Bad Teeth Bradley's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

Bradley walked toward the bakery the next morning with the blue flyer still in his pocket. He could feel it there, folded against the candy wrappers. The gap in his mouth where the molar used to be kept catching his tongue. He'd tried not to eat anything before noon, but his hands had started shaking around ten, so he'd unwrapped a butterscotch and let it sit against his teeth. Just one, he'd told himself. Just to stop the shaking. A man in a white coat stepped out from the dental clinic ahead and started following him. Bradley noticed because the man kept pace exactly, staying three steps behind even when Bradley slowed down to look in a shop window. When Bradley stopped to unwrap another candy — his hands were shaking again — the man caught up and cleared his throat. "I'm Dr. Stevens," he said, pointing at the clinic behind them with the bright glass front and potted plants by the door. "And you just ate four pieces of candy in ten minutes." Bradley's mouth went dry around the butterscotch. Dr. Stevens held out his hand, not for a handshake, but palm-up and waiting. Bradley dropped the candy wrapper into it without thinking. Dr. Stevens walked him straight to the clinic, one hand on Bradley's shoulder like he might run. Inside, the waiting room smelled like mint and something chemical that made Bradley's stomach turn. Dr. Stevens pulled a leather bag from under the front desk and opened it to show rows of shining metal tools. "We're going to take a look," he said, not asking. Bradley sat in the chair because his legs felt wobbly and he didn't know what else to do. Dr. Stevens leaned close with a small mirror. "Open." Bradley opened. The dentist made a low noise in his throat and pulled back. "You've got two more about to go. Maybe three." Bradley's tongue found the gaps and the soft spots. He knew. He'd known for weeks. Dr. Stevens set down the mirror and looked at Bradley for a long moment. "That place across the street," he said, pointing through the window at the pop-up shop with the cartoon tooth sign on top and the orange awning. "They'll tell you they can fix it fast. They can't. They'll make it worse." He closed the leather bag with a snap. "You come here Tuesday morning. We'll start with a cleaning and go from there." Bradley stood up, his legs still shaky. Dr. Stevens wrote the appointment on a card and pressed it into Bradley's hand. Bradley looked down at it — Tuesday, nine o'clock, no cancellations — and felt the weight of it like a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. But he put the card in his pocket next to the blue flyer, and when he stepped outside, he didn't unwrap another candy. Not yet.