A MILLION LITTLE PIECES

I am in a new Room. It is simple and white and empty, but for a bed. I don’t know how I got here or how long I have been here or what day it is or what time it is. I do know that I’m still at the Clinic. I know this because I can hear the screams. The screams of the Addicted without their addictions. The screams of the dead who are somehow still alive.

I lie on my back and I stare at the ceiling. I have been sick twice today but it wasn’t bad. There was no blood and no bile and no chunks, just acid and water. I find this encouraging. It is the only thing about my current situation that I find encouraging.

I am waiting for someone to come and tell me that it is time for me to leave. I am trying to decide what I’m going to do. I have no place to live, nowhere to go. I have no money, no resources, no job. I have no hope for money, no hope for resources, no hope for a job. I have no self-confidence, no self-esteem, no sense of self-worth. My sense of self-preservation was gone a long time ago. I won’t bother with my Parents or my Brother or the few friends I have left. They will write me off once I leave here. I will write me off once I leave here.

There is a knock at the door and I ignore it. There is another knock and I ignore it again. I don’t want to see anybody or speak to anybody or have anything to do with anybody. I need to decide what I’m going to do.

The door opens and Ken and a man and a woman walk in and I sit up. The man is taller than Ken and his body is thick with muscle and he has short black spiky hair. He wears large black boots, faded black jeans and a black shirt that has a picture of a Harley on the front and reads Ride Hard, Ride Sober. His arms are covered with tattoos and his knuckles are covered with scars. The woman is short and plump and she has long gray hair pulled into a ponytail and she looks like Mona Lisa. She wears thick baggy clothing and wool socks and Birkenstocks and she wears silver rings on her fingers and a turquoise pendant around her neck. I see no tattoos and I see no scars. Ken speaks.

Hi, James.

Hi.

Mind if we sit down?

I don’t care.

Ken sits on the end of the bed, the woman sits cross-legged on the floor, the man stands. Ken speaks.

This is Lincoln.

He motions to the man. The man stares at me.

He’s the Unit Supervisor on Sawyer.

I stare back.

And this is Joanne.

Lincoln stares at me.

She’s a Staff Psychologist.

I stare back.

We’d like to talk about what happened yesterday.

Lincoln stares, I stare back.

Then talk.

Lincoln speaks. His voice is deep and hard, sounds like a rusty metal spike.

We want you to talk. We wanna hear your side of things.

You gonna throw me out of here?

Ken looks at Lincoln, Lincoln looks at Joanne. Joanne speaks.

Right now we just want to talk.

Where should I start?

Lincoln speaks.

Where did the trouble start?

I had a dream, a bad dream, and it completely fucked me up. I guess it started there.

Ken speaks.

What was the dream?

I was in a Room alone and I didn’t know where I was or how I got there and I was drinking and doing drugs and I got annihilated. It seemed real and when I woke up I was scared.

Joanne speaks.

You had a User Dream.

What’s a User Dream?

When Alcoholics and Addicts stop drinking and using drugs, their subconscious minds still crave them. That craving is sometimes manifested in dreams that can seem startlingly real and, in a sense, are real. Although you didn’t use, some part of your mind did. You’ll probably continue to have them for as long as a year.

That’ll be fun.

Lincoln speaks.

Then what?

He’s staring at me.

I went to the Bathroom and I got sick and I felt worse. I tried to look at my face and I got sick in a different way and I felt worse again. Then I went to clean the Toilets.

He’s still staring.

And then you attacked Roy.

I turn, stare back.

Roy got in my face. I got him out of my face.

Ken speaks.

Why’d he get in your face?

No idea.

He just did it?

He’s been giving me shit the whole time I’ve been here. I have no idea why.

What’s he been doing?

Telling me I’m breaking all the Rules, telling me I’m doing everything wrong, telling me he’s gonna get me thrown out of here.

Lincoln speaks.

And you don’t like that, do you?

I didn’t do anything. He had no right to say shit to me.

And did you have any right to attack him?

Once he got in my face I did.

What if I got in your face?

I’d get you out of it.

Lincoln stares.

The Tough Guy act isn’t gonna get you very far.

I stare back.

Won’t get you very far either.

Ken speaks.

Roy told us he was helping you and you went after him without a reason.

Roy’s a fucking liar.

Lincoln speaks.

Watch your mouth.

Fuck you.

What did you say?

I said Fuck You.

WATCH YOUR MOUTH.

FUCK YOU.

Ken speaks.

Calm down, James.

Fuck you too, Ken.

Joanne speaks, looks at Ken and Lincoln.

Would you leave us alone for a while?

Lincoln speaks.

We’re not done yet.

Joanne speaks.

I think it would be best if you left us alone for a little while. We’ll talk as a group again soon.

Lincoln turns and walks out of the Room without a word. Ken looks at me and he speaks.

If you need to talk, I’ll be in my Office.

He follows Lincoln out and he shuts the door and I’m alone with Joanne. She leans against the wall and she closes her eyes and she takes a deep breath and she exhales and I sit on the bed and I watch her and she just sits there and she breathes and I get tired of the silence and the sound of her breathing. I want to be alone and I need to figure out what I’m going to do. I speak.

