Chapter 8
Remembering Dr. Richardson's words regarding the diapers being chemically treated to neutralize waste on contact, I'm able to steel my nerves for the remainder of the conversation. Thinking about it as if it's just water at this point makes it a little less jarring. Not saying the stuff is drinkable, we're not about to go into Bear Grylls mental territory, just that there's not as much mental anguish as you'd normally expect from just having wet yourself because of a sneeze. Add it to the list of thoughts Pre-braces Me would never dream of.
As Violet continues her enthusiastic barrage of questions drifting more and more towards my braces and how they feel, I start to find all the lisping and garbled speech used to answer is letting me get accustomed to speaking just a bit more clearly, now that I actually have a reason to be talking. I guess over the past couple of weeks, I haven't done that much talking at all with anyone, even before the braces. It makes sense that with more practice talking, I'd have a chance for things to get a little easier. My lips are getting the hang of clanging around the facebows, even almost able to touch by the end of our meet cute. Add that one to the list too. At this point, our cups of watered-down coffee have their order labels covered in beads of clear condensation from the melted ice. It's a nice surprise just how time flew by, and how easy Violet is to talk to. By now it's midafternoon and the coffee shop's staff are starting to clean up, attempting to politely deliver subtle looks indicating it's about time for us to wrap it up so they can close. We get the message and thank them again before leaving.
Once again, from standing from the me-sized indentation on the coffee shop's couch to the door to the outside, I try my absolute hardest to walk normally amidst the novel sensation between my legs. This is just mortifying. As people walk about the streets in front of the old navy painted building, my mind can't help but race with thoughts of "Can they tell?" or "Am I walking funny? Is that giving it away?" and "What if the headgear isn't enough to distract from my shorts?"
I'm pulled from my thoughts by the hand as Violet grasps it to pull me along the sidewalk to some of the town's hotspots, like a famed 13-foot bronze stature of an Indian brought over from America by an eccentric pillar of the community a few decades ago, left haphazardly in his own front yard. HOA's would cringe at the sight. Further on, we cross by the downtown's art gallery where local artists post their odd works. Among them are large metal sculptures of various species of fish, a knight's shield composed of backbraces defending a plaster statue from what appears to be a large taxidermy shark... a sizable painting depicting the same bronze Indian, this time carrying a thin bearded man with a large grin waving a harpoon gun, and multiple walls covered with a number of multimedia panels composed of metalworking and painted wood and canvas depicting a period of the Island's history while being governed by an African Spurred Tortoise named Hernesto, elected at the age of 152, which passed away at the age of 156 from natural causes.
Violet cautions me against making comments regarding the Island's former leader, as he was very well liked, and taken from us far too soon. A small portion of students now wish for another animal to be elected as a governing leader, but the remainder of the population simply desires something with more longevity. Something with more longevity than a tortoise.
These people are insane.
As our get together comes to an end, Violet sweetly expresses her gratitude for me sticking it out with her til the end, even with all the constant stares launched my way, stating she envies my bravery. I wouldn't call it bravery. She walks with me to her bike, just a block from the road leading to my house, and surprises me with a hug. I hesitantly wrap my arms around to meet her gesture, not wanting to be rude. We linger there for a bit. She's so warm. Her turtleneck smells like laundry detergent and hickory. My arms struggle to find the proper balance, not wanting to hug her too tight and seem weird, but not wanting to not squeeze her hard enough to seem disinterested. When she finally let's go, strands of her hair are embarrassingly tethered and stuck to my drool coated facebows. Mortified, I can only stammer and lisp out a garbled apology as I frantically suck back saliva as she giggles and calmly pulls her long dark hair from my headgear, assuring me she doesn't mind at all. She tells me she really enjoyed today, and that we HAVE to hang out again soon. With that she leaves with a coyly warm smile and bikes back towards the path to her home with plenty of light in the midafternoon to spare. I stand around the bike rack next to the climbing flowers stuck fast to the wall on my right, wracked by nerves of what just happened, and the lingering thoughts in the back of my head for what Dr. Richardson will be subjecting me to tomorrow. A bit of drool almost creeps past my lips before I shake myself back to reality and start my awkward waddle home.
Once home, after a fresh diaper and a thorough cleaning of my oral hardware, I manage a set of soft pajamas to facilitate the best chance of a good night's sleep. Unfortunately, even though by now I'm more than used to my hips being elevated from the bulky presence down under, I'm not able to get a wink of sleep. My thoughts are far too scattered to allow for any rest to take place. I only dread my situation more when I start to see the soft blue light of morning begin to bleed through my window above the air conditioner. Dammit, I couldn't sleep at all?!?
Begrudgingly, I get out of bed and manage to braid my hair into twin braids at the top of the back of my head threaded through the gaps of my headgear straps, and dawn a white collared shirt with puffy sleeves around the upper arms, a wide knee length plaid skirt with a pair of bubble shorts beneath to mask That Which Mortifies Me So, and lastly, I wrestle with a cute black and white hound's tooth sweater vest against getting caught in the snags of the end of my headgear as I struggle embarrassingly to pull it over my head. While my outfit choice is clearly inspired by Violet's academic look from yesterday, the glasses, braces and headgear turn me into a complete and total nerd. Whatever. At least I'm only going to Dr. Richardson's today.
Departing from my lovely house, passing under the metal archway past the front door, I'm reminded of the climbing plants from yesterday by the bike rack, and if I'd be able to find something from Mr. Agust that I could plant there. Something for Future Casey to worry about.
