Life as a Squirrel
by Chris Garson
Copyright 2013 Chris Garson
Pack them cheeks, boys. Cheeks, glorious cheeks. Oliver Twistaroo. Fatten up now, for barren is winter’s bough. After pliers, pick and drill, the hunger take you will. Said Yoda.
Nibble, nibble. Winter is approaching. Abandon hope, ye who enter, abandon home and safety’s tree. Find haven in suite 450. Root is dry and cracked, no time like now to extract. Breathe deep, make no peep.
In through the nose and out through the mouth. Sweet nitrous paints my gums aglitter, swirling away fears so bitter. I drift away in Halcion TM-wrought benzodiazepene slumber, remembering halcyon days without number. Fists clench and unclench. Sweat beads the brow, a dripping crown of worry. Breath, relax. Get the facts. So much has changed, it’s all so maxx.
Back to the cheeks. Mustn’t forget cheeks, glorious cheeks. Mine burst with flavor and stuffing, tingling from analgesic Pepperidge Farm and cotton candy. Numb like winter, can’t feel a thing all packed with cotton, bone, and bling.
Flash, the headband lights up eyes clamped shut. Me, the squirrel, can’t see his nut. Just a pinch, the headband says. A little pinch. It’s all so distorted, a mile’s an inch. I hear the crack, then a twist and pull. Bone or nut? They sound the same. It’s all a crunching game.
Open wide. Almost done. Wider now. Damn, what fun! Grains of bone slide down my throat, like salt or sand, big as mountains.
Tongue explores stitched cavern walls. Careful now, it’s all so raw. Come spring, squirrel cheeks will fatten once more, when implants are marked down at the tooth fairy store.
All done now, squirrel. You can go. Hope you did enjoy the show!
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This week, after ten years of successful avoidance, I became reacquainted with dental practitioners. I suspect we’ll become more intimately familiar in the coming weeks and months. Nothing like a good tooth extraction to get the ball rolling. My thanks to Dr. Ben Hornstein and Dr. Jason Streem, and their lovely staffs, for making an unpleasant experience more pleasant than I would have thought. Of course, the day after is no bed of roses … but I’m well enough to write, so that’s well enough!
