. One way or another this stench was going to stop.

…

Midnight.

Kitty vacuumed. Mopped. Dusted. Scrubbed. The smell was suffocated under the sprays, solvents, and sanitizers. But it stayed. It grew. Disinfect the area. Her jaw ached when she jolted her arms too fast. She ate a peanut butter sandwich on white bread. The peanut butter pulled like taffy in her mouth. The room felt darker. The snow pelted into the ground. 

She began on the walls of the living room with a rag soaked in bleach. She scoured off the soot. She couldn’t believe she’d just been living with it this whole time. It was just sitting there in the apartment with her, sucking up second hand smoke she hadn’t agreed to. Her body fell into rhythm and the yellow walls brightened.

In the bathroom she faced the closed door. It felt polite to look away even though he’d asked her in here. He flushed.

“Do you want to look?”

“What?”

“Turn around.”

Kitty giggled and covered her eyes, but peaked through to see his face. 

“Wash your hands.”

“You and Rikki have seen each other’s boobs.”

“That’s different!”

He smirked. When he was drunk, high, or both, his body produced excess saliva. When he opened his mouth to speak, the sound of his teeth gliding against his lip was a sound she’d never forget. 

“I don’t think your boyfriend would like that.”

Damien ignored her the rest of the night. She caught his eye through the crowd. Later he came up behind her and kissed her neck, slowly, with his lips, sending tingles down her spine. He whispered in her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

Kitty’s head was light and fizzy from canned spirits. Her chest was warm. They walked through the woods back to their dorms.

“It’s the spring equinox you know.” She looked at the gleaming white full moon. “It’s a time of rebirth.”

“What are you a witch?”

“I want to feel connected to nature. Something bigger than myself.”

“Wait, lemme show you something I found the other night.”

They continued walking side by side. Damien held her hand. 

“AH!”

She screamed back.

“Did I scare you?”

“I knew you were going to do that.” 

“What about this?” Damien’s stride halted, and then sped up as he slammed into Kitty. She tasted dirt in her mouth and up her nose. The hole she was in reminded her of swimming at the lake. If you went out far enough there were man made pits of sand from swimmers that molded the sediment with their feet. Walking with the water at shoulder level, your head would bob down and up from the water as you regained your footing. She was not drowning, but leveling with the tide. But this did not feel like floating. The damp forest clung to her jacket sleeves. 

“Damien!”

Damien stood straddling her. He knelt on top of her and began flinging fistfuls of dirt into her face. He pinned her arms to her sides with his thighs. With his arms he shoveled mounds of dirt over her. Past the dirt she could smell his cologne; nutmeg, maple, and a touch of sandalwood. 

“Sit still!” 

She began crying. “Please stop!”

He did not relent. The leaves and sticks kept coming. She wriggled under him, but his hold tightened. She twisted her arm and dug her nails into his calf. If he felt it, it didn’t bother him. Clamping down harder, on both sides now, she screamed.

Damien stopped at once and recoiled away from her. She brushed the dirt out of her eyes, and pushed herself away from him. She spit brown, and her tongue tasted like the earth. He was towering her once again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you.”

He rolled his eyes. “God it was just a prank!” He held his hand out for hers.

…

One a.m.

Kitty finished. She polished every square inch of the walls. The paint was sunshine. She sat on the couch. Her hands were dry and rough, but her forehead was dripping. There was brief pride, and then creeping, low, dread. No, just nose blind. She grabbed the blanket next to her, an aromatic palate cleanser. It was soft, fresh out the dryer, and relief felt so close, but as she pulled away her nostrils flared. The smell was overpowering, and its sweetness intoxicating. Kitty planted her feet flat on the floor, but rocked back and forth from her seat.

When she stood she walked straight for the bottle of bleach. She poured it in circles around her, splashing it against the floor. 

…

Damien pulled Kitty to her feet. She was breathless, cold, and damp. His fingers met her face and gingerly wiped the dirt away from her eyes. There were streaks down her face from crying. He pulled her into an embrace, burrowing his face in her neck. All she could smell was sweat mixing with his cologne. He kissed her neck, jaw, chin, forehead, both cheeks and her nose. She closed her eyes and listened to the leaves rustling in the wind. He kissed her lips. Cradling the back of her head with his dirt stained hands, the kiss was slow, wet, and full of lust.

Kitty awoke screaming in the dark. When she sat up, she banged her head on a plank of wood. Propping herself on her elbow, she ran her hand against more wood. 

“Damien?”

Her heart drummed in her ears. Her body went into overdrive as she pounded the wooden ceiling of her coffin. He’d done it. Buried her alive. She thrashed again and again but the coffin wouldn’t budge. It was only a matter of time until she ran out of air. Sobs poured out of her, and she let them spill into her mouth. The last salt of the earth she’d taste. She started using her legs, praying to get leverage, but instead her foot slipped and her hip rolled, smashing through the wooden panel on her right, tumbling out the crawl space coffin, landing flat on top of the forgotten Christmas decorations.

Kitty lay very still. Then she laughed. Had someone been sitting on the couch, when she broke through the wall, they would have had a heart attack. There was a frantic knock on the door.

“Kitty!” Another knock. “Are you alright in there!”

The doorknob rattled and turned as Daniella slipped in. 

“God what is that smell?”

It struck her then; the smell was gone. She laughed again, harder this time. The smell was gone. Kitty couldn’t hear what Daniella was saying over her own laughter. The air became frigid and gave her goosebumps. She saw she was still only wearing her underwear, and this made her laugh even more. The harmonies echoed through the open windowed apartment. A pop in her mouth as stitches tore open, and warm blood pooled in the back of her mouth.