She pulls my mouth even more open to be able to reach the back tooth. My mouth has always been too annoying small for dentists. Only for dentists.
I utter something. She pulls her hand back. I point to the door. “Cerrar, por favor.”
Not in one of my most vulnerable positions I want my host to see me. My teeth aren't my trademark and these new, to me, equipment they use aren’t quite designed to look even a bit charming.
She directs her friend and colleague to close the door. I’m in the hands of a student in graduation year, hoping that her expertise and my little bit of money she allows me to pay will be enough to fix the problem.
Hardly any further, I hear my baby-girl's cry-sounds. She's complaining in the hallway.
I excuse again. This time to open the door. I ask my host to go walking with her. “I was just preparing to go”, he says. “Oh good.” He looks sweet I think. Happy Niamh is in his hands.
They close the door again and continue with what’s already taking longer than we all thought it would. All my energy is taken from me while this crater is slowely filled.
Meanwhile.
My host is outside, near the building where I hope soon the tooth will be closed and ready. He’s carrying my baby-girl in the carrier. The night is making its introduction.
He gives her his mobile phone. With the other one he has with him he calls her. While walking they are ‘talking’ to one another. She’s listening carefully. “Da!”, she says. “DA!”
Her focus suddenly changes. She points to three small white painted wooden house numbers. 5 1 4. He reaches to the 5 to show her. Before he could say five, he’s holding the number in his hand, looking surprised at it.
“It came off so easily”, he says while we’re walking back to get a shared-taxi. “I was looking around to see if anyone had seen me. Doubting what to do, I took it with me.” He shows me the number. “I feel like a thief.”
“She seems to get her way”, while I’m laughing about the story and his funny expression on his face which is close to being shocked.
“Had a great time with her!” I’m happy to hear this, though it makes me sad again, knowing we will never be a 'we'. Inside I shake my emotions to relax.
Some seconds later he says: “you look funny”. Ok, whatever exactly he means, it helps those emotions to fall deep asleep.
When he sees my questioning face, he points to the side of my mouth and then touches his own. “Oh! I had no idea”, while I touch the swollen area. “I think it's also the second anesthesia for the first one didn’t do the job.”
We head home. Or something that comes most close for me to a home.
I imagine somewhere someday a postman scratching his head while looking at the number on the package and the one next to the door.
