In The Abscess Of a Dentist

Posted: October 23, 2010 in Edaurdo Jones, Short Stories
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In The Abscess of a Dentist- Edaurdo Jones

My teeth have been the true bane of my existence for as long as I can remember. I’m cursed with horribly soft teeth. My first ever trip to the dentist resulted in having 18 cavities filled at 4 years old. So needless to say; ever since that little trip to the dentist, I’ve been petrified of these sadists. The combination of serious drug abuse and teeth like mine are anything but a match made in heaven.

On this particular day, I have a cracked molar that’s begun to abscess. If you’ve had one before you know the pain involved. If not, let me enlighten you. Imagine digging a hole in your tooth. Then fill that hole with sand all the way down to the base of the root. Once you got it full of sand, dump some gasoline in there and set it on fire, and apply a hydraulic clamp on the nerve ending of the tooth in question.

The pain is so blinding, I can’t think about anything but the tooth. Everything going on around me is just a blur. All I know is this aching, throbbing, pulsating, pressure jack hammering its way into my brain. I’m still smoking speed though. This is only feeding the infection and causing my nerve endings to become chemically burned. I might as well be taking 250 grit sandpaper and sanding the skin off the head of my dick, then dipping it in a cup of lye.

Smiley comes by during this event to pay me a visit. He’s a strange fucker full of good intentions, but he’s the type of guy who could fuck up a wet dream. He’s always in debt. Probably because he smokes speed like it is a miracle health cure. He’s come by to get me high and see if I want to go out and about with him.

“Eddie, want to get high or what?”

“Yeah, but this fucking tooth is driving me crazy and the smoke is just irritating the shit out of it!”

“Shoot it up then.”

Now this seems like a reasonable solution to my problem. Surely injecting it into my veins will not bother my tooth. I set about gathering up my set up, one fresh 100 unit ultrafine insulin syringe, a bent spoon, and a glass of water. I take the bag from Smiley and begin pouring some of the shards into the spoon.

“Put more than that in there, man, get fucked up, make it worth it.” Smiley interjects.

He’s right, if you’re going to do it, you might as well do it right. I dump a heaping pile onto the spoon. It’s like a mountain  of meth sitting in the spoon. I suck some water up into my soul-killing cannon and spray it on top of the shards. It’s not melting fast enough for me, so I begin crushing it with the butt end of the plunger. I can feel them shattering through the plunger. After a few moments of grinding them into the spoon, they’ve melted into the water. I begin sucking the liquid up. There’s no cut in this dope, so I don’t even need cotton to filter it. I suck the spoon dry and hear the air hissing into the syringe. I turn the needle up in the air, flick the air bubbles to the top and push the air free, careful not to squirt any of the dope out into the air. Waste not, want not. By now my veins are on fire with yearning. I have fat plump veins. There’s no need to even tie off. I got veins a junkie would die for, kind of ironic. The demon is screaming in my ears. “Hurry the fuck up!”

SSSSSHHHH little demon it’ll be in soon. I press the needle into the fattest vein. A quick pop, and I feel it in there. It’s such a good feeling when you know it’s in there deep and it’s not a miss. I pull the plunger back and watch in amazement as my blood mixes with the drug in a beautiful crimson blossom. I push the plunger. It’s like the countdown to launch on a NASA base, T-minus– 50 units-40 units-30 units-20 units-10 units-0. Houston, we have ignition. Within seconds of pulling the needle out of my arm, a strong vapor fills my mouth, static engulfs my brain in a smooth rolling wave from the base of my brain up over the crown of my skull and into my eyeballs, an orgasmic surge rocks my entire body as I exhale and I literally cum in my pants.

Wow, I’m so fucking high I can’t even speak for a few minutes and just stand there frozen in time. Once the fear of my heart exploding subsides, I begin pacing. I can’t even think about sitting still. We need to do something. It’s soon decided Smiley and I will head down to the 12th house. The walk will do me good.

It’s not long before my tongue begins incessantly probing and poking my broken molar. This is only causing the pain in my tooth to come raging on. It feels as if with every beat of my heart, the pain is increasing. Smiley is flapping his gums the entire way, but I don’t really hear a single word. My brain is full of pain; throbbing, aching, pulsating, mind-bending, electric waves of agony. I can’t see or hear anything but this wretched feeling. It’s consumed all of my senses, I can taste it, it’s that excruciating. The more it hurts, the more I find the need to fuck with it. I’ve moved past the tonguing it now. I’m grinding it with my other teeth trying to loosen the pressure. Within two more blocks, I’m grabbing it with my filthy hands, shaking it, trying to burst the abscess and get some sort of relief. I don’t even realize we are on the doorstep of the 12th house and walking in the door,  I’m so consumed in trying to rip my tooth from its socket with my bare hands. The speed surely is helping matters. I’m completely tweaking out on my tooth.

