Dental Thoughts

It's almost noon and I'm standing in the kitchen area, one hand in my pocket, the other one holding my toothbrush and performing circling movements. Back at home I used to stare at the mirror while brushing my teeth, observing my own face, see if anything had changed. Also keeping an eye on the dental hygiene department, a routine that has a life-long history. It has repeated itself thousands of times, but never the exact same way, every time a little bit different, like countless games of Tetris.

I look up and try to find my reflection. What I see is the door of the cheap green cupboard that came with the kitchenette. It has a built-in strip of glass that reveals the contents of the massive storage compartment. That strip of glass is where I'm trying to find my own face. It's there, I can see it, but it's half transparent. It reminds me of a mixtape where one song blends into the next. It makes me sad, but I can't sigh. I wish I could, but I can't. If I tried, I would probably swallow toothpaste foam.

I spit and wash it down the drain. The foam disappears, but the image of my reflection stays on my mind. It's burned in my head like a photograph on film. I carry it around with me all day. Why am I half transparent? Am I not complete, not confident enough to be whole? Perhaps that's it, perhaps my character is lacking density. But then, I actually feel quite good about myself these days. So maybe nothing is wrong with me, after all. Maybe it's just my cupboard door, for it is made of glass.