What do you want?

She opens her eyes.

Just thought I’d sit with you for a few minutes. See if there was anything you wanted to talk about.

There’s nothing.

Okay.

She stands.

Is there anything I can help you with before I leave?

Yeah.

What?

I want to stop taking Librium.

Why?

It makes me crazy, makes me feel like everything is a bad fucking dream. I’d rather have nothing than that shit.

I’ll tell the Nurses to end your cycle.

Thank you.

Anything else?

What am I supposed to do?

Today is another day. Breakfast starts in about ten minutes, then the Lecture. You have an appointment with the Dentist at ten-thirty and need to be back here to meet the Driver at ten o’clock. Just go about your day and if you need to talk about anything, I’m in Room three twelve.

Thank you.

She moves toward the door.

I’ll see you soon?

Maybe.

She leaves and I’m alone and I’m surprised to be here and part of me is relieved and part of me is disappointed and part of me is confused and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can either leave or stay. I can either leave or stay? Leaving means going back to addiction and facing either death or Jail. Staying means leaving addiction and facing something that is unknown to me. I’m not sure which scares me more. I get up and I open the door and I see I’m in the Medical Unit. I get in line and I start to go about my day and I remember Joanne’s room number. Three twelve.

I take my antibiotics and they go down easier than they have been going down and I walk through the clean bright empty Halls to the Dining Hall. As I enter the glass Corridor I see that I’m late and I see People look up and stare at me and I ignore them and I get a bowl of gray mushy oatmeal and I dump a large pile of sugar on top of it and I find a place at an empty table and I sit down. I know that People are still staring at me and I ignore them. Leonard motions to me and he walks over with two men. The first man is short and thick and wears a black bandana around his head. Long dark hair hangs out of the back of the bandana. He wears jeans and a black T-shirt and has a scar running the length of one of his cheeks. The other man is tall and thin and wears tight black jeans, a black button-down shirt and black cowboy boots. His face is tight and drawn and blue veins stick out from beneath the skin of his arms. Both of the men look violent and angry. Both of them are far more frightening than the average Patient here. Leonard sets his tray down on my table.

Hey, Kid.

Hey.

This is Ed.

He motions to the short man.

And this is Ted.

He motions to the tall man.

The men nod. I nod back.

Mind if we eat with you?

I don’t care.

Leonard sits down.

Thanks.

Ed and Ted follow his lead. Leonard speaks.

Heard you beat Roy’s ass yesterday.

I stare at my oatmeal. I don’t respond.

I hate that Asshole, so don’t worry about me telling anybody anything.

I look up at Leonard. I don’t respond.

Ted speaks. He has a deep southern accent.

You shoulda seen him afterward. He was fucked up. All crying and moaning and screaming and shit. He got so scared he pissed his pants.

I look at Ted. I don’t respond.

Ed speaks. His voice is low and worn. A blue-collar voice.

What’d you do to him?

I look at Ed.

I ain’t gonna say nothing to anybody.

I look at the scar. It’s deep and brutal.

I just wanna know what you did to him.

I asked him if the Toilets were clean enough, pushed him around a bit.

Leonard speaks

That’s it?

Yeah, that’s it.

I stand and I pick up my tray and I walk to an empty table and I sit down and I start eating. The oatmeal is gray and mushy and disgusting but the sugar tastes good. It soaks into my tongue and its sweetness is the first taste I have recognized aside from whiskey or wine or smoke or vomit since the evening of my accident. I like the sweet and the taste means that some of my senses are coming back. They will all come back if I stay here. I’ll be able to taste and smell and experience normal sensations that normal people experience every day. If I stay.

I shovel the last sweet spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth and as I swallow it, I can feel my stomach trying to send it back up. I clench my jaw and I hold my breath and I squeeze my abdominal muscles and I try to stop it. I start gagging, having small violent painful heaves. I feel a mass move up my throat and it no longer tastes so sweet and I take a breath and I swallow again and the mass moves back down. As soon as it is down it tries to come back up. I repeat the process. Clench, squeeze, breathe, swallow. Clench, breathe, squeeze, swallow. My body is fighting what it needs to get better. I am fighting what I need to get better.

The mass finally settles and it’s uncomfortable and I take a deep breath and I lean back in my chair. My stomach is full and burning. It’s not used to keeping so much food and it’s not used to keeping so much food so regularly. It feels as if it’s stretching and it begins draining me of all of my energy. The simple act of digesting a bowl of oatmeal is draining me of all my energy. I have been awake less than an hour.

Around me the other Patients are filing out of the Dining Hall and heading to the Lecture. I stand and I put my tray away and I follow them down the glass Corridor and through the maze of Halls and past the streaming windows and the open doors and the smiling faces of the Staff. I look at no one and I acknowledge no one. I’m in my head and in my head I’m alone. I’m trying to decide what I’m going to do.

