by Chad Lutzke
He stared out the window toward the truck; his eyes heavy but nowhere near sleep, despite it being needed perhaps even more than the food. He'd dozed off for minutes at a time over the last week but nothing else. His lack of sleep had gotten to the point of being dangerous. Going to the ER for the abscess crossed his mind more than once, but with his deductible it wasn't worth it. Besides, the tooth had bothered him before and went away. Probably just a piece of bacon stuck in it that would eventually make its way out. He sipped on his coffee, which somehow gave minor relief when the warm liquid hit the cause of pain.
Jed stood and headed for the bathroom. He wanted another look at the monster in his mouth. The bathroom held two stalls, two urinals, a paper towel dispenser and a framed poster of Farrah Fawcett. A few dead bugs could be seen at the bottom between the glass and Farrah herself. The poster was there to humor the male truckers, no doubt. But he wondered if they knew this wasn't the 70s. Deep down he had no complaints. Farrah still held up just fine in that red suit of hers.
Jed walked to the mirror, tilted his head back, and pulled his cheek away from his gums. The bright fluorescent bulbs from the ceiling shone on the rotting culprit. The tooth was half gone, with the other half blackening. The surrounding gums were tender and angry red. He tapped at the tooth with his finger and winced in pain. It was a stupid idea. He saw his face in the mirror. It was the first time he'd really looked at himself all week. His face was slightly swollen and there were dark circles living under his eyes. He wondered if the face swelling hid the malnourishment.
Jed left the bathroom and grabbed the remains of his coffee from the table. He nodded at the skinny, blonde waitress and headed for his truck. Downing that bottle of Jack seemed to be the only thing that could be done at this point. The pain reliever had barely touched the pain.
Amy never startled awake when the truck door opened. She slept hard in the seat. Jed pulled himself into the truck, sat down, and grabbed the whiskey. He caught Amy watching him and reached into a compartment above his head.
"I wouldn't forget about you, girl." He pulled down a stick of beef jerky and tore it in half. Amy sat patiently waiting for it.
"Beg." Another attempt at humor. Jed chuckled and placed the jerky on the seat next to Amy.
"And now my turn." Jed uncapped the bottle and took a swig. He thought of mixing in the flat Mountain Dew but decided against it because of the sugar. The Sno-Ball's ingredients didn't agree with his ailment and he doubted the corn syrup would either. Jed reached for his CD case and flipped through the pages. There was a collection of Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard's Greatest Hits, but as much as he tried to like them he just couldn't. He'd bought them a decade ago when he starting truck-driving school—yet another stereo-type, though never embraced. He flipped through until he found a bootlegged "Greatest Hits" by Alice Cooper he'd gotten from a flea market years ago. Everything in his collection was the greatest hits from somebody.
"That's the one." He ejected a Bob Seger CD and carefully fed Alice into the player.
As the music played on, Jed drowned himself in the numbing liquid. The plan was for the alcohol to act as an anesthetic in hopes of being able to ingest some solids. However, an empty stomach and lack of sleep shrunk Jed's usual tolerance level to that of a pre-college teen, and as a result he found himself in a drunken stupor.
After half the bottle was gone, Jed reached into the compartment above and pulled out the other half of the beef jerky he'd given to Amy. Something spilled out of the cubby, bounced off his head and landed in his lap. It was an old prescription for Vicodin that he'd gotten when his tooth acted up before. Jed shook the bottle and was delighted to find a single pill left. Excitedly, he twisted the cap and chased the pill down with more of the Jack Daniel's.
With new hopeful motivation, Jed took the jerky and bit down hard on one end with the good side of his mouth. There was pain, but it was tolerable. Jed chewed carefully at the bolus, using only the one side of his mouth. The salty flavor hit the back of his tongue and he began to salivate. His chewing became both careless and ravenous until at last the meat made contact with the rotten tooth and sent bolts of excruciation through his body. He grabbed his face and filled the cab of his truck with a resounding scream.
