Ch. I

~

“Two lesbians walk into an orthodontist’s office.” It sounds like the start of a bad joke, doesn’t it? I wish it were. Instead, it was the start of a nightmare.

My name is Willow, and I’m married to a beautiful sweetheart called Vera. I’d never believed in soulmates before, but after I met her it all made sense. She likes the things I like, we have pretty much the same sense of humour, and, most importantly, she loves me as intensely as I love her. We’re both 24 — born only a couple of months apart. I figured that if she was not the one, no one would be; we got married at the tender age of 21, after barely a year of dating. It has been great.

But I’m not here to talk about how much we love each other. No, there is something far more noteworthy happening between us. Literally.

Now, Vera has had perfectly aligned, gleaming white teeth since the day I first met her. She wore braces as a teenager like any other kid, and for a long time, that was it. I was not so fortunate. I was born with an extremely rare condition called anisychodontia, which some of the few people who know about it call ‘restless teeth syndrome.’ That should give you a pretty good idea of what it does, but in case it’s still not clear, let me tell you my disastrous story with it.

See, I also wore braces as a teenager, but my teeth rebelled and became all crooked again after I took them off. So I wore braces again twice after that, and it still did nothing. I’ve tried everything: headgear, double headgear, facemask, pistons, all manner of weird and wacky retainers, and even surgery — twice —, but nothing ever worked in the long term. So now I’m getting braces for the fourth time, but my orthodontist is positive that it’ll be the last. As it turns out, there was one last trick up his sleeve.

Here’s how it works: instead of moving my teeth around only for them to move back later, this special treatment actually ‘solidifies’ them in place along with my jaws and palates and everything else. But here’s the catch: the reason regular braces and other appliances didn’t work before is because the structure of my entire head is ‘restless.’ This ‘restlessness’ doesn’t really affect the rest of my skull because it mostly consists of static pieces, but since my mouth and jaws are full of moving parts, attaching anything to them is useless. If anything is going to be anchored to my braces, it has to attach to something outside my body. If that was the extent of it, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Sure, it’d be a pain to carry a big pole or whatever with me everywhere, and if the orthodontist had suggested that I’d think it’s the worst treatment ever. But no, what he actually suggested is easily worse than that.

Remember how I said that it’s not just my teeth that are unstable, but my whole jaw as well? That turned out to be more problematic than I’d anticipated. See, since most of the appliances I’m supposed to wear must be outside my body, whatever attaches to them has to ‘teach’ my mouth how to be and how to behave. If it was just a matter of making my teeth straight, you could make a model with perfect teeth and attach them to my mouth so my teeth would slowly have the same arrangement. But that’s not enough, because my jaw also needs to be ‘taught’ how to move like a normal person’s. And there’s only one way we currently know to perfectly mimic the motions of a human mouth — by using an actual human mouth as a model.

My wife volunteered her mouth to be that model. I wanted to protest; after all, this is my problem, not hers. I would never drag her of all people into hell with me, but she insisted. Besides, I couldn’t think of anybody else I’d rather, er... ‘share’ a mouth with.

And so, the orthodontist began his work. My heart was full of guilt, but Vera’s kind eyes soothed me, and we marched onwards together. After all, I did agree to have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health — and so did she.

Ch. II

~

The process of installing our braces was excruciating, both to experience and to witness. It broke my heart to see Vera’s flawless teeth be encased in thick metal tombs, with those chunky brackets and enormous wires shoving her plump lips out of her mouth. The orthodontist put the same into my mouth, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the pity of seeing all that beauty fade away before my eyes. At least Vera didn’t get the full package like I did: besides the uncomfortably large braces, I also had metal plates installed on my upper and lower palates, which made it difficult to swallow, let alone talk. I didn’t yet know that I wouldn’t be doing much talking for a while, mind you. Ignorance truly is bliss.

After that all-too-familiar procedure came the main event. The orthodontist brought over a tray filled with loose metal pieces, and had us sit in front of each other. Before proceeding, he warned that we wouldn’t be able to speak normally until it was all removed, so if there were any ‘last words’ we wanted to say, that was the time. My eyes watered as I apologised to Vera, to which she let out a big silvery smile and assured me that we’d get through it together. I smiled back, but my heart still wept. You can never be ready for these sorts of things.

I sat there for an hour or two, staring into her gentle blue eyes, trying my best to ignore the little pressures and pains that I occasionally felt in my mouth. It seemed like an eternity, my soul lost inside of hers whilst our bodies suffered, but eventually it came to an end. I could tell that the orthodontist had much to say, but he held up a mirror for us to admire his creation first. I’m glad he did, too, because I definitely needed a couple of minutes to digest the image that stared back at me.

