The Man With Braces

It's Just Getting Started

The dentist's office smelled of antiseptic and latex. Hosea sat in the worn leather chair, his heart racing. Dr. Wright, a seasoned practitioner with graying temples, adjusted the wires on Hosea's newly installed braces. The overhead light glinted off the metal brackets that now adorned his teeth, like miniature prison bars for unruly molars.

"Rinse your mouth," Dr. Wright instructed, handing him a plastic cup. "Spit it out at the sink."

Hosea swirled the minty liquid, the taste reminiscent of childhood toothpaste. He spat into the stainless steel basin, watching the pinkish foam swirl away. His tongue explored the foreign terrain of wires and brackets, and he wondered how long it would take to get used to this new oral landscape.

Dr. Wright gestured toward the color palette displayed on the wall-a rainbow of possibilities. Blues, greens, and fiery reds beckoned like candy in a shop window.

"Choose a color for your braces," Dr. Wright said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Hosea hesitated. Red-the color of passion, of fire-seemed fitting. It was bold, unapologetic. He pointed to the fiery shade.

"Good choice," Dr. Wright nodded. "Red signifies strength and determination. Wear it proudly."

After the dental appointment, Hosea stepped out into the bustling city. The subway station loomed ahead-a cavernous space filled with echoes and the scent of stale coffee. Commuters flowed like ants, each with their own purpose, their own secrets.

Hosea swiped his transit card, the turnstile granting him passage. The train arrived-a metal serpent with flickering fluorescent lights. He squeezed in, wedged between a businessman in a crisp suit and a teenage girl with neon-painted nails. The doors closed, sealing them in.

As the train rattled along its underground track, Hosea leaned against the window. His phone buzzed-a text from Lena: *Good luck with the robot teeth!* He smirked and typed a quick reply.

The subway car was a microcosm of humanity-a cacophony of smells, sounds, and emotions. Hosea, now wearing his Airpods, sat near the door. Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" filled his ears, drowning out the hum of the train. His right hand rested on the cold metal pole, fingers tapping in rhythm.

Passengers jostled him-students with backpacks, office workers in wrinkled suits, a mother cradling a sleepy toddler. And there, standing near the handrail, was the ELDERLY WOMAN. Her silver hair peeked out from under a faded sunhat, and her gnarled hands clutched a worn leather purse. She looked fragile yet resolute, like a porcelain doll with a hidden core of steel.

Hosea noticed her struggle. Her eyes darted from one occupied seat to another. He tapped the young man next to him, a guy with earbuds and an air of indifference.

"Excuse me," Hosea said, his voice steady. "Would you mind giving up your seat for the lady?"

The young man scowled, as if Hosea had asked for his firstborn child. He shook his head and turned up the volume on his music. Hosea's jaw tightened. He stood, offering his seat to the elderly woman. She smiled, revealing gaps where teeth once lived.

As the subway approached another stop, the doors slid open. The elderly woman prepared to exit, he looked at Hosea then then told him "Thank You for giving me a seat, you know kindness isn't really much find in these earthly world" the elderly woman proceeded to exit the train, but fate had other plans. A robber stepped in, blocking her way. His eyes darted around, assessing the crowd like a predator sizing up prey.

"Listen up, everyone!" he shouted. "This is a robbery! Wallets out!"

He first went to rob the elderly woman but the elderly woman scoffed, her voice surprisingly strong. "I don't carry a wallet, young man. It's a digital world."