I find a seat among the men of my Unit and I sit down. There is nobody on either side of me and that is the way I want it. It is also the way the men of the Unit seem to want it. I can feel them looking at me and when I look back they look away. They look away quickly and I stare at them until they can feel me staring and they can feel the message behind my stare and they know not to look at me anymore. They don’t look at me anymore. Roy is sitting two rows in front of me and is whispering to a man I don’t know and he is leering at me out of the corner of his eye. I stare at him. His whispering becomes more animated and is accompanied by angry gestures. The man starts leering at me. Roy punctuates a sentence and they start laughing. I am in no mood.

Hey, Roy.

Roy stops talking, stares at me.

Is there a problem?

The rest of men of the Unit stare at me.

No, there’s no problem.

If you’ve got something to say, come say it to my face.

I don’t have anything to say.

Then why don’t you and your little Butt-Buddy shut the fuck up.

Roy gasps, the man is shocked. I hear several People laugh. I stare at Roy until he and the man turn around. They look straight ahead and there is no more whispering.

A woman steps onto the Stage and the Lecture starts. The woman talks about sex and addiction and how Alcoholics and Addicts often have cross-addictions between their drug of choice and their sexual activity of choice. She talks about how the connection can drive both activities to dangerous and deviant places. Physical places and figurative places. Places without exits and places from which it is impossible to return.

The Lecture ends and I sit and I wait and I watch everyone leave and I stand and I walk out and the food is still soaking in and the last remnants of the past days’ Librium are seeping out. I feel heavy and slow but beneath there are the beginnings of something fast and needy and scared and shaky and fragile and anxious and angry and desperate. For now the heaviness is holding it back, but I know that it’s only for now.

I go back to the Medical Unit and I find a Nurse and I tell her I have to go to the Dentist and she checks the outside appointment book and it checks and she sends me to a Waiting Room and I wait. The Waiting Room has windows and I can see outside. Though it is late in the morning, it is still dark. I can hear thunder and see sleet. The wind is whipping whatever lies on the ground into the air. The trees look as if they want to hide. It is ugly and it’s going to get uglier.

Hank walks into the Waiting Room. He’s bundled in a thick, warm, waterproof jacket. He wears wool-lined rubber boots.

Hey, Kid.

Hey, Hank.

We shake hands.

How ya been?

Been better.

I stand.

Bet ya been worse too.

I smile.

Yeah, I’ve been worse too.

You ready?

Yeah.

Let’s go.

We walk out of the Waiting Room and through a short Hall and outside. The Van is twenty feet from the Exit and I run toward it. The sleet and the wind pound into my skin, the thunder shakes my bones.

I open the front passenger door of the Van and I jump inside and the Van is running and it is warm. There is an old weather-beaten jacket similar to the one Hank is wearing sitting on the seat. I pick it up and put it on and settle in and clutch myself. After a few seconds, Hank, who did not need to run, opens the driver’s door and climbs in.

You found the coat.

It was hard to miss.

I used to wear it when I worked on my boat.

It has that look.

It’s a good coat.

It’s working great right now.

I know you don’t have one, or have anything from what I’m told, so I want you to use it while you’re here.

Thank you, Hank. I appreciate that.

Don’t mention it.

I really appreciate it. Thank you.

Don’t mention it.

Hank puts the Van into gear and we pull away from the Clinic and we start making our way toward Town. Hank concentrates on the road and I stare out the window and I think. A few days ago the land was shutting down and preparing for winter and dying. Now it’s shut down and prepared and dead. There are no leaves on the trees, no living vegetation on the ground, not an insect or a bird or an animal in sight. The thunder is getting louder and closer and the sleet is getting harder and faster and the wind is trying to push the Van into a ditch. Hank keeps it on the road. I stare out the window and I think.

I knew the facts within a month of first laying eyes on her. She was from Connecticut, her Father was a prominent investment banker in New York, her Mother played tennis and bridge and was the President of the local Junior League. She had gone to a prestigious all-girls prep school in New Hampshire. She had an older Brother and an older Sister. She had never had a boyfriend.

I met her when a friend of mine asked me if I could get him some dope. He wasn’t a smoker so I asked him who wanted it and he told me it was for a girl named Lucinda who lived in his dorm and I told him I would have to meet her first so he gave me the Room number and I went to the Room and I knocked on the door and the door opened and she was standing there. Tall and thin, long blond hair like thick ropes of silk, eyes cut from the Arctic. I didn’t know Lucinda and I didn’t know she lived with Lucinda and I couldn’t speak and she was standing there. She was standing there.

Hi.

I just stared.

Can I help you with something?

I started to open my mouth and my mouth didn’t work and my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking and I felt dizzy and excited and scared and insignificant. She was standing in front of me. Right in front of me. Tall and thin, long blond hair like thick ropes of silk, eyes cut from the Arctic.

I turned and I walked away without a word. I didn’t look back and I went to my Room and I got a strong bottle and I took a strong drink. My heart was still pounding and my hands were still shaking and for the first time in my life it wasn’t because of alcohol or drugs and for the first time in my life alcohol and drugs wouldn’t make it go away.

We pull into town and it is empty. There are no parked cars, no shoppers, no young Mothers walking with Children, no old men on benches with coffee and words of wisdom. The Stores are open, but they’re not doing business. The only things out are thunder and sleet and wind. They are getting stronger.

