My Phone alarm buzzed
There it was, as it was every morning, ringing endlessly. Easy to stop yet impossible to ignore. I’m pretty sure that everyone, absolutely everyone, hates their mobile phone alarm first thing in the morning.
Cursing the thing, I threw my arm over my head and slid my finger across the screen, ending the obnoxious din. Before discouraging thoughts surfaced, I threw the covers off myself, climbed out of bed and pushed my body toward my wardrobe.
Once I had dressed, tied my hair into a bun at the top and cleaned myself up, I set off to the lounge for breakfast.
Soon I was sitting on my sofa in my living room with a cup of coffee, some toast and a slightly brighter outlook on life and the day ahead. I had a few more minutes to spare before I had to get going, so I decided to catch the morning news on the television.
The fog around my brain cleared little by little as the reporter spokes their usual spiel. The sun cast its light onto my floor from the window, giving form to the countless specks of dust I would eventually get around to hoovering up.
Seeing my phone displaying Seven O’clock, I downed the last of my warm coffee and thrust myself off my chair for the front door, grabbing my car keys from my table.
As you’d expect from a day in late August, the sun still shone brightly on the street. Despite the usual clogged London roads, the sun lifted my mood as I approached the dental surgery.
A group of children no older than eight or nine stood outside, eyeing the surgery with a tightness in the way they stood.
“Morning,” I said as I came near the entrance. “Everything alright?”
At my question, the children wheeled around to face me. On inspection, none of their faces registered as they would in a regular patient. Most were tall, with broad shoulders and thick arms, except the boy in the middle. This boy stood two heads shorter than the rest, with skinny arms and a head of red straw, which matched his freckles. His eyes were different colours, the left brown and the right blue. After a few moments, they exchanged what in glance-talk; they sent each other facial expressions with glances like a code only they knew. Most of them glanced toward the red-haired boy, who sent the same back at each of them. The boy's eyes shifted towards me as his face took on a strained smile.
“Uh, fine, thanks; we were just hanging around.”
“Okay, no problem,” I replied, “just a little curious. It is not every day I see children hanging around outside here. Most of them avoid this place if you know what I mean,” I chuckled lightly.
“Well, I do have an appointment here today,” the ginger-haired child said, his stance loosening, “I’m just waiting out here until it’s closer to my appointment.”
“Nervous?”
“No… I’m not a baby.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly. “I know adults who avoid coming here. You must be braver than they are, coming here by yourself.”
“Thanks,” the ginger child replied, smiling more naturally.
“Of course, once those adults come in, telling the dentist seems to help most of the time. We’re a bit more conscious of it now.”
The boys’ eyes widened for a second. “You’re one of the dentists here?”
“Yup. Name’s Sam,” I offered my hand.
The ginger boy shook it. “Short for Samantha, I take it?”
“Yup, my parents prepared for both outcomes.”
“Clever people. My name is Bill.”
“Nice to meet you, Bill. I’d better get in before they think I’m skiving,” I grinned. “Good luck. I hope you’re one of my patients.”
“Me too.”
“But if it’s someone else, tell the receptionist to tell me,” I waved as I opened the door. “They wouldn’t dare annoy me.
“Thanks,” Bill waved back. He turned to converse with his friends as the door closed behind me.
After slipping my white coat over my blouse, I checked the computer for my first patient while Jean sorted out the equipment. My morning patients were the usual, check-ups, fillings, check-ups, fillings. Bill wasn’t listed, so another dentist must have seen him.
Before lunch, I reviewed the afternoon patient roster, which looked more interesting than the morning. Straight after lunch at 1:00 pm, Rosary “Rose” Maple, a teenage girl I had known for a year or two. She was a success story, sitting in the chair, happy for a chat, before and after picking at her teeth. My second patient Adam Noble, a three-year-old boy, was visiting for the first time. I hoped he would leave smiling.