Teeth (2019)

The first sign that things were going wrong was when my teeth began falling out.

“That’s strange,” said the doctor. “Are you drinking your milk?”

“Yes,” I replied (although, without my teeth, it sounded more like “Yeth”).

“Well, are you perhaps teething? Are you secretly an infant?”

“No. I am thirty-seven years old.” This I knew with confidence.

“Well then!” she threw her hands up in frustration. “I just don’t know what’s happening. Go home and get some rest maybe. See if that helps.”

And so I did.

* * *

The second sign that things were going wrong was when I could no longer see the colour blue.

“Clara,” I whispered, since my girlfriend and I were at the cinema, “I can’t see blue.”


“The ocean on the screen. It should be blue, but it appears grey to me. You don’t suppose there’s something wrong with the film, do you?”

“No, dumbass,” she said lovingly, “it looks blue to me. What’s wrong with you? You’re ruining the movie. Shut up.”

And so I did.

* * *

The third (and final) sign that things were going wrong was when my foot detached itself from my leg.

I duct taped it back on, and hobbled to the nearest pediatrician for help. His office was on the other side of town, underneath a bridge, and as such took a long time to limp to.

“You’re at the wrong place. I am a pediatrician, a doctor who specializes in children. What you are looking for is a podiatrist, someone who specializes in feet,” the pediatrician explained.

“Oh, well, would you like to see my foot anyway?” “Not really,” he said. “But sure. Undo the duct tape.”

And so I did.

The pediatrician held my foot in his hand, suspicious. In another room, I heard an infant crying.

“Let’s go to the town doctor for this.”

And so we did.

“I remember you!” she said. “Your hair was falling out!”

“Close,” I replied. “It was my teeth actually.”

“Whatever. Show me your foot.”

I undid the duct tape (again). Her office was cold and white and smelled like nothing.

She poked my foot. It deflated like a balloon. She then poked me right in the middle of the chest, and just like that, both of my arms fell off.

“Oh! I see!”

“What is it?” the pediatrician and I asked in unison.

“You’re simply falling apart!” “Of course!” said the pediatrician. “It’s so obvious!”

“I’m falling apart? Is there any cure?”

“Not really. But don’t worry, it happens all the time. People have been falling apart quite a bit lately. You’ll just have to get over it,” she said, offering me a half smile.

“Get over it?”

“Yes, just try not to think about falling apart for a bit. I do it all the time, and look!” she waved her arms around. “Not falling apart.”

“Indeed,” said the pediatrician. “Just try to get over it.”

And so I didn’t.

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