We park in the same spot in front of the same Building and Hank turns off the Van and reaches over and opens the glove compartment and removes two old, yellow tennis balls. He hands them to me.

I thought you might want these.

Why?

I don’t know much about anything except for fishing and driving, but I have a feeling whatever you’re getting done this morning is gonna hurt.

Probably.

You’re not gonna get painkillers or anesthesia, at least not while you’re still a Patient at a Treatment Center. I’ve found the next best things is those balls. When it starts hurting, start squeezing.

I hold the balls in my hand, give them a squeeze.

Thanks.

Sure.

He opens his door and he gets out and I do the same and we shut the doors and we walk into the Building and we walk up the stairs to the Dentist’s Office. The door is open and we go inside and I sit on one of the couches in the Waiting Room and Hank goes to Reception and he starts talking to the Receptionist. The Babar the Elephant book is sitting in front of me. I pick it up and start reading it. I remember reading it as a small Boy and enjoying it and imagining that I was friends with Babar, his constant Companion during all of his adventures. He went to the Moon, I went with him. He fought Tomb Raiders in Egypt, I fought alongside him. He rescued his elephant girlfriend from Ivory Hunters on the Savanna, I coordinated the getaway. I loved that goddamn Elephant and I loved being his friend. In a childhood full of unhappiness and rage, Babar is one of the few pleasant memories that I have. Me and Babar, kicking some motherfucking ass.

Hank comes back and he sits down next to me.

They’re ready for you.

All right.

You ready for them?

I hold up the tennis balls.

Yeah.

It’ll be interesting to see what you look like with teeth.

It’ll be interesting to have them again.

I stand.

I’ll see you in a while, Hank. Thanks for everything.

Don’t mention it.

I walk toward a door where a Nurse stands waiting for me. As I walk past her she is careful not to touch me and I am brought back from the happy afterglow of pachyderm memories and I am reminded of what I am. I am an Alcoholic and I am a drug Addict and I am a Criminal. I am missing my front four teeth. I have a hole in my cheek that has been closed with forty-one stitches. I have a broken nose and I have black swollen eyes. I have an Escort because I am a Patient at a Drug and Alcohol Treatment Center. I am wearing a borrowed jacket because I don’t have one of my own. I am carrying two old yellow tennis balls because I’m not allowed to have any painkillers or anesthesia. I am an Alcoholic. I am a drug Addict. I am a Criminal. That’s what I am and I don’t blame the Nurse for not wanting to touch me. If I weren’t me, I wouldn’t want to touch me.

She leads me into a small Room. The Room is like many other Rooms I have been in lately, except that it seems cleaner and whiter. There are stainless steel cabinets along the walls, trays of sharp sparkling instruments on top of the cabinets, a large halogen lamp hanging from the ceiling. There is a surgical chair sitting in the middle of the floor. It is metal and it has green cushions and long menacing arms and all sorts of straps and buttons and levers and gears. It looks like a medieval torture device. I know it is for me. I walk past the Nurse and I sit down in the chair and I try to make myself comfortable but it’s not possible. Torture devices are not made to be comfortable.

Doctor Stevens will be here in a minute.

All right.

Can I get you anything while you wait?

A Babar book.

Excuse me?

I would like a Babar the Elephant book. You have them in the Waiting Room.

I’ll be right back.

Thank you.

She leaves and I’m alone and as I settle into the chair and look around the Room, I start to panic. The last of the Librium is nearly gone and the food in my stomach has been broken down to the point that it no longer holds and everything speeds up. My heart, my blood pressure, the thoughts in my head. My hands are shaking, but it is not the heavy shaking of withdrawal. It is a quick and fragile form of shaking, a form of shaking that comes from fear. Fear of this Room, fear of the chair, fear of what the cabinets hold, fear of what the instruments do, fear of what’s going to happen to me here, fear of a pain so great that I need to squeeze tennis balls to make it go away.

The Nurse returns with the Babar book and she gives it to me and she leaves. I set the tennis balls in my lap and I open the book and I try to read it. As I turn the pages, I can see the words and I can see the pictures but I can’t read the words and I can’t understand the pictures. Everything is speeding up. My heart, my blood pressure, the thoughts in my head. I can’t concentrate on anything. Not even Babar.

I close the book and I clutch it against my chest and wait. Everything is shaking. My hands, my feet, the muscles in my legs, my chest, my jaw, my remaining teeth. I pick up the balls and I squeeze them and I try to force the strength of the shaking into the balls and the balls start shaking. Everything is shaking.

The door opens and the Lumberjack Dentist Doctor Stevens walks in and he is followed by another Dentist and two female Nurses. Doctor Stevens pulls up a stainless steel stool and he sits down on the stool near the bottom of the chair. The other Dentist and the Nurses begin collecting bins and instruments and opening cabinet doors and closing cabinet doors. The noises they are making are sharp and I don’t know what exactly they are doing but I know the sum of it will be going into my mouth.

Hi, James.

Hi.

Sorry for the wait. We were reviewing the procedures we’re going to do today.

No problem.

The other Dentist leans down and whispers something in Doctor Stevens’s ear. Doctor Stevens nods. The sum of it will be going into my mouth.

