"Old Enough"
Paige Lockhart
I once read that the DOOR CLOSE button on elevator keypads is merely an illusion. The button marked with two equilateral triangles with their points facing inward towards a plotted line is only a pacifier. The sole purpose of its existence is to place people as pilots. We have to be in control even when we are much further from reality than we could believe. The button isn't even attached to wires.
I'm walking down the sidewalks becoming embedded into the traffic like a seven layer dip. Me, Bicyclists, drivers, produce stands, then me again all evenly distributed for the perfect city-like appearance and mass produced taste. I only cover the smallest fraction of a taste-bud. I only matter for a decimal of a second. Walking down the sidewalks, I blend in.
Today, unfortunately, I am walking slowly to the dentist's office. I haven't been to Dr. Teeth in 42 years and I'm not joking. Doctors, all doctors, freak me out. Thank God I haven't even reached the realm of a gynecologist. The purviews of those metal sticks haven't reached me and I’m glad never will. Fortunately, my teeth aren't rotting out. In fact I'm thinking soon auditioning for a Crest billboard will be a must.
The last few steps to the unfriendly building are the most difficult. Each step is shaking the levels of ground until my perception feels like a circus mirror. My hands are cold, collecting sweat, and all that is running through my brain are clams and fluoride. I've opened the door for at least 3 people, one even tipped me. I know this ordeal is ridiculous, but it's my ritual for anxieties like these. The elevator is in view. The dentist is a normal routine- clean, rinse, dry, and repeat- it should be on every sixth month of refrigerator calendars. I've come to the realization that it's the dentist’s poking around that bothers me. Dentists seem to play with teeth like they are the human marionette wires with each group attached to a major artery or nerve. Dentistry is an art-form, and I am a template.
I'm waiting until the business women and men file into the elevator so I can make my own way. As I'm walking in my shoulders drop back to my normal height; it's their way of thanking the fact that I am alone and I won't have to interact in the intensity of the tiny elevator. Turning around, I (out of habit) jabbed at the DOOR CLOSE button not noticing a woman sprinting in. Goddamn-it, she is opening her mouth.
"Hey, thanks for waiting." -I couldn't stop staring at her tits.
"Yeah, no problem."
"What's your name?" - I cannot stop staring at her.
"Helloo, really? You only have to deal with me for 3 more floors."
"Oh, sorry it's Steven."
"Okay, Stevey pleasure to rise with you, my name is Emily."
We both hadn't noticed that the elevator wasn't doing its job. An elevator breaking isn't as dramatic as I had imagined it to be. She's sitting down.
"Shit! This is no fun. Sit down. Come to my level."
Kneeling into what could potentially be a sitting position, I can see that her cheeks are red, and I am staring again.
"How long do you think we'll be in here? Should we find a way out?" - I'm not really worrying about getting out of here. This elevator is way better than a thorough teeth cleaning. I just want to know if she's panicking, there's a certain charm to a girl who's in need.
"Someone will notice eventually."
She is taking short breaths pulling out a magazine. She examines magazines like anatomy books, not even reading. She is just letting the words blend in with the diagrams.
"Really, you think someone will care?"
"Everyone cares about someone, even someone like you Stevey."
I am becoming annoyed with her nicknames and false presumptions.
"But we are so miniscule. Right now cooking dinner is more important than us."
She is flushing.
"You sound like an idiot Steven, completely. Don't talk like that."
I am really staring now.
"Emily, if you don't mind, we are only nuts and bolts. We, you and I, are bacteria. You replace someone in the ground, who replaced someone growing into tree roots, who replaced the leaves. We are cheap fertilization."
She isn't even looking at me.
"I know someone is going to notice that I am gone, I can see why nobody notices you. I wouldn't want to notice you. God I hope the doors open soon."
I'm not sympathetic, because what's the point? She will forget, and I am already asking myself what I'm going to eat for lunch, but I can sense by the way she's glaring that she isn't going to let me off soon.
"Okay, I'm sorry, but we disagree. I just think that I am the older model. You know? You, for example, are new enough, you get the job done. I, on the other hand, am constantly being reminded to train new employees. I have grey hair, therefore I am obsolete."
She is beginning to stand up, using the wall for support.
"You sound like you need a new job."
Jerking forward, from the elevators sudden movement forward, I am standing close to the door and almost heaving myself onto the door open button. Stepping outside, I'm noticing that my shirt is penciling my stomach sharing my ribcage with the office. Sweat is repulsive, and I didn't even notice it was hot in that container. Thank God that whole ordeal is over.
