The Tooth Fairy



  The Tooth Fairy

  A short story by Ryan Ramoutar

  Copyright © 2012 Blacklight Design

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  As I sat in the green prison’s small maxi, being escorted into the city of Port of Spain from Arouca, my mind strayed incessantly. I looked down and the chrome handcuffs which tightly secured my both hands reminded me of my present calamity and a melancholy feeling quickly possessed my body. Two bulky prison officers sat at front, one of them behind the steering wheel and the other adroitly manning the buttons which optimized the use of various sirens, opening an isle through the traffic as if Moses was commanding them the way he had done to the Red Sea. Whenever the egotistical button operator attained his aim, he rested back on the fake black leather, making conversation with the driver about football and a now famous player whom I had no idea of. In my time of being an avid football fan Ronaldo and Ronaldino were the best. Messi, or some name of the like that they were speaking about I have never heard of.

  To add insult to injury, as if I was a renowned terrorist, another two robust officers sat at back with me, one to the front and the other on the seat behind. I won’t even mention the jeep that was tailing us with Riot Unit officers armed to teeth with machineguns. We cut through the roads in temerity and as we hit the Priority Bus Route I was fixed by the attention of the serene houses which zoomed by on both sides. Daylight workers and school children were on their way to another day in the matrix and I wondered, actually I wished to be amongst them as nostalgia washed over me.

  The houses became blurs, the blurs became one blur and then I was staring nowhere else save my own mind. My sweetheart, Geneva, must be at work by now. I loved her so much and being amongst the “free” had me craving even more to be close to her. Not that I could even try to escape, no way; then she would be seeing me next in a coffin.

  The cramped vehicle along with the thought made me feel a sudden nausea and I reached with my both hands to slide the window open. I was able to push it, making an emaciated space where the gushing breeze instantly had a suave effect on my face and through my hair.

  I imagined myself in a like position; only in this image I was considered “stately” and the brash men in brown uniforms were my hired bodyguards. If only it was that way…

  The driver navigated the green maxi through the streets of Port of Spain and the small jeep followed deftly. I mused as the cogent siren acted as an impetus, causing everyone to stare at the epitome of a prisoner being transported in reality; trying hard to get a cursory glimpse of the “criminal” that was the cause of all this cacophony.

  Port of Spain was an array of unlike buildings, new and old, lining the even two-way streets and leaving cramped spaces in-between where a vendor would squeeze into with his or her products. Eight years since I’ve last walked these streets freely and it was more or less the same; it reminded me of a busy airport terminal.

  Pulling to a stop in front of a cream coloured, box shaped building with a drive-in garage attached on the right side, the four occupants from the jeep skillfully deployed themselves in various positions, brandishing their huge guns as if the President of the US was about to make his entry. As I prepared to exit the maxi, escorted by the two prison guards who rode with me at the back, the shackles on my feet just above my ankles reminded me that I wouldn’t be taking any luxurious steps on the street today but rather I would have to walk slow, short plods, the extent of the short chain. A chain around my waist which locked my handcuffs close to my stomach made it even more difficult for me to reach out at anything for support as I climbed down the maxi’s outer step. Eventually I managed to make it through the side garage, not the front steel door, as a normal patient would, without falling face first. I was instructed to sit on a hard cushioned seat which sat heavily inside a burglar-proofed porch. Two iron chairs and a door faced me. I think the door was made of steel also. No wonder why the prison chose to connect with this private dentist- everything was a replica of inside the prison; iron, steel, concrete and the cream painting.

  I sat and I waited, feeling the chill of the early morning wind and inhaling a strong antiseptic air. I was so relieved that my agony would finally be over after years upon years of anguishing in continuous pain because of two of my teeth in my right upper jaw. Thank God that I had a family who cared enough so that I didn’t have to pull it out by the prison’s paid dentist, who wasn’t known for doing the job quite right. No, my family had paid this private dentist to do the extraction; hopefully this would be the day to an end of a long era of lancing and swellings.

  A busty Trinidadian brunette came through the door and handed a slip of paper to one of the officers who were guarding me. She quickly retraced her footsteps and re-closed the door. So much for having a look at an opposite sex, I mused. I continued to wait for my turn.

  The door easily moved on its hinges, staying about five inches ajar and I was able to get a view of a pair of booted feet atop a blue leather high cushioned bed, resembling a gurney.

  “Gaahhaaa…” I was able to hear.

  Crap! The reality of me losing my two teeth hit me like a ton of boulders. But I just wanted it over with.

  As an officer texted on his cellular phone and the other was lost in his own thoughts, the door re-opened all the way and the brunette poked out her head, keeping more inside, as if I could have possibly snatched her and make a daring escape.

  “It’s time,” she said softly, not looking at me but at the officers, then moving away from the doorway, leaving the door open.

  The officers nodded at her then turned their gaze on me. In queue, I stood and plodded into the dentist’s abode. The room was apple white, the clear-coated, long light-blubs made it even more radiant. The small bed with a plastic table and miniature sink attached to it lay almost directly in the middle of the cramped room and the tables and the shelves were piled upon with alien stuff I have never seen in my life. On the plastic table attached to the bed was an array of chrome and plastic tools, resembling a tool kit I had once bought to repair my mountain bike.

  Life of each and every individual carries an image; the thugs have their image, the business men have their image, the construction workers have their image et caetera and being in shackles was presently my image. I was a bit worried at this because I was thinking that the five-feet-something, fair, lean man in the long white robe and neat spectacles, who stood in front of me, would be judgmental and treat me in accordance to my image - harshly! But no, when he spoke I was somewhat reassured that this dentist was a man of good heart.

  “A pleasant good day…” he paused, looking at a slip of paper in his hand, “Mr. Indar.”

  “Good day,” I said, a little nervous.

  “Your family paid for two extractions, do you agree with this?”

  “Yes, of course,” I replied

  “Okay then, we’ll proceed without any further delay,” he said, his right cheek pulling up into a little, welcoming smile. His voice was plastered with an American accent and it comforted me even deeper to ascertain that he was schooled into be
coming a dentist in the U.S. rather that in Trinidad.

  “Just lay down here.” He indicated with an open palm towards the blue cushioned gurney-like bed. “Make yourself as comfortable as you can.”

  I focused on the two prison officers. I thought that the shackles and handcuffs would be removed for the procedure but their immobility told me the opposite. I lay down, looking up at the ceiling as a bright light flickered on over my chest

  The dentist’s surgical gloved hand pulled it over my mouth as he said: “Open your mouth as wide as you can.”

  I did and the dentist, who said that his name was Mr. Mohammed, probed with his finger inside, pushing my two molars and shaking them.

  “Let’s just take an x-ray or two first.”

  My mouth was open so I let out a ‘mmmhmm' sound giving him my consent.

  “I’ll inject you now so by the time it would take its course. Open up… There you go…”

  I felt a sharp piercing and then a hot metastasising through my entire upper gum. I must say that my heart may be a little on the weak side because only this had my heartbeats racing off.

  “Good, now the x-ray.”

  The brunette, now also surgically gloved, helped the dentist to complete the task of