The first thing we want to do is cap the outside two teeth. We looked at the X rays again and the roots seem to be intact, the bases stable. Once they’re capped, they should be fine.

Okay.

After we do that, we need to do root-canal surgery on the middle two. The roots are unstable and if we don’t do the surgery, your teeth will turn black and die. After they die, they will fall out. I’m assuming you don’t want that to happen.

No, I don’t.

I’m sorry to be so blunt.

I appreciate your bluntness.

I want you to know exactly what we’re doing and why.

I don’t want to know any more.

There is one thing.

What?

This is going to be incredibly painful. Because you’re currently a Patient at a Drug Treatment Center, we can’t use any anesthesia, local or general, and when we’re done, we can’t give you any painkillers.

I hold up the balls, give them a light squeeze.

I know.

And you think you can deal with that?

I’ve been through worse.

What?

I’ve been through worse.

Doctor Stevens stares at me as if what I have said is incomprehensible to him. I know what I’m about to experience is going to be horrible and I don’t know if I’ve been through anything worse, but in order to do this, I have to believe that I have. I stare back.

Let’s go, Doc. Bring it.

He stands and begins talking in hushed tones to the other Dentist and to the Nurses and he helps them prepare the bins and instruments for their use in my mouth. I sit and wait and my body slows down and my mind slows down and I stop shaking and I stop squeezing the balls and I am calm. I have accepted that this is going to happen and that I need it to happen and that it’s going to hurt. A calm descends, a calm the Condemned must experience just before Execution.

Doctor Stevens steps forward and stands over me.

I’m going to lean you back a bit.

Okay.

He reaches down and he pulls a lever and he slowly and gently leans me back. The halogen light is directly over me and it is blinding in its brightness and I close my eyes. I am holding the balls and the Babar book is resting on my chest, just above my heart.

Do you mind if I move this book?

I’d rather you didn’t.

That’s fine. We’ll work around it.

I hear the shuffling of feet and the placement of bins and someone lifts my head and places the strings of a bib around the back of my neck and clips them and places the bib on top of the book. The chair moves farther down and farther back and a small firm pillow is placed beneath the base of my skull.

A female voice. A clinical manner.

I need you to open your mouth.

I open my mouth.

If it hurts, say so.

Okay.

Now stay still.

I stay still as someone’s hand pulls my bottom lip out and stuffs the space between my lip and gum with cotton. I can feel the stitches stretch and blood start to seep. The same procedure is done with my upper lip and my cheeks and it feels as if my mouth is full of soft fibrous dirt and almost instantly, everything is dry. A spray of water moistens it, but not enough. It is dry and it will stay dry no matter how many sprays I get.

I lean back into the chair and I close my eyes and I open my mouth wide and someone hands me the tennis balls and I take a spray and I hear low quiet words and the sound of a drill being tested. The drill goes on and off, on and off.

Check the sander.

A sander goes on and off, on and off.

Check the secondary drill.

The secondary drill goes on and off, on and off.

I feel the presence of People standing over me. A hand grabs my upper lip and gently pulls it so that my gum is exposed. A spray covers the remains of my teeth.

Here we come, James.

The spray continues and sander is turned on and as it comes in toward my mouth it gets louder and the noise is high and piercing and it hurts my ears and I start squeezing the balls and I try to prepare for the sander and the sander hits the fragment of my left outside tooth. The sander bounces slightly and white electric pain hits my mouth and the sander comes back and holds and pain spreads through my body from the top down and every muscle in my body flexes and I squeeze the balls and my eyes start to tear and the hair on the back of my neck stands straight and my tooth fucking hurts like the point of a bayonet is being driven through it. The point of a fucking bayonet.

The sander moves its way around the contour of the fragment and I stay tense and in pain and I can taste the grit of the bone on my tongue and the spray is spraying and it collects the grit and sends some of it down my throat and some of it into the space beneath my tongue. It continues, the sanding and the spraying and the grit and the pain, and the constant electricity of it keeps me tense and hard. I sit and I squeeze the tennis balls and my heart beats even and strong as if it needs the test of this ordeal to prove that it works correctly. The sander stops and I relax and I take a deep breath. There are soft voices and there are instruments being picked up.

I think there’s a cavity here, James. I need to check.

The cotton in my mouth has shifted enough to allow me to speak comprehensibly.

Then check.

It’s gonna hurt.

Get it over with.

I prepare for more but I’m not prepared for what hits me. As a sharp pointed instrument pokes around one of the sanded edges of my tooth it finds a small hole and it penetrates the hole. The electric pain shoots and it shoots at a trillion volts and it is white and burning. The bayonet is twenty feet long and red hot and razor sharp. The pain is greater than anything I’ve ever felt and it is greater than anything I could have imagined. It overwhelms every muscle and every fiber and every cell in my body and everything goes limp. I moan and the instrument goes away, but the pain stays.

It’s definitely a cavity. We need to fill it to cap the tooth correctly.

Every fiber and every cell is limp.

James?

Every fiber and every cell is white hot and burning.

James?

The pain is greater than I could have imagined.

James?

I take a deep breath.

Do what you need to do. Just get it over with.

