Worst Visit to the Dentist Ever

With no health insurance, we often drove down to Tijuana, Mexico for our checkups and pharmaceutical needs. I recall feeling healthy and vibrant and was sad that we had to waste the day sitting in the car. My mom, Graciela, and I drove across the border to our dentist. I always thought that it was incredible how my mom knew where everything was and how to get around in Tijuana. It was so foreign and bustling with traffic that it looked like a great huge maze to my 9-year-old eyes. 

We arrived at our dentist's office. It was blue and had bars on the windows. Our dentist was thin with brown hair. She wore black pumps and a professional suit/skirt combo. She took me in right away and sat me down on the over-sized, leather chair. I remember the ceilings were high and industrial as if it were a converted factory of some kind. The room felt dark except for the lamp above my face. She took a long look at my cavity with a mirror and prodded around for what felt like a long time. She finally broke out the syringe. It was gigantic. I started to cry at the sight of it. I remember looking to my mom and Graciela who had brought in chairs from the waiting room inside so they could watch. My mom stood up and came to hold my hand. 

I don't know if it was just the immense fear of needles overwhelming me or if the syringe leaked some of the anesthetic down my throat but the next few seconds were filled with a lot of vomit, a lot of tears, and a lot of disappointment. I had vomited everywhere. 

The recollection that she actually finished the procedure escapes me. She must have because I have proof in my mouth, but I only remember the vomit.

On the way home, we were all pretty silent.  At the border, the border patrolman stepped out.

"US Citizens?" he asked. My mom and Graciela handed him their green cards.

"US Citizen," I mumbled.

"Any fruits, vegetables, or animals?" the border patrolman asked. My mom shook her head. 

"I'm going to get ice cream!" I exclaimed as I popped out from the back seat with a large cotton-filled smile. The 45 minute border wait gave me ample time to imagine my mom offering me ice cream and I would sometimes get ahead of myself at that age. My mom pushed me back into the seat with one hand. The border patrolman chuckled and waived us through. 

"Traviesa" my mom said. Graciela couldn't stop laughing. 

The Shaving Lie

The razor in our shower was thin, blue, and weighed nearly nothing. It must have been one of those economy Bic razors for men. I didn't have any armpit hair, but at age 9, I certainly had some leg hair. It wasn't dark or coarse; it was blonde and soft. I was curious so i started to shave my legs as the rest of the hot water sprayed my back from the calcified shower head. 

I suppose I could never tell a lie or keep a secret for that matter. As soon as I had dressed, I went to my mom. She was sitting in the kitchen prepping green beans by snapping the edges off with her over-worked hands. I stood there for a little bit just expecting her to notice. She didn’t.

“Maa, I didn’t want to but I had to and it was because I was just standing there and then the razor fell and it fell so that it took off a line of hair and it looked so bad and so I had to do the rest of that leg but then that looked bad too so I had to do the other leg. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Chamaca. Saca la basura.” Which means, Brat. Take out the trash.

I was relieved that she didn’t yell or pull my hair; although thinking back, she never had but somehow always made me think she would.

As I hurried around the house collecting and replacing the trash-filled grocery bags from the bathrooms and the trash from the kitchen, I thought that maybe my mom knew that what I told her was a lie. I recalled my story and considered that it could have sounded unreasonable because it would be really hard for a razor to fall in such a way that it could shave off a strip of my hair, especially one so light. I tried to think of back-up stories, just in case my mom figured it out. Nothing sounded reasonable to me – I was in deep. There was no turning back.

I went back inside started to say something. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, maybe confess? It was plaguing me and I needed to tell the truth not even realizing what the truth was. I stopped mid-mumble and hurried to my sister Stephanie’s room. She was making a mixed tape from songs on the radio. I sat next to her on the floor. I showed her my legs.

“You’re so silly, my mom’s gonna yell at you.” Stephanie said.

I smiled back, content in my mischief.

An Introduction

My name is Melissa and this will be a place for me to write out stories from my life, my family's life, and re-imaginings of daily happenings that could benifit from some creativity. WELCOME!