Just a Formality
flash non-fiction by Caroline Harris
Nerves trembling, and eyes wandering, I have never felt so vulnerable. The stiff mattress beneath me is wheeled along sterile hallways blurring in and out of focus. The chill touch of anesthesia courses through my veins. Inky black initials mar my cheeks where a blade’s tip will kiss my skin.
An under bite, they said, tangled with a cross bite. A future possibility for injury. Jaw surgery is the only route. At 13 I was signed up for the slaughter without means for prevention. Braces were a mocking formality. Retainers pressed into my mouth after months without wear. My teeth screaming for a reprieve, only to be told it was a lost cause.
Can white light be neon? My eyes catch the abrasive light as I am wheeled through hospital halls. Hazy conceptions of time release into scattered threads. The tips of my fingers are numb. But, I don’t tell the nurse. The walls around me are spinning, the pit in my stomach churning. My arms feel heavy.
The braces had been scraped off in a breath of fresh air, only to return later with a jeering smirk. Always too puffy gums sitting pink and swollen, bleeding with no remorse. Awkwardly hugging teeth chomping at the bit like a whinnying stallion. X-ray’s and molds, now an accustomed way of orthodontic culture. But I’ve never known anything different.
Their white coats, and framed credentials don’t comfort. Smiles spread and reassurances spoken, but they fall to the mute, to the blind. Bedside manner is only insincere hospitality. I can feel the wheels of my bed halt. The lights above blaze brighter, smearing together the whites of the walls, the floors, the doctors. Is this what it feels like to die?
Move to the table, they said. The crisp crumple of paper on the table shifted with me. Surrender yourself to the darkness, they meant. My head propped up as distorted heads bow over me as though they are watching an infant coo in a crib. My eyelids are heavy. What if I don’t wake up?
My breath hitches. I count 10, 9, 8--
And knife to cheek, cheek to bone, and bone to steel they carve me a new smile, a new face.
An under bite, they said, tangled with a cross bite. A future possibility for injury. Jaw surgery is the only route. At 13 I was signed up for the slaughter without means for prevention. Braces were a mocking formality. Retainers pressed into my mouth after months without wear. My teeth screaming for a reprieve, only to be told it was a lost cause.
Can white light be neon? My eyes catch the abrasive light as I am wheeled through hospital halls. Hazy conceptions of time release into scattered threads. The tips of my fingers are numb. But, I don’t tell the nurse. The walls around me are spinning, the pit in my stomach churning. My arms feel heavy.
The braces had been scraped off in a breath of fresh air, only to return later with a jeering smirk. Always too puffy gums sitting pink and swollen, bleeding with no remorse. Awkwardly hugging teeth chomping at the bit like a whinnying stallion. X-ray’s and molds, now an accustomed way of orthodontic culture. But I’ve never known anything different.
Their white coats, and framed credentials don’t comfort. Smiles spread and reassurances spoken, but they fall to the mute, to the blind. Bedside manner is only insincere hospitality. I can feel the wheels of my bed halt. The lights above blaze brighter, smearing together the whites of the walls, the floors, the doctors. Is this what it feels like to die?
Move to the table, they said. The crisp crumple of paper on the table shifted with me. Surrender yourself to the darkness, they meant. My head propped up as distorted heads bow over me as though they are watching an infant coo in a crib. My eyelids are heavy. What if I don’t wake up?
My breath hitches. I count 10, 9, 8--
And knife to cheek, cheek to bone, and bone to steel they carve me a new smile, a new face.
About the writer
Caroline Harris is from Powell, Ohio and is currently a Senior studying at Bowling Green State University, where she is pursuing a degree in both English and Creative Writing. She is the Tech Editor, and Event Planner of Prairie Margins, BGSU's Undergraduate Literary Journal.
Check in with her on Instagram: @hcarolineann7 |