Low muffled voices, the opening and closing of cabinets, the changing of instruments. The drill is turned on. I sit and I wait.

The drill comes and the drill hits and I squeeze the balls so hard that I think my fingers are fucking breaking and I moan. I moan in a steady tone that fills my ears so that I don’t have to hear the drill but I still hear it and I concentrate on the sound of the moan so that it will distract me from the pain but it doesn’t. Bayonet bayonet bayonet bayonet bayonet. The drill makes a hole and moves around the circumference of the hole and makes it wider and the grit mixes with the spray and moves down my throat and collects beneath my tongue. Bayonet, bayonet, bayonet. The hole gets larger and larger. Bayonet bayonet bayonet. There’s a fucking drill in my mouth. Bayonet.

The drill stops, the pain continues, the squeezing continues, my moan continues. Doctor Stevens tells the Nurses and the other Dentist to move quickly and they do. They stuff the hole with some sort of putty and they wipe it away and they stuff it and they wipe it away. The stuffing buffers the open pain of the hole and the piercing pain fades and a dull throbbing agony remains and my heart beats strong and steady and the agony beats along with it and it doesn’t bother me. I have lived with agony for so long that as it beats along with my strong and steady heart, it doesn’t bother me.

I stop moaning and I open my eyes and through the deep well of tears resting atop them I can see some sort of blue light being held above me and being focused on the putty. The putty gets hard and closes and melts around the hole and I hear the sander and see it moving in and I close my eyes and the sander hits and the chemical grit of the putty fills my mouth. The process repeats itself. Putty, blue light, sander. Putty, blue light, sander. I become immune to it and immune to its pain and I squeeze the tennis balls and I wait for it to end and it ends. One down, three to go.

Now we want to cap the outside right tooth.

I nod yes.

Do you want a break before we do it?

I shake my head no.

A moment of preparation and then the sander comes back and I endure it easily. There is no cavity and no drill so the putty and the light come back and they’re nothing. I’m holding the balls but not squeezing, the steady moan is gone, my heart rests. An easy and seamless rebuilding on the outside right. Two down, two to go.

I hear the shuffling of feet and the shuffling of instruments and the opening and closing of cabinet drawers and I open my eyes. Doctor Stevens is speaking with the other Dentist and the Nurses are putting the used instruments in a small sink for sterilization. Doctor Stevens finishes talking and the other Dentist leaves the room.

Is there a problem?

No, there’s no problem.

I sit up.

Where’s he going?

Doctor Stevens pulls up the stool.

I didn’t want to tell you this until we were ready to start, but I want to strap you down while we’re doing the root canals.

Why?

Aside from the factor of pain, one of the reasons we anesthetize Patients during root-canal procedures is so they don’t move. We need you to be still to work, and I’m not sure you’ll be able to be still if you’re not strapped down.

Fine.

You’re sure you’re okay with it.

Yeah, I’m fine.

The Dentist returns carrying two long thick blue nylon straps with large pressure-secure buckles. They are the kind of straps used to hold large objects onto the roofs of cars, to hook boats up to trailers, to keep the doors of animal cages shut. They have seen some use and they are the only thing in the Room besides me and the tennis balls that is not sparklingly clean.

I lean back in the chair and the Dentist steps forward. The Nurses have stopped cleaning the instruments and they are staring me.

Could hold your arms at your sides?

I put my arms along the sides of my body.

The Dentist lays the straps across my body so that the buckles fall beneath the chair. He crouches down and he hooks the loose end and he pulls it and the straps start to tighten around my body.

Let me know when it’s secure.

He continues to pull, the straps get tighter and tighter. When I can’t lift or move my arms in any way and when the straps start digging into my skin and pressing the Babar book into my chest, I let the Doctor know the straps are secure. He locks the buckles and he stands and he walks to the sink to wash his hands. Doctor Stevens and the Nurses step forward.

We’re going to try and do this as fast as we can.

Make sure you do a good enough job so that I don’t have to come back here.

I’ll definitely do that.

Let’s go.

I close my eyes and I try to settle in and make myself comfortable. There are wads of cotton in my mouth and there is a throbbing agony from the earlier drilling and there are thick, blue nylon straps digging into my skin and pressing a book into my chest. There are fingers grabbing my upper lip and pulling it back and there is a cold spray dousing the exposed remains of my front two teeth. There is a tennis ball in each of my hands and there is the knowledge that I’m about to undergo a dual root-canal procedure without any anesthesia. There is the sound of my heart beating ever more quickly. There is anticipation. There is fear. There is no comfort.

The drill is back on and it is working through the fragment of my left front tooth. It is moving through a thinner, more fragile section of bone, so it works quickly. It shoots the grit, makes the hole, penetrates. At the point of penetration, a current shoots through my body that is not pain, or even close to pain, but something infinitely greater.