My face was locked facing Vera’s. Almost uncomfortably close, I might add: my lips were about a millimetre away from hers, but that was because we were both actively pulling our heads back. Whilst I could move my body semi-freely from my neck down (always careful not to hurt her), anything above it was static. We even had to look sideways to see the mirror. He then placed the mirror below Vera’s ear so I could see my mouth, and then did the same for her. I must admit, I felt a chill run down my spine upon inspecting the mess of metal in our mouths more closely.

First of all, there were springs and wires connecting every tooth in my mouth to the equivalent ones in hers. Some wires even connected from one of my teeth to two or three of hers, and some springs were attached to my top teeth on one end and her bottom teeth on the other — and vice-versa in both cases. However, the most conspicuous items were the four thick metal rods connecting or molars together — like a facebow in a way, but instead of curving into a parabola, the rods kept going all the way into her mouth. Our mouths were also filled with yet more metal covering parts of our gums and tied to our archwires, and I even had a pair of pistons or two in there as well, but that was less noticeable underneath all the rest. Once we’d finished gawking at what he’d done to our faces, the orthodontist started talking.

The first thing he mentioned was that it’d take some practice to learn how to speak, eat, and even close our mouths. The first part we knew already, but the rest didn’t even occur to me. Vera and I almost instinctively tried closing our mouths when he mentioned it, only to find that we couldn’t do it at all without a lot of effort. The springs and wires between our mouths already made it difficult for our lips to fully close, but those enormous rods always kept them separated at the corners.

The orthodontist then continued by saying that the plates and pistons inside my mouth were ‘smart motion dampeners,’ which made any movement produced by my jaw slower and weaker, but any outside force acting on it had full effect. The purpose of this, he explained, was to let Vera’s movements ‘teach’ my jaw how to move, and that my plates would be adjusted gradually over time to lessen the dampening effect. Vera was apparently curious by this, and opened her mouth wide without warning — sure enough, no matter how hard I tried, I could not force our mouths shut. Not even close. She probably won’t try that stunt again, though, because it hurt her joints really badly, as did mine. She let out a garbled ‘sorry’ that sounded more like ‘showeh,’ and at that moment I could tell she was starting to second-guess her decision to get into this mess with me.

The rest of the orthodontist’s monologue involved dental hygiene, resources for speech therapy, foods to avoid, and some more boring nonsense. All I could think of was how I was supposed to live anything resembling a normal life like this. The basic tasks I wouldn’t be able to do. The hobbies I’d have to put on hold, perhaps indefinitely.

At the end he casually mentioned that the treatment would take around six months. Again, I was used to lengthy, uncomfortable treatments, but Vera’s eyes widened. Somehow, I feel like this time it’ll be different; it’s going to be a long half-year for both of us.

This is a purely experimental project. Your guess as to where it is headed is as good as mine.

Ch. III

~

As soon as Vera and I got up from our respective chairs, we encountered our first problem: walking. Should I walk forwards and she backwards, or the other way round? Or maybe we should crabwalk together so we both had at least a vague idea of where we were going? After a few awkward steps, we decided on the latter. The rods in our top jaws prevented us from moving our heads up or down, so we had to essentially guess what we were stepping on. We slowly made our way to the car park, where we encountered another impasse. I’d never learned how to drive, and Vera was clearly in no state to steer a car. How would she even get into the driver’s seat? We stood there in front of her car for a good few minutes, until she decided to break the silence and hazard a question.

“Wha’ we gonna doo nah?”

“Weh gon’ hawe to geh ih toa.”

“Toa?”

“Tow’d,” I repeated a bit slower.

“Ahrigh’. Cal a taxeh.”

I tried to type with my phone at the corner of my eye, as did she, but I got frustrated and gently brought it in against her cheek so I could actually see what I was doing. She was caught off guard by that, but quickly gave in and did the same. There was no way in hell I was calling anyone, so I just used an app to get a cab. Vera seemed to be struggling with the fact that she’d probably have to speak with someone to get her car towed, and gave up in the end. “Ahl do ih lay’ah,” she justified.

When the cab arrived, the driver just stared for a moment before getting out to open the door for us. The three of us spent the trip between the orthodontist’s office and our flat in complete silence. As Vera and I looked like we were constantly kissing on a loveseat, the driver couldn’t help but occasionally peek into the rear view mirror, with eyes that seemed to display a myriad emotions at the same time. Unease, embarrassment, curiosity, dread, arousal. When we arrived he opened the door, helped us out of the car, and then drove off without uttering a single word. It was clear that maybe we shouldn’t go out in public for the time being.

As we entered our flat, we were faced with another unexpected dilemma. I’m a programmer, so I spend pretty much my entire day in front of the computer, whilst Vera likes to draw and paint. Normally we’d each do our own thing and then meet up at the living room in the evening to have dinner, watch some telly or whatever else we felt like doing. That wasn’t really possible anymore.

“So... wha’ nah,” I asked.

“‘Ang on, leh ‘e geh soh ay’ah.”

