Sleepless
I remember hearing shrieking tires and thinking, "Uh oh." Then I woke up here. Don't ask me where "here" is
because I do not know. I just know that it's sunless but bright, and a little bit creepy. I feel things flying around me
that I can't quite glimpse, which is unsettling, even though I've been here before.
I have a bad dental history. When I was a kid not one of my baby teeth came out of its own volition - they all had to be pulled by
Dr. Larrow. When I was eight I paid him a visit for the fifth time in six months and I had had enough. Enough of the smell of the
place, enough of the taste of the swab, the pinch of the needle, the yanking, the crunching sounds, the nervousness. Enough was
enough. So when Dr. Larrow came at me with that syringe and told me to open up, I did. He stuck his thumb in my cheek to get a
better view and I clamped down on it like a Jimmy Dean sausage. He went bug-eyed and started yelping, "Leggo! Leggo! Ow!"
So I did. He stood there clutching his gnarled thumb and tried reason with me. "You want to try this again? Only this time don't bite me?"
"Uh uh."
"Okay." So he called my mom in, explained the impasse, and suggested she drive me up to Burlington to a dentist that used "laughing gas." I liked the sound of that. Any gas that could turn a trip to the dentist into a laughing matter was fine by me. A week later I was in Burlington, in a dentist chair, and a very pretty dental assistant placed a mask over my face and said, "Now count backwards from a hundred. Let's see how far you can get."
At 95 I thought, "This stuff isn't working." When I hit 94 I was no longer in the dentist's office. I was on a hill that was covered with snow. The snow was pitch black. The hill was pitch black. The sky was pitch black and so was the sled I was holding. I couldn't see anything but I knew I was where I was. I began to sled down the hill and about half-way down I realized there was a small blob of some sort sitting on top of my head. And it was laughing. At the bottom of the hill the blob hopped off, looked up at me and said, "That was great! Say, what's your name, anyway?"
And then I heard the voice of the dental assistant calling me from far away, "Wake up. It's time to wake up, Steven."
I moved toward her voice and as I did the blob called out, "My name's Marvin. It was nice meeting you! I'll see you next time!" And he did. A few years later I was knocked senseless in a bike wreck and went back to that place, except Marvin and I left the hill and went into the city, his home town, and he showed me around until I had to wake up on a gurney in the hospital back in Georgia. A year later my appendix burst and I lapsed into a coma from the shock. Again, there was Marvin waiting for me. And again when a hibatchi fell off a balcony in New Orleans and landed on my head. And now...I suppose I've been hit by a bus in Tampa. I'll just sit here and wait for Marvin to come get me.
So I did. He stood there clutching his gnarled thumb and tried reason with me. "You want to try this again? Only this time don't bite me?"
"Uh uh."
"Okay." So he called my mom in, explained the impasse, and suggested she drive me up to Burlington to a dentist that used "laughing gas." I liked the sound of that. Any gas that could turn a trip to the dentist into a laughing matter was fine by me. A week later I was in Burlington, in a dentist chair, and a very pretty dental assistant placed a mask over my face and said, "Now count backwards from a hundred. Let's see how far you can get."
At 95 I thought, "This stuff isn't working." When I hit 94 I was no longer in the dentist's office. I was on a hill that was covered with snow. The snow was pitch black. The hill was pitch black. The sky was pitch black and so was the sled I was holding. I couldn't see anything but I knew I was where I was. I began to sled down the hill and about half-way down I realized there was a small blob of some sort sitting on top of my head. And it was laughing. At the bottom of the hill the blob hopped off, looked up at me and said, "That was great! Say, what's your name, anyway?"
And then I heard the voice of the dental assistant calling me from far away, "Wake up. It's time to wake up, Steven."
I moved toward her voice and as I did the blob called out, "My name's Marvin. It was nice meeting you! I'll see you next time!" And he did. A few years later I was knocked senseless in a bike wreck and went back to that place, except Marvin and I left the hill and went into the city, his home town, and he showed me around until I had to wake up on a gurney in the hospital back in Georgia. A year later my appendix burst and I lapsed into a coma from the shock. Again, there was Marvin waiting for me. And again when a hibatchi fell off a balcony in New Orleans and landed on my head. And now...I suppose I've been hit by a bus in Tampa. I'll just sit here and wait for Marvin to come get me.