The office is wide I'm trying to reach my entire vision around it, but I can't seem to pull in the sides. I forgot how many file cabinets are packed away in these places. I want to turn and leave but what the hell-I'm at the counter.
"Sorry I'm late, the elevator was jammed."
The secretary looks like a lunch lady from a late 80's sitcom. She's smacking her gum and I'm zoning in on her facial hair.
"Down the hall to the right."
What an awful sounding voice. Her nasal passage sounds blocked.
Down the hall stacks of identical rooms fill my periphery. I reached the end of the hallway before noticing I had missed the room. Entering this room is teleporting me back into my childhood in a manner that I'm not feeling attachment to. I'm sitting in this leather death chair listening to smooth jazz and all I can think about is metal tools and sex. How fortunate that there are metal tools within my reach and my dentist's ass is two feet in front of my face bending over the X-Ray machine. I didn't even notice until now and I can't hold myself from staring. Turning for a second I forget the face, but only a second. She flips through her legal pad and her eyes are widening.
"Steve! looks like I'm your dentist, and I'm in control now, huh?"
I cannot even begin to grasp this. This is more of a reason now, as if I didn't have enough already to never visit the dentist office.
"Your mind is so polluted I wonder how bad that mouth of yours will look."
"Hurry." - No really, Hurry.
Adjusting my chair up and down, I think she is having too much fun and this is stretching out far too long.
"Higher? Too high? Lower? Too low? Neck rest? Too soft? I'll go get you a pillow."
Christ! She is doing this on purpose.
"Look, I don't care."
"You haven't seen a dentist in 42 years. I just want to make you as comfortable as possible."
She's smiling. I want to change rooms.
"Can we just get on with this; today has been a long day."
"For the both of us, I'm sure."
Her new approach to our disagreements is obnoxious. She is the dentist, I am the patient and I know this, but I am old enough to be her father. I was pulling out my own kid's baby teeth when I was her age. The poking is making me twitch, and I'm certain I saw one corner of her mouth curl upward. The rolling wheels on her chair haven't moved since she approached me, and I want to know if she holds a legitimate concern. Finally, it's over.
"Welp Steven you need a root canal."
"Why?"
"Because you do. It's the result of negligence I'd assume."
She's not being the least bit professional.
"Here's the cut, I can do it now. I am free, and it will be free, but only if I am the one who performs it. Only me, and you have to do whatever I say."
"Door two…"
I hate the way she is rubbing her hands together.
"Or you can let someone else do it. There's money involved in this option, and you won't get to stare at his breasts."
That's a valid point.
"Door three…"
She isn't speaking.
"Isn't there a door three? There is always a door three which involves a car and a beach condo, right?"
"no."
"oh."
This is tricky, This is the worst day I've had in a while. For some time I've thought that it could be impossible to live a day that isn't mediocre. She's throwing off my balance. But, I am retiring soon, and I cannot pass up a free operation.
"One."
"What was that?"
This bitch…
"I want you to do my root canal."
"Oh, okay then, lean right back into your chair here."
After drawing out her words as long as possible she puts a mask over her mouth which makes me slightly more comfortable. Her eyes are grey, and I don't have to associate them with that large gap below. Her eyes are surprisingly relaxing. I can hear her prepping machines and sterilizing something. She's shuffling behind me. Emily is trying to be secret, but this day nothing else is sneaking up on me. This day is just a glitch, a mechanical malfunction. I can see her stretching latex gloves in the reflection of the lamp on top of my head.
"Ready?"
"I guess."
"I want you to do three things for me. First, I want you to turn off your brain."
The light above me isn't on anymore and I have a mask on my face, which is better for the both of us.
"Second, I want you to think of yourself as a tree."
I cannot stop laughing, and it's not anesthesia. I'm certain this Emily character is a nut. Emily is the biggest nut I have ever touched.
"Steven, I can charge you for this."
Tree, tree, tree, tree, tree, tree, got it.
"Relax, you are roots, you are trunk, you are leaves."
I am laughing, I didn't even realize it.
"Steven, one more time and this deal is off."
At least she's halted the throwing of nick names, so I'll play along.
"Okay, I apologize."
"It's okay. Now, you are being fertilized by the retired. You are the retired. Think Steven, goddamn-it for once in your life just think. You are them. You are the malfunctioned. You are in the ground unable to move. But your purpose is clear, you have to breathe. This system depends on your skin. Cheap fertilizer is your caviar. Just eat and breathe. Deep breaths, that's it Steven, breathe. Now, the third."
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Walking out of the office, all I remember is signing an appointment card in heavy black ink. Under the column “Date of next appointment” I have written Soon.
I've decided on taking the elevator back to ground level, as I'm breathing, surrounded by everyone.