We scuttled over to the TV stand and carefully squatted together to reach the bottom drawer. She grabbed some paper on a clipboard and a drawing pencil, and we slowly made our way to the sofa. She scribbled something and held it up next to her head for me to see it. It read: “Let’s take turns writing.” I nodded and took my turn.

We spent a few minutes discussing some basic things. She would try texting some towing companies until she got an answer, and we both agreed to either order some food online or make something simple for the evening. I suggested we try learning some sign language, but she pointed out that our bodies were too close together for either of us to see each other’s hands. In the end we settled for Morse code. Then came the time to figure out what to do with the rest of our day.

Vera had always been uncomfortable with the topic, but it was clear for both of us that I was the breadwinner in our household. In fact, I earned enough for both of us to live comfortably, which allowed her to become more of a ‘housewife’ and focus on her hobbies. In the end she was forced to acknowledge that her art would have to be on hold for the following months. She wouldn’t be able to paint with my head blocking her view anyway. So, we made a makeshift arrangement whereby she’d have to sit on my lap whilst I worked, and we put a few mirrors together in a way that I could see the screen of my computer even with her in the way. Then we set up our bedroom TV in my office so she could watch it behind me. We tried it for a few hours and it worked like a charm.

As nighttime approached, our stomachs began to growl. We haven’t showered yet, either. This is going to be quite an eventful evening indeed.

Ch. IV

~

As the sun went down, we ventured into the kitchen to try to make ourselves some pasta. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t very difficult even with only one eye on the pot. Eating it, however, was another story.

We sat in front of each other with our plates in our hands, since there wasn’t enough room for a table. I wasn’t paying attention when the orthodontist explained how we were supposed to eat, but thankfully Vera was. She wrote the instructions down for me: apparently the correct procedure is for me to put food in my mouth before her, and for her to start chewing before me. It seemed simple enough in theory (if a little convoluted), but not so much in practice. The first challenge was trying to get a bunch of floppy wet noodles through the mess of metal in our mouths, which, after a few practice rounds, we were both able to do. Chewing was difficult, since the rods on our molars made it almost impossible to close our mouths completely, and the pistons in my mouth severely limited any sideways movement. It was a really weird experience: I couldn’t chew by myself because of the motion dampeners, so Vera had to sort of ‘help’ me: as her jaw moved up and down, mine followed, and I could do very little to stop it. I then had to signal that I had swallowed before I could put some more food in my mouth and let her effectively eat it for me. The whole affair was rather bizarre, to say the least.

After dinner we'd usually watch documentaries before going to bed, but neither of us was feeling like it. Instead, we decided to go have a shower and call it a day. Fortunately we’d worn button-down shirts to the appointment as the orthodontist had suggested, because there would be no way to take a shirt off in our condition. In fact, we’ll probably have to wear button-down shirts exclusively for the next six months, now that I think of it.
Showering wasn’t as tricky as I assumed it would be. It was just a matter of showering normally whilst coordinating vertical movement to reach certain areas, and then turning around so the other person could do the same. Drying ourselves off was a little more challenging, since it requires some more flexibility, but after some 40 minutes we were done. I feel that we can cut that time down with some more practice, but overall it wasn’t the worst. But then came the issue of brushing our teeth. Oh dear.

Right off the bat, I’ll say that brushing with a load of chains in one’s mouth is both frustrating and ineffective. Thank the lord we both had electric toothbrushes, otherwise the experience would’ve been even more excruciating. We both tried fruitlessly to get the brush through the maze of metal between our mouths, but the lack of vision of where we were putting it made it near impossible for it to even touch our teeth. We eventually decided to brush each other’s teeth instead. We couldn’t pull our heads away very far (only a couple of centimetres or so with great effort), but being able to marginally see what we were doing helped a lot. I felt a bit sorry for Vera again; she took quite a while longer to brush my teeth than I did hers because of all the extra stuff in my mouth. And she didn’t complain once, the saint.

After rummaging through our drawers for button-down pyjamas, I was finally ready to end one of the longest days of my life. It was only whilst in bed, though, that we noticed something: we weren’t really aware of it because we’d been doing it since we left the office, but we’d both been pulling our heads back all day so our lips wouldn’t touch. When we relaxed in bed, the springs drew us together into an uncomfortable smooch. And it wasn’t like a sensual kiss, either: our mouths were pressed so tightly together that our braces were actually touching, and our lips were being forced outwards. Vera panicked and pulled her head back, and I did the same shortly thereafter, but now we could distinctly notice the force we were using to keep ourselves apart. After a few minutes, it became obvious that we couldn’t keep this up all night, so I let go and she followed.

Our quiet bedroom, our sanctuary, was suddenly filled with the subtle creaking of springs and wires, the grinding of my brackets against hers, and our incessant slurping as we tried, in vain, to keep our saliva inside our mouths. After an hour or so, Vera started sobbing. I hugged her tightly and ran my fingers through her hair. I think she was still crying when I fell asleep.