A lot happened in the six days between my bathroom revelation and leaving for Barnard.
First, I’d made it my mission to master K-turns, four-way stops, and parallel parking. I approached behind-the-wheel training with the same focus and intensity I’d always applied to my schoolwork, Mock Trial, or Odyssey of the Mind. My parents were sufficiently impressed with our practice sessions in the parking lot of Worthy Orthodontics and Pediatric Dentistry that neither objected to the use of “their” Volvo for the final driving test. I chose Dad’s, but only because I knew he’d be trading it in for a midlife crisis car soon enough. Frank’s Corvette was Kathy’s bimbo dress. They were adults and I couldn’t do a friggin’ thing to stop them from making utter fools out of themselves.
I got a perfect score on the road test. I was happy, but my mouth was closed in my driver’s license photo. My tooth had been broken beyond repair. It needed a full replacement.
“The other one too,” Mom had said.
“Both anterior central incisors,” Dad had said.
“Eight and nine,” they said together.
It turned out, I couldn’t just get one shiny new fake tooth and expect it to blend in with all my original old teeth. Many cosmetic dentists went too far, insisting on veneers for the entire upper row, but my parents didn’t think that was necessary in my case. They only fixed the busted tooth and the one right next to it. I still wasn’t used to the unfamiliar contours of my new smile. The difference was measurable in micro-millimeters, but I could feel every strange bit of it when I ran my tongue over my teeth.
I was lightly gassed during the procedure—grinding down tooth enamel with a sander wasn’t painful, exactly, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant. I was absolutely not whacked-out on drugs. I was lucid, if more relaxed than usual, even under the uncomfortable circumstances. I believed what I observed during those hours in the chair at Worthy Orthodontics and Pediatric Dentistry, and what I learned was this: I’d never understand why their business partnership functioned better than their marriage. But I’d always remember them—after they divorced and long afterward—working harmoniously and happily together, making two new teeth that were just imperfect enough to look like they belonged in their only child’s mouth.
I pulled the Volvo into the upper-level parking area. No one—in all my non-driving years—had ever thought to drop me off here between Macy’s and Sears. Entrance four was the only one that didn’t go through a major department store, but directly onto a short corridor leading to Concourse E. If you didn’t know it existed, it could be easily missed. And yet, judging by the difficulty in finding a decent space, it was the preferred entrance to a whole crowd of shoppers who would never understand why anyone parked anywhere else …
“Stop stalling.”
The Drea in my head was right. My first solo drive to the mall had gone smoothly, but now I was definitely stalling. Stores closed in three hours, and I had a lot to accomplish in that time. I needed to get out of the car to make amends while I still could. I made an actual checklist because writing it down made me more accountable.
JACKET
CHEST
MIXED
TREASURE
Again, I’d called upon my Odyssey of the Mind training, by putting the easiest to-dos first. By making small, but measurable progress, I’d hopefully gain the confidence I’d need to face the final trial, the most perplexing, vexing challenge of them all.