jamieproctor.ca

For Tommy’s tenth birthday, his father told him he could have anything in the whole wide world.
“Anything at all?” he asked. You’ve got to make sure with adults.
“Anything at all,” he replied.
Tommy thought for a bit and wiggled his loosest, lastest baby tooth.
“New teeth, please,” he said.
Tommy’s father furrowed his brow a bit and spent some time online looking up obscure apothecaries, and finally found a little place somewhere in Norway that sold what he was looking for.
On April fifth, Tommy unwrapped his present from his father. The tooth-box was smaller than he’d imagined, only a little bigger than a bottle of Tylenol and dusty with age. Inside was a full set of solid, mellow, age-yellowed teeth, squared and rounded at the edges simultaneously and as comforting and filling to the mouth as sugared oatmeal to the stomach.
“They’re a bit big, maybe,” said Tommy’s father as he helped put them in.
“I’ll grow into them,” he said, clicking them a few times for practice. His ‘r’s came out firm and steady; his chewing was methodical and merciless, shredding birthday dinner in half the time he’d needed before. Tommy was happy as a clam, right up until the next day came and he had to go to school again.
“Hey Tommy,” said the bus driver. “Nice teeth. My grandpa had teeth like that. Saw him chew through a fence post and use what was left as a toothpick once.”
Tommy thanked her and went to his seat, where he smiled a bit.
“Nice teeth, dumbass,” said his classmates on the bus. “What’d your dad do, beat up a homeless guy?”
“They’re clean and strong and good for chewing,” he said. “And they look just fine.”
“That’s totally gay,” they said, and they poked him on the bus and threw stuff at him in class and in recess people kept shoving him.
“Did you keep the receipt?” Tommy asked his father that night.
“Sure. Did they fall out?”
“Not quite. But I’d like to try a new pair, if it’s alright.”
His father was a bit worried, but Tommy didn’t want to talk about it so he didn’t push it. A few days later Purolator dropped off another package. This box was smaller still, shaped almost like a little makeup case. Inside were thirty-two perfect and gleaming white teeth, slender but iron-harder, enamel preserved as fresh as a daisy.
“Said they belonged to an early twentieth-century aristocrat who donated them after the First World War,” said Tommy’s father, hoping to appeal to his interest in history.
“That’s nice,” said Tommy. He tried them out that evening, found them serviceable – if somewhat daintier than his last set, and prone to over-enunciation – and wore them to school on the morrow.
“Hey Tommy,” said the bus driver. “What happened to your teeth?”
“It’s not important,” said Tommy.
“Alright. Nice ones though – good and shiny. Remind me of a president’s.”
Tommy thanked her and went to his seat, wondering which president.
“What the hell’s wrong with your mouth?” asked his classmates on the bus.
“They’re my new teeth,” said Tommy. “I just got them yesterday. Do you like them?”
“They look like girl’s teeth and you’re so gay,” they said, and they spent the rest of the bus ride making fun of him, giggled at him in class, and sang songs at him while they were at the playground. None of the songs were very good. Or nice.
“A third set? Really?” asked Tommy’s father.
“Please,” he said.
Tommy’s father sat down. “Alright. But first, you tell me why.”
Tommy told him.
“I think,” said Tommy’s father, “that we will have to call your mother.”
So they did.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of that place before,” said Tommy’s mother. “Sweden or something, right? Good business, high-quality stuff. Your dad’s got taste in teeth – musta got it from me.”
“They’re nice teeth, I guess,” said Tommy. “But they’re sort of ruining my life.”
“Nah, that’s just other people,” said his mother. “Tell you what; I’ve got a little something surprising here from my work that I can send over if you’re not quite ready to give up on trying out new teeth. Whatcha say?”
“Will it help?”
“Definitely! Probably!”
Tommy didn’t need to think about it before he said “yes” and then the mail seemed to take forever, all the way until next week. But then the parcel came in the mail from his mother; all the way from Africa, wrapped in burlap and brown paper, rugged as an action hero’s five-o’clock shadow.
Tommy opened it up. He liked what he saw, and he put them in right away.
“Jesus!” said Tommy’s father.
“’Ank Yu,” said Tommy. Morning was a bit troublesome; eating his cereal was hard, and speaking was a bit tricky, and opening his mouth made his lips ache a bit. But he’d probably grow into them, and he went to the bus stop with a light heart for the first time in days.
“Hey Tommy,” said the bus driver.
He nodded and smiled.
“Jesus!” said the bus driver. “Careful! I can’t afford a heart attack while I’m driving this thing.”
Tommy apologized – indistinctly – and went to his seat.
“Why so tight-lipped?” asked his classmates on the bus. “C’mon, smile for us. Why aren’t you smiling?”
Tommy smiled. His mouth wasn’t quite the right shape as a baboon’s, so it was a little cramped, but the two-inch canines still managed to show themselves off.
“JESUS!” said his classmates, and they all ran around at once trying to get away from him, climbing over the bigger ones in an effort to be first. In class the teacher lost his train of thought seven times while staring at him, and during recess everybody stayed so far away from him that he wondered if they were playing Tag and nobody had told him he was It.
“Have a better day?” said Tommy’s father when he came home.
“Sort of,” said Tommy. And he told him about it.
“Well,” said his father. “Well. And how do you feel about that?”
“I’d rather not have to be scary to get along,” said Tommy. “I’ll wear my own teeth tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” said his father.
The next day, nobody made fun of Tommy. The day after that, the teacher didn’t stare. And the day after that, he was able to have his first normal recess in a week. And all that made him feel pretty good.
But he kept the baboon teeth for Halloween. And maybe just in case.