Title: Seventeen Hundred Dollars
Author: Vickie Moseley
Spoilers: Fight Club
Summary: All that gleaming metal just needed an explanation
Category: MT, MSR (but not grossly so) H
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Working out a little frustration there, Chris? Maybe a
fantasy come to the small screen? Scully with bruises all over her face,
Mulder with his litigious mouth wired shut? Hmmm. Well, I won't infringe
on your copyright. I've seen what you do to your fans. <VEG>
Began and Finished: May 9, 2000
Dedicated to all the kids, young and old alike, who have been forced into
having perfect teeth, whether they wanted them or not.
Feedback: I would love it! vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
Seventeen Hundred Dollars
By Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
Seventeen hundred dollars, 18 and a half hours sitting in a chair and 2
years of my life, for what? To get my four bottom teeth knocked out in a
gigantic brawl and have my jaw wired shut.
Dad, I hear you rolling over in your grave.
I've done plenty of things to my body over the years, and most of it hasn't
been kind. I've stood in the line of fire, offered myself up as a target
for lunatics too numerous to mention, and a time or two caught some of the
bullets they fired. I've been exposed to alien blood, I've been frozen,
more than once, I've basically battered the hell out of my body and I'm
constantly amazed that it keeps on ticking after all I've done.
But God as my witness, I have never messed with my mouth.
Let me explain. I was thirteen and a half, the summer after Sam was taken,
and I was just barely hanging on to the slender thread of my sanity when my
bi-annual dentist's appointment took an ugly turn. I could hear the whole
discussion from the luxury of that stupid reclining chair.
"We spoke about this last year as you'll remember, Mrs. Mulder. I don't
think we can afford to put it off any longer."
Words that are forever burned into my memory. More deeply burned than any
other words with the possible exception of 'Sweetheart, Sammi is gone."
The next twenty minutes were a blur as my mother consulted my father on the
phone, making sure somebody would be paying for this besides her. And the
dentist's assistant was sitting down with me, determining if we could
manage to schedule my appointments around my baseball season, the only link
with reality that I retained in my early adolescence.
By August, I was a shining mass of gleaming metal every time I opened my
mouth.
At the time, I thought it was just punishment. My sister was gone, I
couldn't tell anyone what had transpired that night, why the hell shouldn't
I look like a monster? I was a monster, to myself, to my parents, even
though they never bothered to mention it in front of me. Wearing that much
steel in my mouth seemed appropriate, fitting. A warning to everyone to
stay away.
And so it went, for two years. Monthly appointments which grew farther
apart. Adjustments that left my mouth sore for days. Staring at Slo-Poke
suckers and Milk Duds like they were water and I was a man dying of thirst.
Two years that seemed to be the longest of my life. But I figured, I
wouldn't live long enough for the damned things to come off anyway, so why
worry about it.
I got hit with a basketball the third day of practice in eighth grade and
thought I'd met my end. I remember clearly lying on the gym floor, being
mindful to let the blood run down my throat so I didn't mar the perfectly
waxed surface of our court. I could hear my coach screaming for someone to
call for a doctor, but then someone, I think it was Denny Riker, one of our
forward guards and fellow braces wearer, told him no, to call my dentist.
My mom told me, as she drove me to Dr. Hendricks at breakneck speed, that
my basketball days were over. I considered just opening the car door and
seeing if the fall would kill me, but she turned a corner and I practically
ended up in her lap, thus ending any thoughts of suicide for the moment.
She would have really killed me if I got blood on the car seat.
Dad apparently calmed her down, but I wasn't privy to the conversation. I
don't know what he said to her when he called her from the office, but she
came in while Hendricks was still tightening the loose bands and dabbing
away the blood and announced that I should be fitted with a mouth guard,
immediately. If I was going to be an idiot and endanger my mouth by
playing sports, the least we could do was protect the investment on my
teeth.
The freshman mixer at my High School was a real laugh fest, too. At least
I didn't have to wear the mouth guard, but I finally figured out why
parents insisted on attaching metal to their children's teeth, right when
interest in the opposite sex was starting to blossom. Face it, a good set
of braces is easily more effective than the best medieval chastity belt.
No girl who wears braces dares to let a guy near her mouth for fear of the
pain and if he has braces, too, the terror of being lip locked for eternity
is just too awful to consider.
I got them off the summer before I turned 16. I've made a point of never
doing anything that would disrupt my very expensive teeth, until the other
night.
Scully says I'm sulking because I can't talk. That's not true. Well, it's
a little true. I can't really be understood that well and that does tend
to drive me crazy with frustration. But what really peeves my soul, what
is really putting me over the edge, is that our relationship is finally
getting somewhere. That's a good thing. I've grown very fond of the
kisses my partner gives me late at night, on my couch, on her couch, in my
bed, her bed, wherever we can find a place to neck.
The bad thing is, she won't come near my mouth with all this metal. Says
she's afraid of inflicting more injury. The sex, of course, is great, but
it's the kissing that I really miss.
And it's another 6 weeks before this stupid metal is out of my mouth.
The end.
Vickie
"The Cubs are coming off a bad century."
One of the sportscasters on ESPN speaking of
the fact that the Chicago Cubs have not won a
World Series since 1908.
