The clock said 9:18, uh; oh, I was late. Damn it; the uber app started to update, geez not now! Maybe the bus will be on time, this time! Clip clop clip clop as I ran to catch the traffic light on the damp sidewalk, a smattering of drizzle hitting my glasses – the sound of my heels hitting the pavement as I made a run for it. Faster, faster, I told myself as the light kept flashing numbers – the count down 7 -6 -5 -4 – hand stop – faster, faster, Red turns to green, cars, taxi’s; all make a run for it. My foot hits the curb just in time – I had made it.

It was an unusually warm wet day for February. The trees bare, grey, and confused, should we bud, should we not bud. Sounds a bit like Hamlet, to bud or not to bud, yadda yadda. I overdressed, wool coat, alpaca scarf with red velvet ties, ankle boots, black jeans, and my Burberry flannel shirt. I wore my stylish wool biker hat – the perfect cap on a rainy day, especially with two-day unwashed hair pinned up, which reminded me of when I used to be onstage and garnered a wig, pinned ever so tight.

Yeah! The M4 approached, two other eager passengers boarded ahead of me. I tucked my bus pass back into the camel-colored antique change purse that I used for my credit cards and the like. I was only 10 minutes late.

Their office was in the complex known as Lincoln Towers. I wouldn’t say I liked the look of them. The compound, built in the 1960s, looked like low-income housing, the kind you would find in East Berlin. Dark and depressing. On the inside, the apartments were generous and betrayed the exterior, which is why so many wanted to live there.

It was an office like any other dentist’s office. There was a reception area, two receptionists, one named Shay; she talked too much. Debbie, a heavyset African-American woman with a big broad smile and a tight yet relaxed blond afro, was the dental nurse. She ushered me into the room where I was set to receive three procedures. The sunlight from the east poured in. It was so bright I kept my brand new speckled Warby Parker’s on. That suited me just fine less of me to see into. I sat down in the foam green leather chair. It looked like an invertebrate with its head, thorax, and abdomen. Dr. Glassman entered, looked over the docket, and said his hello’s. A few shots of novocaine and we were on our way.

Sensing my nervousness – he instructed Debbie to bring in the Gas; Nitrate! Wonderful, I said — nothing like a little buzz in the morning. My lower left jaw took longer to get numb, so he added a third shot of novocaine. Ok, here comes the drill, suction, and bite guard. I had never heard of a bite guard. My hands were clenched. He asked me to raise my hand if I felt anything. I raised it, and he told Debbie to turn up the nitrate. Dr. Glassman was frustrated with me. “Stop moving your tongue,” he said aloud. “Debbie, I need a bigger bite block.” I was a bit high from the nitrate. I said, “haha, have you ever seen horrible bosses, the one with Jennifer Aniston as the dentists.” “A bigger bite block, ha!” It was just then that I stopped them, “I can’t breathe – there is too much fluid in my mouth.” He said, “breathe through your nose!” I said, “I’m trying.” He adjusted the chair, so I sat higher – that was better.

I was more nervous than most. I took in more nitrate and started to drift. He looked like a bug with those microscopic spectacles that protruded off his face peering into my mouth. I began to count the ugly white pock-marked ceiling tiles 2, 4, 6 hmmm. I flashed back to when I was 13 or 14 and remembered my orthodontist, Dr. McNair. Did he sexually assault me? Was that why I was always so nervous?  OH, what did he do?