Empoword

Part One: Description, Narration, and Reflection 144 The next morning we woke bright and early. The dental assistant had told me to wear something comfortable but my cashmere cardigan and slippers did little to calm my nerves. In the car on the way to the dental surgeon’s office we made groggy early- morning small talk. Mom was at the helm of our beat-up, dark blue minivan, La Fiesta. Dad sat in the passenger seat and I was behind them on the first bench seat wringing my hands. The waiting room was sterile and white, it smelled of disinfectant and mint. Copies of various parenting magazines, Life and People scattered the low generic coffee table. More catching up. We asked dad how things were going with his new girlfriend, he was happy and we were happy for him. I fidgeted in the uncomfortable pastel green chair. In the surgical consult they had said that the roots of my wisdom teeth were too close to the nerves in my lower jaw, it was possible that I could lose feeling in my lower lip. I was terrified of that possibility. I watched the hands on the clock tick away. I wanted to get it over with already. A serious woman in scrubs finally appeared to lead me to the surgical room. I hugged dad and he stayed behind in the waiting room, Mom came with me. There were machines beeping and blinking. I handed Mom my sweater and shoes and she gave me a tight squeeze. *** Mom and I are a good team. It’s always been us against the world. Dad has moved away twice but Mom has always been right here. My parents were young hippies when I was born. They didn’t have life figured out yet and their relationship disintegrated but their love for me never faded. Mom always says “You were a surprise but never a mistake. If I could go back in time I wouldn’t change a thing because I got you and you just kind of came along for the ride. Whatever I did, you did too.” *** As I laid down on the grey vinyl chair, the stale frigid air and my racing heart prompted tiny goose bumps to appear on my arms. Everything in that room was a dull