And I Thought I Was Human …

To be honest, I didn’t think that I’d have my life-changing experience begin at the dentist’s. No normal person would think that. So often, books and movies start out when the main character is at a nightclub or a party or on the streets of New York. But not me. I was thrown into a world of chaos and rivalry when I had my cheek numbed, with saliva dripping down my chin – not exactly the Lara Croft type of sexy heroine.

Now, usually in stories where people discover that the world isn’t what it seems, events begin slowly. Then, it turns out more species live on earth than we thought, and I’m not talking about the amoeba or bacteria type of species, but humanesque beings that always just happen to be way more powerful and beautiful than us. For me, things didn’t start out nice and peaceful. I can’t exactly give you this awesome exposition where I talk about all the strange things that built up in my life leading to this huge discovery. Actually, I’m pretty oblivious to it all, so even if that stuff happened, I don’t remember it.

Here is the exposition that I can give you: that fateful January morning, I did normal day things. I got up, groaned, tolerated my classes, groaned, went to soccer practice and got kicked really hard in the shin, groaned in pain, and then went to the dentist. The groan there is implicit.

My dentist wasn’t great – granted that there really aren’t any great dentists in existence, this isn’t saying much. Neither was my dentist absolutely abhorrent. It certainly wasn’t one of those places with a TV in every room, the scent of awesome lotion, and those weird hand wax dips. Someone told me there are actually dentists out there with offices like that, but I’m still not entirely sure I believe it – sounds as much of an illusion as the Promised Land.

Anyway, as I walked through the front door of the office into the lobby, I was met with the smell of latex gloves, machinery, and ground down teeth. I glanced back through the door at my mother, who waved goodbye from the car, giving me a smile that said, “It won’t be that bad,” which was a total lie. Then she drove off. I sighed and slumped into one of those patterned waiting chairs from the ’70s and pulled out an old People magazine. Honestly, I never read these – I just wanted to look like I was doing something.

The desk lady looked at me expectantly and asked, “Lucia Shay?”

I didn’t recognize her, which was strange, since the same attendant had been there through the four years that I’d been coming here. This woman was older and uglier.

“Yup,” I responded, almost wanting to lie and delay my appointment a little longer.

I scanned the room: shuttered windows, a creepy cartoon of a dentist helping patients in ways that were definitely not up to code, and badly painted white walls. The walls were scuffed in a way that didn’t look terrible enough to really need fixing, but still brought down the class of the entire establishment.

‘Why white?’ I thought to myself. Why would they choose the most clinical, foreboding, and easily ruined color to paint their walls? That would be like me writing ‘Welcome’ in blood on a wall during a house party – a perfect way to set the ‘Oh God No’ mood.

After a few minutes of flipping through the magazine playing ‘Hot or Not’ which for me was really ‘Eh or Meh,’ my name was called. The hygienist poked her head through the door and grinned at me with horse teeth. This one was new too, or at least I didn’t recognize her. They must have reshuffled the staff or something – maybe they underwent new management. This girl was blonde and perfect looking, and not to mention way too happy for someone who spent time digging around in people’s mouths all day. Maybe it was a weird fetish or something, because it certainly wasn’t normal. She led me to one the back rooms, her blonde hair swishing behind her. One of my old friends had told me once that nearly 405 of Starbucks drinking stereotypical ‘white girls’ aspire to be hygienists. I don’t get the allure, but then again I don’t get the fascination with iPhones either so I’ve come to the conclusion that people are confusing and I just have to deal with it.

The lady guided me to the chair which I sat down in hesitantly. It was such an awkward and vulnerable position, and my leg still hurt from soccer so there were all sorts of discomforts going on.

She tucked the bib around my neck precisely and stated, “I’ll be back in just a minute then we can get started,” then she pressed the little foot paddle and the chair began to reposition.

As the backrest sunk, I muttered a small sarcastic, “Yayyyy.”

You see, I wasn’t just in for a regular cleaning today: I had to get three cavities filled because apparently I ‘brush too aggressively’ or something. Which really goes against everything I learned from the TV as a child. I sat there looking out the window into the beautiful scenery of the parking lot, contemplating my escape, when she finally returned.

In one hand, she held a cotton swab and in the other, a needle. Now, I’m not really afraid of needles; I get flu shots every year and every once in a while I’ll break a bone and they’ll have to knock me out for surgery. However, seeing someone holding a sharp object above your face and having to recognize that they are going to stab you with it and there is nothing you can do, is a little unsettling. She rubbed the cotton swab on the roof of my mouth and around my gums on the left side, and I began to feeling the cool sensation of numbing. The side of my face felt limp and heavy, like it had suddenly filled with sand. Then she plunged the needle in the numb spot. I wish I could say I didn’t feel it, but I did. I winced in discomfort and then waited, closing my eyes for the next step. After a few minutes, she spoke, “The dentist will arrive in just a few minutes.”

I managed a muffled “Uh-huh,” which was really intend as an ‘alright,’ but my face wouldn’t allow it.

I closed my eyes again, letting my mind wander until I heard footsteps drawing towards me. I looked over to see an unfamiliar face. My usual dentist was a petite woman, but this one was a large man with a bit of peeling skin on his face.

I thought to myself, I swear to god, if any of that face skin gets in my mouth I will vomit then I will sue. But I didn’t realize that the peeling skin was the least of my problems.

He did the usual dentist thing: asked my name and age, showed me my x-rays for two months ago, and told me the procedure. I nodded as much as I could and then let him begin.

He put those weird clampy things on either side of my mouth that kept my lips wide open, and then began to drill. The hygienist loomed over, observing and occasionally wiping up the drool that ran down my face.

After about five minute of drilling, he seemed to hit a sore spot or a nerve because I yelped in pain, my eyes snapping open. The second I made eye contact with the dentist, something strange happened. His pupils narrowed into slits and his iris went from brown to vibrant yellow green. Instinctually, I screamed a little.

I thought the anesthesia was giving me hallucinations, but unfortunately what was happening was not my mind playing tricks. The dentist stopped drilling and pulled back – he whipped his head up to look at the hygienist and say, “You didn’t tell she was a godling!”

“It wasn’t in the file!” she screeched, then twisted her head to get a better look at me as I attempted to squirm into a better position. Then, she flicked her tongue out at me… her forked tongue. “I guess we’re just lucky. I haven’t had a godling in sooo long,” she cooed, licking her lips.