The 12th house is the premier den of inequity on the OSU campus. It’s a savage drug-fueled madhouse, the product of a group of teenage skate punks having a seven bedroom clubhouse on the campus of one of the biggest party schools in the country. You can pop up there any time of day 24-7 and find an orgy of epic debauchery filling its walls. Forget about the old “if these walls could talk” cliché; if these walls could– they’d scream bloody murder.

I head straight to the bathroom so I can get a look at this tooth in the mirror. I can’t see anything due to angles and such. I’m clawing at the tooth trying to get a firm enough grasp to rip it out of my head. I manage to break a large chunk off. It doesn’t do anything for the pain though. I can feel the fiery infection burning at the root. I have to get it out. My fingernails are tearing my gums to shreds as I grasp, twist and shake it. I get a firm grip inside the crater that is there. It’s big enough that I can stick my whole fingertip in. I begin clawing my finger in deeper. My mouth is full of the sweet taste of blood and sugary puss. I bury my fingernail into the soft rotting enamel and pull yet another chunk free. I’m shaking the tooth with all my strength and can feel it flexing against my jaw bone.

Suddenly I hear a knock on the bathroom door.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing in there? You’ve been in there for an hour.”

An hour, it only felt like a few minutes. Jesus, I was really tweaking out on this tooth. I’m still digging and clawing at my gum line trying to get the proper hold on my molar, when I open the door. I find Gatso standing there. He looks like the bastard love child of Spicoli, but he is not your stereotypical stoner/skater type. He’s a vicious young beasty. The first time I’d ever laid eyes on young Gatso he was about 16 years old. He was smashing some frat boy’s teeth in with the trucks of his skateboard. I took an instant liking to this demented little fucker. The kid had brass balls that hung down to his knees and clanged when he walked.

“Yo, what the fuck are you doing, kid?” His eyes are filled with a wild amusement.

“This fucking tooth is killing me! I need to pull it out!”

“Yo, you’re fucking crazy kid. I think you need some pliers or some shit.”

“You know what, you’re right. I can’t pull this shit out with my bare hands. I need to get a grip.”

What I really needed to get a grip on was my sanity, not my tooth, but I was too far gone to realize this. This is the main problem with tweaking. Once you get focused on something you can’t steer away from it. Unfortunately; I was focused on this broken tooth and easing this mind-numbing pain. Everything else was a static-filled blur.

Gatso and I make our way to Thumbs’ room to find some sort of tool to aid me. Thumbs is Columbus’s premiere skateboarding meth dealer. He’s got a taste for getting tweaked and crushing handrails. So it kind of makes him a fun-yet-dangerous  mix; nothing like mixing serious drug abuse with extreme sports to get the adrenaline to redline. I found this out months earlier when the son of a bitch coaxed me into jumping a gap on my bicycle. I failed miserably and my ass cheeks were black and blue for weeks.

Thumbs’ room is full of random people passing a speed pipe back and forth. There is one face in the room that isn’t one of the usual suspects. It’s Freak, he happens to be Thumbs’ hook-up. He’s a strange fucker for sure. A paranoid bastard who resembles Marty Mcfly Sr. It’s not long before Smiley hands me a Leatherman tool to aid me in extracting this God forsaken tooth.

I’m trying to get the proper grip on my broken molar, but it’s proving harder than I’d thought. Every time I think I have a decent grip, it either slips free, or I break a chunk of the tooth off. Thumbs brings up the fact we should document this event and breaks out his camcorder. Nobody in the room finds anything unusual about the events transpiring and everybody just keeps on smoking speed. Well nobody but Freak. He’s soon freaked the fuck about the entire situation, mostly the fact nobody finds it unusual that I’m ripping my tooth out of my head with a dirty Leatherman. This is just another day in Tweakville USA. It’s not long before he can’t take it anymore and heads for the open road, mortified.

Meanwhile, Smiley’s operating the camcorder trying to get the proper angles and lighting. I grasp the molar by the base and not so much pull it free, as I do crush it to pieces. In one volcanic burst, the abscess pops and my mouth is full of a vile mixture of blood and sugary puss. The relief is orgasmic. It honestly feels better than any nut I’ve ever busted in my life! Oh, thank you Jesus, sweet relief! There’s only one thing to do now. I grab the freshly packed pipe and inhale deeply.

This is the problem with a sick and addicted mind. Now it was 99% plausible that my speed smoking had caused this horrible abscess and is what made me just perform oral surgery with a filthy grease- covered pair of pliers, and what do I do? Pick the pipe up and start smoking like I didn’t miss a beat. No sane person would do this. At this moment, as defined by Webster’s, I was 110% insane. Sitting here doing the exact thing that lead me to this horrible pain and agony while expecting a different result.


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