Hey Dr. Popov (nervous chuckle)
Did you get a new poster of a kitten hanging from a tree?
(silence while he puts on the paper bib and eases the chair back) I got it two years ago.
Oh I guess it's been, wow has it been--
Open your mouth.
It's like that. I apologize for my bad teeth and he yanks out the rotten ones with a pair of rusty pliers. Yesterday he gave me two shots of novacaine and I could actually hear my heart slamming into my chest.
Can you feel this? (he whacked my back tooth with the metal tool of torture.)
Fucksake Dr. Popov! (the tears start from the corners of my eyes)
I think you need another shot.
Can we just wait until--my hands are shaking though--
He puts his hand on my forehead to hold down my thrashing. In my head, I am swearing I will never eat australian red licorice bits again.
It's not a problem. Just relax.
I moan and clench my fists. While I am waiting for the novacaine to sink in, Dr. Popov's assistant comes in. She has perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect eyebrows and probably perfect teeth. She looks about 17 but could be 40. I love her.
My eyelid is twitching.
It is. Really. Twitch--
You can't talk about it. We have saying that your eye learns everything first. Maybe someone is sending you a message.
In morse code?
It could be a good sign.
I hope it's that I'm going to make it out of here alive. And that I never have to come back.
She shook her head at me and smiled with pity, "You will always have to come back".