Everything goes white and I cannot breathe. I clench my eyes and I bite down on my existing teeth and I think my jaw might be breaking and I squeeze my hands and I dig my fingers through the hard rubber surface of the tennis balls and my fingernails crack and my fingernails break and my fingernails start to bleed and I curl my toes and they fucking hurt and I flex the muscles in my legs and they fucking hurt and my torso tightens and my stomach muscles feel as if they’re going to collapse and my ribs feel as if they’re caving in on themselves and it fucking hurts and my balls are shrinking and the shrinking fucking hurts and my dick is hard because my blood hurts and my blood wants to escape and is seeking exit through my dick and my dick fucking hurts and my arms are straining against the thick blue nylon straps and the thick blue nylon straps are cutting my flesh and it fucking hurts and my face is on fire and the veins in my neck want to explode and my brain is white and it is melting and it fucking hurts. There is a drill in my mouth. My brain is white and it feels as if it’s fucking melting. I cannot breathe. Agony.

The drill comes out and a vacuum starts sucking the dying flesh surrounding my root from the canal that holds it. The agony does not subside. The vacuum stops and the remaining flesh is scraped from the interior of the canal with some sort of sharp pointed instrument. The agony does not subside. The vacuum goes back and comes out, the scraping continues. The agony does not subside. The root has to be clean to heal correctly. Please clean the Motherfucker fast. Please please please clean the Motherfucker fast. The agony does not subside.

I start to fade into a state of white consciousness where I am no longer directly connected to what is being done to me. My arms are no longer my arms, my legs are not my legs, my chest is not my chest, my face is not my face, my teeth do not belong to me. My body is no longer my body. There is white. Everywhere there is white. There is agony. It is agony that is unfathomable. I try to will myself back to reality and back to the drills and the vacuums and the instruments and the cotton stuffing and the spray and the grit and the Doctors and the Nurses and the rebuilding of my teeth, but I can’t come back. My body won’t let me come back. It is as if it is sparing my mind what it can and pushing into a realm that is horrible, but somehow less horrible. I give up and I give in and I am consumed by the whiteness and the agony and I am there for what seems to be eternity. The whiteness and the agony. The whiteness and the agony. The whiteness and the agony.

I am brought back by the screaming pitch of the drill. I can feel a tooth on the left front side of my upper gum and I know the drill is coming in to fix the right. It hits and penetrates and I am conscious during the penetration and the process of endurance repeats itself. I lose the air and the ability to breathe it. I clench my eyes and I bite down and I squeeze the tennis balls and every single cell of my body feels as if it is going to explode from the force of the pain. If there was a God, I would spit in his face for subjecting me to this. If there was a Devil, I would sell him my soul to make it end. If there was something Higher that controlled our individual fates, I would tell it to take my fate and shove it up its fucking ass. Shove it hard and far, you Motherfucker. Please end. Please end. Please end.

The vacuum sucks and the instrument scrapes and I endure. The interior of the canal is cleaned and drained and I endure. The canal is filled with new flesh and the root is protected and I endure. There is putty and blue light and a sander, putty and blue light and a sander, putty and blue light and a sander. I endure. I’m somewhere in Minnesota and I’m a Patient at a Drug and Alcohol Treatment Center and I’m having my front four teeth rebuilt and I’m strapped into a chair because I can’t have any anesthesia. All I can do is endure.

I feel water flowing off what must be teeth and the last of the grit washes down my throat. The cotton is removed from my cheeks and my gums and I hear muffled voices and the sink is running and cabinet doors are opening and closing. I open my eyes. I see flashes of white and I have trouble focusing. The halogen is still on. There is movement and the halogen is off and something moves away from me and other things move toward me. I hear the buckles on the straps release and the straps are pulled off and the Babar book is removed and my body is now free to move and function as it wishes and I am immediately cold and I am immediately shaking. I try to sit up and I am unable to sit up. I try to lift my head and I am unable to lift my head. I try to focus my eyes and my eyes won’t focus. I’m cold and getting colder. I’m starting to shake harder. I am still clutching the tennis balls. The agony has yet to subside.

Someone lifts me and wraps a blanket around me. The blanket is warm and the warmth brings on an intense nausea and I can feel it coming and there’s nothing I can do to stop it and it comes. It comes easily, and somehow its coming loosens my stomach and my lungs and my torso and although I still can’t focus my eyes, I can see that it’s red. It comes and comes and comes. Red red red. All over the blanket, all over the chair, all over the floor, all over myself. I let go of the tennis balls and I try to lift my hand to wipe my face but my hand is shaking and my face is shaking and I can’t make them meet. My hand falls to my side.

Get some more blankets and get some water. Hurry.

I lie back on the chair.

Are you okay, James?

I moan.

Can you understand me?

I moan again, nod yes.

You need to go to the Hospital. I’m going to call an Ambulance.

I don’t want to go to a Hospital, so I gather whatever strength I have and I push myself up and I open my eyes. Doctor Stevens is standing in front of me.

No Hospital.

You need Medical Attention. Attention we can’t give you.

The chair.

What?

Lower the chair.

Doctor Stevens lowers the chair. I put my feet on the floor. I am cold and I am shaking and everything hurts. I’m sick of Doctors and Dentists and Nurses and chairs and tests and halogen lights and instruments and clean Rooms and sterile sinks and bloody procedures and I’m sick of the attention the weak and the injured and the needy receive and I don’t want to go a Hospital. I have always dealt with pain alone. I will deal with it alone now.