"That's it!" Jed reached behind the seat and grabbed a small metal toolbox that rattled when he pulled at it. He opened it and began fishing through the various screwdrivers, sockets, loose nails and screws. Jed found the pliers and took them from the box. He turned on the overhead light and adjusted the truck's interior mirror toward his face. He opened his mouth. The bad lighting made the dark tooth look invisible. Jed opened his mouth wider as he placed the pliers inside—his fat hand blocking his line of sight. He sighed a few times and adjusted himself in the seat while Alice Cooper's tension-building beats in "Black Juju" acted as a soundtrack for the tooth pull. After a few failed attempts at getting in the right light without his hand or the restrictions of the seat hindering him, he opened the truck door and jumped down onto the pavement of Margie's. It was the first time he'd stood since the alcohol consumption, and as a result he ended up on the ground with a skinned knee, rip in his jeans, and a newfound humiliation. Alice still sang behind him through the open door about how our bodies needed rest, as Black Juju's nine minutes played on.
Jed stood back on his feet and, with pliers still in hand, zig-zagged his way to Margie's. Once inside, he tried hard to give a subtle hello-nod to the skinny waitress but drunkenly failed. Instead, the nod was given to the back of a coffee drinker nearly four feet from his target.
Jed entered the well-lit bathroom and approached the mirror. He opened his mouth wide and used the pliers as a tongue depressor to get a better look. He opened wider and carefully put the tooth in the grip of the pliers. Closing his eyes, Jed yanked hard. There was more resistance than he anticipated, and the pliers slipped off the tooth. Though numbed by the Jack Daniel's, the pain was still there to remind Jed his tooth was rotted and infected. With his forearm, he muffled his scream to a loud whimper. He didn't need anybody coming into the bathroom during the extraction.
Tears streamed down Jed's face as he repeated the placement of the pliers. This time he yanked harder on the tooth. He could both feel and hear the tooth break free from its once permanent socket. He closed his eyes hard, and tears splashed from his lashes into the sink. The pliers slipped off once more. Jed looked in his mouth. The tooth now stood tipped on its side like an old, rusted car. Blood and infection oozed from the socket. The sight caused dizziness in the trucker, and he held tight to the sink's faucet to keep from falling. The sink filled with blood as Jed spat and drooled, trying hard not to vomit. With his tongue, he flicked the dangling tooth. It hung on—denying the eviction it was being given.
Jed, near hyperventilation, hovered over the sink; spitting excessive amounts of blood. The whiskey wasn't doing the job he'd hoped for, and the pain was too great for him to bear. But the tooth was at a point of no return, and he knew he couldn't walk out of there with it like that. Jed wiped his tears and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the tooth again. He knew if he did he'd risk spattering the mirror in front of him with liquor and bile. He carefully obtained a grip on the tooth and, before talking himself out of it, pulled the tooth completely out of its socket, dropping the pliers to the floor in the process. The tooth flew out of its old home, hit the mirror, sink counter, and then headed for the floor, announcing each bounce made with a tink.
Jed opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. With his mouth still open and blood dripping from his chin, he stared at a ghost-white reflection of himself. The pain was there, but he found relief in the act being over. Days of no sleep or food came to an end. He had won. He beat the demon tooth. He looked around on the floor for the tooth and grew dizzy. Realizing he may pass out, he sat down on the dirty tile floor and gathered himself. He brushed his hands along the floor in hopes of running into the tooth, but only gathering old urine. The tooth was nowhere to
be found. Jed got on his knees and put his face to the ground, treating the tile floor as a horizon, looking for any bump in the tile that may be his rotted tooth.
Nothing.
He sat back down on his behind, when to his left he finally spotted the blackened bone. It had fallen through a grate and into the floor drain. The drain pipe itself took up a small portion of the area below the grate, much like a flat sink. If it was a healthy tooth it would have shined from the light above. But it was black and old and had seen too many Mountain Dews.
