One foggy afternoon, on a day where the world seemed to be at its peak of normality, Charlie Grant sat in the backseat of his mother’s car; scared out of his wits. In approximately 10 minutes, they would arrive at the dentist. Charlie had hated dentists ever since his first baby teeth appeared in his soft pink gums. Every dentist had always poked around his teeth only to administer him with a filling, extraction or worse; braces.
He touched his jaw gingerly; the metal gates of hell had been out for months, but even now he still remembered the days where he was subjected to schoolyard teasing.
“Mum, why am I going to the dentist today?”
“It’s just a routine check-up, nothing to worry about Charles” said his mother. She was the sort of woman who never addressed anybody by their nickname; a fairly cold tendency even extended to her own son.
Charlie slumped backwards into the seat and allowed his head to flop backwards. His mother noticed this in the mirror and began to click her tongue against her teeth; for it was childish for a boy of 13 to be so anxious over a simple trip to the dentist. They had been to countless different dentists over the years and this new fellow was now the latest.
The car turned into Black Street, a long road where all the monochrome houses and buildings were hidden by large trees. Shadows seemed to have grown over everything like ivy and there wasn’t a living soul on the road. Eventually they stopped at number 75, the only structure with light in the windows. Charlie and his mother stepped out of the car and into a bitter cold of the London afternoon.
“Christ, it’s cold” shivered Charlie, tightening the buttons on his navy school blazer.
“Don’t blaspheme Charles, haven’t they taught you that yet?” barked his mother. She hooked his arm inside hers and briskly dragged him towards the beige dentistry.
Doctor Nicholas Crane; Dental Surgeon (DDM) (DDS) Charlie stared at the dirty wooden sign with utmost disgust.
“Stop pulling faces Charles!”
His mother opened the door and thrust Charlie into the room. It smelt vaguely like peppermint, old books and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The walls were lined with blue striped wallpaper and several certificates of education were scattered on various sides. On one side of the room there was a desk covered in papers, books and a small brass bell. A long leather couch draped itself across the other side. Charlie was in the midst of staring at the dusty wooden floor, when a woman entered the room.
“Hello, are you another dentist?” asked Charlie’s mum.
The woman shook her head. She pointed a bony finger at a nameplate on the desk that Charlie had not seen before: Vera Crane, Receptionist.
“Ah, right. Sorry. My name is Susan Grant, my son Charles has a check-up scheduled for 4.30, I believe”. The receptionist nodded.
“Is it alright if I leave him here to wait? I’ve got groceries that need to be bought and I’m sure Charles is old enough to know how to behave”. As she finished her last words, she squeezed Charlie’s arm firmly, subliminally telling him to heed her advice. The receptionist nodded and sat down at the desk, immersing herself into work.
“Now I’ve got to go out now or else we won’t have any food at home. Don’t look at me like that; you’re old enough now to start going to medical appointments by yourself. Behave yourself and I’ll pick you up when you’re done”. She gave him a big kiss on the top of his head; the only affectionate quality about her, and left the room.
