She is very beautiful. With hair swept back and a face that shouted kindness.
She instructed me to open my mouth wide, which I happily did. Well, no. I did that begrudgingly. She searched my teeth with expertise — and if I’m honest, she made those metal dental tools look less frightening.
And there was a man in the room, her assistant, whom I forgot about the second I lay face up on the bed and she looked into my eyes. She might have been looking into my mouth, perhaps. But my mind insists on the former. My kind eyes bewitched her.
Before I could even picture me and her talking a walk hand-in-hand, bathed in entertaining and mind-twisting conversation, she said, “Okay, Themba. That’s it. I am done.” She stuffed a white cotton wool into the hole.
I woke up from my stupor. She had extracted the tooth. And it was less painful than I anticipated.
The assistant looked at me with eyes that said I should get out of the room. Was he jealous of my connection with the doctor?
Perhaps it was just my mind seeing him as an enemy.
Anyway, I sit now with one tooth less and excruciating pain.