"Good riddance." Jed spoke to the tooth. "You tried to kill me. But I won. I'm back!"
As Jed smiled a vengeful grin at his detached body part, a small hand reached out of the drain pipe, grabbed the tooth and disappeared. Jed shut his eyes tight and then opened them in an attempt to either correct his vision or make sense of what he'd seen. When he focused in on the drain again, the tooth was indeed gone, and there was no sign of the hand.
"Hello?" Jed sat silently waiting for an answer. "Is someone stuck in there?" It really made no sense considering the drain itself was barely big enough to fit a baby's arm, let alone someone who had the functional ability to get themselves in such a situation.
Between the whiskey, Vicodin, lack of sleep, and all that transpired in the last 10 minutes, it caught up to Jed and he crashed forward hard onto the grate, passing out in blood-filled drool and years of old trucker urine.
***
"Sir, can you hear me now? Sir?" Jed woke up on the floor of the restroom surrounded by the skinny waitress and two men bent over him. Brenda, Jed thought as he looked at the name tag on the shirt of the waitress. It was his ex-wife's name. It was points against the waitress. No more tips.
"You a whore too, Brenda?
"Excuse me?" Brenda said, clearly offended. "Sir, are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?"
"An ambulance? For what?"
"You're lying on the bathroom floor covered in blood, sir," chimed in one of the men.
"He's wasted. Look at him," said the other man.
Jed looked around him. There was enough blood to be curious but not concerned. "Yeah, that's my blood. I'm okay. I had a….a body problem. It's okay now though. It's gone."
Brenda cringed at his reply.
"How long I been in here?"
"I think about twenty minutes," said one of the men.
Jed motioned everyone out of the bathroom."Okay, well if you'll excuse me I'm going to get myself cleaned up a bit. Thank you for your concern everyone, but I assure you the war is over and Jed ain't dead,"
As Jed struggled to stand, the men helped him up and left the restroom at his request. Once he was alone, Jed looked at the drain. He hadn't forgotten. Other than thinking about his ex-wife, it was the first thing he thought of when coming to. He stared at the grate, waiting for the hand, but nothing happened.
"I saw you steal my part." What are you? What do you want from me?" Nothing answered back.
"I know I saw you." Still nothing. He sat and contemplated it all. He knew what he'd witnessed was real and was persistent in seeing it again.
"Answer me!"
Jed stood and stormed out of the bathroom. He headed for the café counter where Brenda stood reading a paperback book. "Give me a couple of those pieces of toast, sweetie. Apparently it's as hungry as I am."
The woman gave a worried look as she looked for the two men who'd been there just minutes before. Their tables held dollar bills, loose change, and empty cups. They were gone.
"Yes, sir." She put two slices of bread into the toaster. As the bread browned, Brenda stayed busy wiping the counter and topping off the sugar containers.
Once the toast popped, she spoke to Jed but made no eye contact. "Would you like butter on it, sir?"
"No thank you, Brenda." Jed paused a moment, then gave a quick snicker. "We'll take it bone dry."
Brenda placed the toast on a small plate and handed it to Jed. He took the pieces and left her with the plate, then headed back to the restroom. When entering, the sight of the blood was alarming at first. He now understood their concern. He'd clean up his mess in a bit, but for now there was the matter of the drain. Jed sat next to the drain on the floor and tore off a small piece of toast.
"Maybe this'll be more to your liking."
He dropped the toast through the grate, being careful not to drop it directly into the drain. He sat patiently but nothing happened.
"It's okay, little one. I've already seen you. You can come out." Jed pulled at the grate but it was fastened down with screws. He'd thought of getting his toolbox, but the screws were rusted and stripped. There'd be no hope in removing them.
He tore off another piece of toast, dipped it in a spot of blood on the floor next to him and dropped it through the grate. Jed grew impatient when nothing happened.
"Take it!" He yelled. "Why won't you take it?"
