A Million Little Pieces - James Frey [26]
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