I swiftly sulk through my usual backroads through town to reach Dr. Richardson's curious quarters and ring her ethereal doorbell knowing full well I'm way earlier than last time, but too tired to really care. As Dr. Richardson opens the door with her signature smile and actress pose, she immediately picks up on my exhausted state, asking if I'm feeling okay. After admitting to her I hadn't slept at all last night, Dr. Richardson briskly escorts me to the restraint-adorned dental chair already in the middle of her living room. Already knowing what to do, I once again hop into its seat and allow the good Dr. to begin strapping me down securely with the teal restraints.
"Oh Casey, I am really sorry you couldn't sleep last night! Let's see if I can help with that among some other things for today."
As she swiftly clicks each buckle and secures each strip of Velcro, I realize very quickly my pair of bubble shorts beneath my skirt greatly cause that which sits between my legs to puff out a great deal, magnified by a strap pulled snug across my thighs, but I'm much too tired to care. As she wraps up with the straps across my ankles, she starts the motor on the back of the chair as it slowly leans me back to that vulnerable position. I feel my braids wisp past the chair's headrest and dangle to its sides as I lay flat. She then sprints to her garage and swiftly returns carrying something that looks a great deal like a medieval torture device. A large, pristine, intricate metal cage with a number of clamps and dials. It shines against the low light of the lamps around the edge of the living room. Much too tired to protest or question her, I lay helpless as she proudly steps closer with the device.
"Great news Casey! Remember that head restraint we talked about last time? I managed to find iiiiit! Just be a good girl and relax for me, and I'll get you all strapped up!"
Again, much too tired to protest. After all, I did agree to this. She brings a rolling stool behind the headrest of the chair and brings the metal head restraint to the underside of the headrest. She opens the top half of the cage beneath me and clamps and latches a section of the inside to the intended section of the chair before bringing the opened top halves of the cage to close over my face. She opens my mouth, allow the cage to close while holding my mouth open very wide, almost uncomfortably, which is saying something in these circumstances. She tightens and adjusts the numerous clamps and dials, tightening section of black plastic to press against the sides of my face, the top of my head and below my chin and jaw. After each of the settings are to her liking, she writes down the configuration onto a notepad she kept handy and turns a key locking the configuration into place. I'm officially stuck. I attempt to wiggle at her instruction to do so as she gets up to gather the rest of her equipment, realizing quickly I'm completely and totally stuck here. Genuinely, no amount of wiggling, struggling or writhing could get any part of me loose from this machine. Maybe if I were a little more well rested, I'd have the energy to be panicked. I can only feel relaxed, maybe because of the notion really sinking in that I can't do anything here. I'm completely at her mercy.
She returns with the rest of her equipment, along with the familiar cups of strange liquids. She slowly pours them into my open mouth, allowing me to slowly swallow their contents sip by sip. After the last cup has been emptied, she starts by unlocking my facebows, saying with a calming tone that I don't need to worry, she'll have them back in very soon. Great.
She proceeds to install a number of spring-wrapped scopes to sets of individual teeth, hooking one of the sets to the scopes my facebows connect to at the back of my mouth. She informs me these are going to apply a balanced pressure to push the top and bottom rows of teeth forward, giving them a more pronounced look. The goal here is to have all of my teeth jet outwards so that no matter what, they are on display for all to see, eliminating any chance of my lips figuring out how to hide them. I've no idea why we want this, but I've no way to question her. She then makes a few adjustments to my tongue crib, widening the space of my mouth it overtakes, and spreading the metal contact points across the top of my palette to cover more ground. She tells me I'll have to keep pressing my tongue into my tongue crib as much as possible, as this will also help the springs to push my teeth forward, and to keep my lisp as severe and pronounced as possible. She then makes final adjustments, locking each new addition into place and placing bright, pink-colored bands onto the brackets of each band, a welcome addition of color. After this she brings a familiar light over my face, still held down, mouth still held open by the face restraint. Just like last time, the light begins flashing, and I know to keep my eyes on the center dot of the lamp's design until my vision fades to black.
I wriggle and writhe awake still locked in, this time with a panicked sensation in my jaws. I begin to whimper for Dr. Richardson. Something's wrong! Something's missing! She quickly skips from the kitchen to meet my pathetic whimpers for help.
"Shhh it's okay Casey. I'm here. You want your headgear, don't you?"
I struggle against the face restraint to nod, managing to only moan an apporval.
"Okay Casey, I'll get them for you. Just breath."
She swiftly opens the filing cabinet by her desk and retrieves a trio of bulky complex facebows with what she explains to be compliance devices to prevent patient tampering. She goes about installing them skillfully, and soon enough all three are each placed into my mouth. But it's not right. She leans down.
"You want me to lock them into your jaws? That way there's no way you can take them out?"
"Uhh huh..."
She takes a few tools and clamps them into their clasps, insuring there's no way I can take them out. She then brings up those familiar neon green and hot pink straps, threads them through the gaps of the head restraint, weaves my braids through the gaps, and fastens them to the ends of my facebows. As the pressure returns to my jaws, the sensation of my head being locked into a handcuff calms me. Much better. My breathing slows.
She gets up and walks to the side of the chair, glances to my skirt, and back to me.
"Still dry?"
My look says it all.
Her expression turns sympathetic.
"Oh! That's okay! We can talk about that whenever you're ready. Since you didn't get to sleep last night, I'm going to let you stay like this for a bit. Feel free to relax and sleep as long as you like, okay? I already replaced your glasses with a stronger lens. I'll be in the garage or kitchen."
With that she replaces the hanging light with a hanging mirror, leaving me to fall asleep staring at the helpless nerd I've been turned into. With my headgear finally back in my mouth, I relax. She turns off the living room's lights, and I quickly succumb to exhaustion.