Get Hank and get me back to the Clinic.

You need Medical Attention.

I’ll be fine.

If you leave here, it will be against my direct advice.

I understand.

I push myself from the chair. The muscles in my legs are twitching and my legs are unsteady. I take a small, slow step and I stop. I take the blanket off and I drop it on the chair and I take another small, slow step and I stop.

Can you make it?

Yeah.

Do you need help?

No.

My eyes are focusing and my stomach is settled. I’m still shaking and I’m still cold and I’m still hurting, but being away from the chair makes me feel better. I look at the door. If I can get to the door, I’m closer to being out of here. I want to be out of here.

I take another step. My legs are jelly. Another step. They weigh a million pounds apiece. Another step. They hurt. Another step. They throb. Another step. Each movement is a titanic effort. Another step. After each I don’t know if I can do it again. Doctor Stevens is watching me and the Nurses have returned and they are watching me and I know if I falter I go to the Hospital. Another step. Another step.

I get to the door and I stop. To my right is a mirror. I glance toward it and catch a glimpse of myself. I am white as chalk. My face is hideously swollen. The area around my mouth is splattered with flakes of dried blood. There are stitches protruding from my lower lip and my eyes are black. There is a bandage across the bridge of my nose. I am too thin for my frame and what flesh I have is loose and limp. The white T-shirt I’m wearing is caked with brown and red vomit stains. The tan pants I’m wearing are caked with brown and red vomit stains. I look like a fucking monster.

I turn to Doctor Stevens and the Nurses. The Nurses look away, Doctor Stevens does not. I speak slowly.

Thank you for helping me.

No problem. It’s what I do.

I’m not what you do. You went beyond what you do today. Thank you.

Doctor Stevens smiles.

No problem.

I smile back. It is my first smile with my new teeth. I’m amused by this and I smile wider and I point toward my mouth. Doctor Stevens laughs and he walks toward me and he puts his arms around me and he hugs me. We are two men who have just been through a terrible ordeal together. Although it was worse for me, I know it wasn’t easy for him. This hug is our bond, our bond to learn from what we have just been through and become better and stronger because of it. I know he will keep the bond, I don’t know if I can. I pull away.

Thanks again.

Take care of yourself, James.

I’ll try.

I turn and I slowly walk away and I don’t look back. It has always been a fault of mine, but it is the way I am. I never look back. Never.

I move down a Hallway, gripping the side of the wall for support. Each step is more difficult than the last, each step hurts more. My face is throbbing to the rhythm of my heart, the rhythm of my heart is not as strong or as steady as it was. It is speeding up and slowing down, beating with irregular strength, sending sharp messages through my left arm and my jaw. It held when it needed to hold, but it’s not going to hold much longer. I’m not going to hold much longer.

I get to a door and I push it and I walk though it and into the Waiting Room. Hank is sitting on a couch chatting with an elderly woman and when they look up the elderly woman gasps. Hank stands and he walks over to me and I put my hand on his shoulder. Without his shoulder, I would fall.

Jesus Christ.

Get me out of here.

You all right?

Not even close.

What can I do?

Get me the fuck out of here.

Hank puts my jacket on and he places my arm around his shoulder and his arm around my shoulder and he holds me up and we leave the Office and we walk down the stairs. When we get to the bottom my legs stop functioning and Hank drags me toward the door. He leans me against it and he pushes it open and he pulls me outside.

The Storm, which was growing when we entered, is now raging. The wind is whipping sheets of frozen rain and sleet through the air. The Sky is black. There is shattering thunder and shocks of lightning. Hank drags me toward the Van and my feet drag along the cold and wet of the ground and the cold and the wet soak into my shoes. When we get to the Van he leans me against the passenger door.

Can you stand?

He reaches into his pocket for the keys.

Yeah, but hurry.

He pulls the keys from his pocket and he unlocks the Van and he opens the sliding side door and he helps me through and he sets me down on the length of the three-man seat and he shuts the door and he runs around to the Driver’s door and he opens it and he climbs inside the Van. He sits down and he puts the keys in the ignition and he starts the engine and the Van pulls out.

As we drive through Town, I lie on my back and I shake and I freeze. My hearts beats irregularly and it hurts. The bayonet is in my mouth and I’m tired beyond exhaustion. I’m going back to the Clinic and I don’t want to go back the Clinic. If I leave the Clinic, there is either death or Jail. This is not the life I want or who I want to be but I don’t know anything else. I have tried to change before and I have failed. I have tried to change again and again and again and I have failed over and over and over. If there was something to make me think this time was different, I would try, but there isn’t. If there was a light at the end of the tunnel, I would run to it. I am worse than I have ever been before. If there was a light at the end of the tunnel I would run to it. I am an Alcoholic and I am a Drug Addict and I am a Criminal. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

After a few moments the Van is flooded with heat and the heat slows the shaking and kills the freezing and I’m tired beyond exhaustion and I close my eyes. It is dark. I close my eyes. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. I close my eyes. It is dark. I close my eyes. There’s no light. I close my eyes. Dark.

I close my eyes.

I close my eyes.

I close my eyes.