Small bills slip through my fingers. Thirty, forty, forty-five. Coins clink – forty-seven, forty-nine, fifty. I heave a sigh and trace my tongue along my teeth, and it catches on the jagged edge of a cavity. Add tax, and a few extra coins in my pocket in case my math is wrong, and I'm out the door. Fifty dollar fillings, in my neighbourhood. Almost affordable, even working for tips. There's gotta be a catch. I tell myself there isn't.
The hygienist welcomes me into the exam room. “First time?” I nod, smiling nervously.
“Yeah, the price drew me in.” I can’t resist asking. “So what’s the catch?”
“No catch, love, the Doctor just enjoys what he does. He’s... passionate.”
“Are you passionate, too?” I think we’d be flirting a little, if we were anywhere else. My heart jumps a little when she slips her hand behind my neck to fasten the waxed bib, and the brush of her nails raises goosebumps when she draws it back out.
“Me? No, not like him. It’s a good job, but I like the people more than the teeth.” Her smile crinkles her eyes behind her surgical mask as she presses a button on the control panel. “Now relax.”
The chair leans back, back, so far back I think I’ll slide off the top. The mechanics stretch my spine, languidly slipping space between my vertebrae. My centre of balance changes slowly and consistently, rolling like a bowling ball down my chest and through my...