Jed took a bite of the toast himself and slowly chewed on the good side of his mouth. The pain was still there but nothing like it was before. He continued to chew the toast, when his mouth suddenly shot open in reaction to a piece of toast triggering the exposed nerve from yet another tooth. It was a different kind of pain, though familiar. This sharper pain was how the other tooth had begun.
Jed looked down at the drain. "You don't want the toast. You want more of me, don't you?"
He stared off as though deeply considering his thoughts. Farrah watched him from above. Her smile spread wide, exposing every perfect tooth as though mocking him. "Stop it!" Jed threw the toast at the poster. "You think I haven't won, but I have! You won't beat me!"
Jed reached for the pliers on the floor and stood up in front of the mirror. The swelling had increased, as had the dark circles. He opened his mouth and began what had become a familiar process. He found the tooth he suspected as being the new source of pain, gripped it with the pliers and twisted, pulling it up and out at the same time. With a mixture of shock, the Vicodin cocktail, and determination driven by fear, Jed only winced and took the tooth out in one pull. He didn't drop the pliers this time and sat back down next to the drain. He took the tooth and dropped it through the grate. He was careless in doing so, and as a result the tooth fell straight down the drain itself.
Jed's eyes widened in shock at his mistake. He leaned forward with his ear to the grate and heard a scuffling. And then silence.
"Please come out." Jed whined. He was disappointed at his clumsy mistake and somehow knew the thing would never show again unless he gave it what it wanted. He returned the pliers to his mouth and searched for a tooth away from the others. He picked one of his lower incisors. Cosmetically it was a bad choice, but he told himself it was the easiest to pull and perhaps the least painful. This time when pulling, it broke off in the pliers and the piece bounced onto the floor. He saw it immediately and fetched it.
He studied the drain, looking for the right angle to drop the chunk of tooth without losing it to the drain pipe. After much contemplation, Jed decided on the method and angle. Cautiously he slipped his fingers through the grate, closed his eyes tight, and then dropped the broken tooth. He heard a single tink and opened his eyes. He sat and waited in anticipation, like a baby watching their parent in a game of peek-a-boo. As Jed rubbed his drying eyes, the tiny hand snatched the piece and disappeared into the drain. Though he'd finally seen it again, it was only a quick glance and not satisfactory.
"Please come back out!" There was a haunting desperation in his voice. "You can trust me now. I won't harm you. We…we need each other." Jed's plea turned into rage-filled declarations that no doubt alarmed anyone in or near the café, followed by fits of crying.
****
Brenda ignored the screams from the bathroom. The guy was clearly drunk and her book was getting good. If need be, the police were only a phone call away. But something through the front windows caught her eye. One of the men who'd helped in the restroom earlier was running full sprint toward the café with a baseball bat in hand. He opened the café door
and entered.
"Brenda! Call the police, now!"
"What, Donnie? What's happened? Are you okay?"
"Is that guy still in the bathroom?" The man's question was answered when he heard Jed's crying pleas. "When I went to leave I saw his truck door was open. There was a…" He struggled to get the words out. "Brenda, there is a woman's head in the passenger seat!"
Shirley stared in shock at what she was hearing from the mouths of both men in the building.
"It's that woman that comes around here all the time. The prostitute—curly, black hair."
"Amy?" Brenda asked.
"Yeah, that one."
Shaking, Brenda picked up the phone and dialed 911, while Donnie slowly approached the short hall that led to the restrooms.
"Come out! I saw you!" Jed screamed. He had developed a lisp that wasn't there before. "I've given you so much!"
After making the call, Brenda hung up the phone and caught up to Donnie just as he opened the door. The bathroom floor was covered in blood, and Jed sat in the middle of it next to the drain. His head was bloody with patches of missing hair. Jed took no notice at his audience, as he pulled off the nail of one of his toes and fed it to the grate. Donnie crept up with the bat over his head and peeked into the drain. It was full of teeth with clumps of hair wet with crimson sprouting up through the grate.