TOOTH (Short Story)

Ruth and Michael’s wedding had been in the making for months. I was given the honour of delivering the wedding address. By mid-day, many of the great and the good of Denver had filled the auditorium, and the bride and groom took their places of honour on the front row. As I looked out over the crowd, the occasion felt like a book-end experience. I knew almost everyone here in some capacity.

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   As I stepped towards the foot light, I glimpsed Ruth and Michael in their decorated seats.

   Within the first two minutes of my address, I flubbed a word. It’s awkward, flubbing a word in a public speech; you have to go back and repeat yourself, unless what was said is clear to all because of context. Now I must say, that the context even now escapes my mind, as it did in the moment itself, because a micro-second after the flub, my attention was drawn to something else. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the gleam of a small object as it was caught in the light beam of the spotlight above. The object flew, according to my perception, in staggered motion, but in reality, in a clean symmetrical arc, towards the front of the stage. I saw my lateral incisor, the one to the left side of my front tooth, where no man should ever see any lateral incisor, least of all his own. This was the same one I’d had repaired the week before, the one that had felt unsteady over the last two days. In the same moment, I experienced a number of neurological micro- seizures which mostly went unnoticed by others, courtesy of my flying tooth.

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Most people present of course were not sure what exactly had happened, judging by the general murmur that filled the gap in my speech. “It’s his tooth, it’s his tooth,” power-whispered Paul Kurlich with evident glee, one of my few sworn enemies in the assembly, from his corner seat in the third row. A priest, seated behind me on the podium, instinctively began to rise up out of his chair, but half-way through the movement thought better of it, and sat back down. All the while, I stood in the same spot, peering down at the floor, seeing nothing but microphone wires, duck tape and floor boards. Presently I crouched down and started to feel around on the stage with my hands. More wood, more wires. Finally, I put my head sideways on the floor boards in order to scan the surface, as you do when you lose your car keys in the street.

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 And there it was, ten feet ahead of me and somewhat to the left. I stood up, turned my back to the audience, and wedged my tooth in like a chisel into a cracked wall. Avoiding to even glance toward the general area where the bride and groom were seated (if they were still in the building), I eased back into my talk. I registered my amplified voice over the speakers, sounding pinched and disembodied. In between two sentences, taut faced and tight-lipped, I carefully probe the back of the cap with my tongue whilst avoiding to put any pressure on it. It felt solid. Incredibly, it appeared that even from a situation like this, a way back was possible. I refocused on the content of my message, allowing myself just an inkling of relief. The rest of the service passed without incident. No, it did not.

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 As I opened my mouth and glanced down at my notes for the next point, the tooth dropped down like a plastic bottle from a vending machine. I do not say my tooth. It was the tooth, for I now saw it for what it was; an alien object of cosmic sabotage. It hit my lower lip before touching the floor where it twice bounced and rolled away out of sight.

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 The mood by now had become one of general disorientation. By now we had stopped doing the wedding and were doing something else. What it was that we were doing, no one seemed to be quite sure. I think I even saw someone looking down to check their program for clues. The silence also had become more neutral in character, less apprehensive in nature. This now was the silence of disassociation; the sort you get from people when they are notified that a sick colleague is now in the throes of death and beyond medical intervention.

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Once more I stood looking down at the stage, this time searching for a trap door. Steadily, the blood rushed to my face. The tooth could not be found. Obviously, it had chosen to disintegrate, as it had every right to do. From the steps to the right, a girl mounted the podium. I recognised her as the daughter of a friend who worked in local television. I expected her to pass me a note from the organisers advising me to spontaneously combust, but instead she casually began to search the stage with me. After about a minute, she caught my eye and extended her index finger. My cap lay several feet behind the microphone, half concealed between two floor boards. I jammed the tooth in furiously, scaring it into place by raining down threats on it of the bubonic and Justinian and Athenian plagues, and so managed to reach the end of my speech. It did not take me long to get there.