I wish I owned these characters, but I don't. Thank you, S.E. Hinton.
She was the run-of–the-mill receptionist type: perfect hair, pleasant expression- there was no immediately apparent reason to judge her in any way. So I didn't.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Sir? Well, that's a fine howdy-do, then. I believe I've changed my mind. I think I am gonna judge her. I think I like her just fine.
"Yeah, uh, I got sent over here from East Tulsa clinic… I'm Keith Mathews… I'm supposed to have a three o'clock appointment... They told me to give you these records." I handed over the manila envelope they had given me to bring along.
"Okay, Mr. Mathews, why don't you have a seat? We'll call you when we're ready."
"Have a seat" clearly hadn't been just a suggestion- there was no other choice. There wasn't even any wall to lean against. Every inch of the place was lined with chairs. I chose the one closest to the door. I can't explain it; I just like knowing I can get out of places if I have to.
Waiting rooms… I hate waiting rooms. I've got better things to do with my time than sit around perusing the latest issue of Reader's Digest. And the chairs- might as well be goddamn church pews- that's how uncomfortable they always are. What, are they worried you might get too comfortable in the chair and so caught up in your Boy's Life magazine that you'll want to stick around past closing time? Sheesh, I'm pretty sure a few cushions wouldn't bust their budgets.
I leaned back, pressing my vertebrae into the unforgiving wood slats of the chair, and took a good look around. Fishtank. There's always one, and this waiting room did not disappoint. I checked out the sad-looking creatures trapped inside. A few guppies and the gratuitous algae-eating bottom feeder.
Well, doesn't that just make you reevaluate how miserable your own life really could be. I might live on the wrong side of town, but at least I ain't stuck in a few gallons of recirculating dirty water, waiting with baited breath for the moment each day when some office peon drops a few paper-like morsels through the airhole at the top of my prison. Baited breath… fish… huh, that's kinda funny. I chuckled at the thought, earning a few suspicious looks from two Reader's Digest aficionados across the room.
And at least I don't hafta spend my whole life staring out at a roomful of miserable people with bad teeth sitting around in uncomfortable chairs reading second-rate magazines in a poorly lighted room with ugly wallpaper. What the hell is going on with this wallpaper anyway? Hell, it looks like a two-year old got hold of Ponyboy's colored pencils and went to town.
Yessiree, my life may not be any bowl of cherries but I've got it better than those poor aquarium residents, for sure.
If it wasn't for this damned toothache. Now I like to kid myself that I'm as tough as they come, but I'll be damned if this thing ain't completely kicking my ass. Started as nothing more than a sensitive tooth, just actin' up a bit when I fed it something too hot or cold, but, startin' a few weeks ago, that little bugger got feisty, and started actin' up all hours of the day, for no reason at all. Last two nights, I ain't hardly slept at all. So, enough's enough, I said this morning, and headed on over to the clinic. Turns out this little old overachiever cavity's more than they can handle there. I'm the lucky winner of a root canal. Which sucks enough in itself, but also sucks even more due to the fact that as soon as my Mom gets the bill for this one, we're gonna have to revisit that whole job/pulling your weight around here thing.
And that's never fun.
So, anyway, here I am at the honest-to-God dentist office. I've had cleanings and got my cavities filled before, but the dental clinic down on our side of town could always handle that kind of stuff. This super-cavity bought me a ticket to the big time. Not that I'm nervous or anything, I mean, I never heard of anything real bad happening to somebody at the dentist, but then again, one never does know. I remember Darry one time…
"Two-Bit?"
I looked up. Okay, now this girl I had definitely seen before. Somewhere. Sometime. I was pretty sure that I had been with her, somewhere. But I didn't think I had been with her, if you know what I mean. My mind gets a little hazy, sometimes, late at night. But this girl I would have remembered. She was real cute.
"Do you remember me?" Aw, well that ain't really fair. Either way, that's a trap. I say yes, then I'm supposed to know her name; I say no, she gets insulted.
I raised my finger and prepared to say something charming, but she let me off the hook.
"Marcia. Cherry and I sat with you at the Nightly Double. A couple months ago."
Right. Right. Now I remembered. She was as just cute now as she had been then.
"You never called."
I had no idea what to say. Was she kidding? She and I both knew that hadn't even been her real number. I might not be the brightest guy on my side of town, but I know that her address is on the other side, pretty much putting her out of my league.
"Well, that's why I'm here," I grinned. "I lost your number."
"Right," she smiled back. "Why are you here?" she asked.
"Root canal," I answered.
"Oh," she nodded sympathetically.
"How 'bout you? Your teeth look fine to me," I said. She did have a great smile.
"I work here. This is my Dad's office. I help out with the filing and stuff, after school."
"That's cool," I said. Right, so this Soc girl who's Dad was a dentist had wanted me to call her. Let's not be ridiculous here. On the other hand, her Dad was about to put me under and poke at my mouth with sharp objects, so let's not be hasty in our judgment, either, I decided.
"So how've you been?" I asked her, wishing I could stand up out of the chair but feeling like, with no wall to lean on, it would be awkward.
"Well, you know, okay. Just school, and stuff."
She seemed a little nervous.
"I'm real sorry, you know, about what happened that night, with your friends." She didn't look at me when she said it, and I was glad.
Right. That. It had been that night. No wonder I had forgotten about her. There was really nothing I wanted to remember from that night, or most of the week afterward, either. I wasn't sure what to say.
"Thanks," I chose, though it didn't feel quite right. There was a bit of an awkward silence.
"Mr. Mathews, the doctor is ready for you now," the hygenist called for me from the back door.
I stood up.
Marcia smiled, and said "It's real nice seeing you again, Two-Bit." Something in her voice surprised me, like it wasn't just your typical pleasantry, like maybe she meant it.
"You too," I answered, as the hygenist ushered me through the door.
"Good luck," she called, as the door shut behind me.
Good luck, indeed, I thought.
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Not sure where I am going with this. Just responding to the lack of Marcia fics on the site. Maybe this will be a Two-Bit fic, maybe Marcia, maybe both... or maybe I scrap it. I dunno yet.
