Eyedrops For The Future

By Margaret Melva Oldroyd

Jacob Miller loved his breakfast nook. Technically speaking, it wasn’t actually a breakfast nook but instead a regular dining room table, but the only meal he ever ate at  home was breakfast. It had a wonderful light fixture above the table, that could support someone's weight. This had been tested when he was moving in and his girlfriend at the  time had an incident with changing a light bulb and the ladder falling. She was gone now,  but the light remained. 

He woke up early on the days he went into work. It gave him extra time to wash and  put away his dishes, if Jacob had a fault, it was being too meticulous. He never left a dish  out. He was eager to get into work today, however, so he could ask that dental hygienist  out. She was pretty and Jacob had been talking to her for going on two months now, it was  about time.  

Information was synonymous with power in Jacob’s eyes. He read the news every  morning while the sunlight slowly filled his admittedly under decorated apartment kitchen.  While perusing the headlines meant to inspire fear or anger into the heart of any less  informed reader, his dark brown eye widened. He felt his heart beating painfully against his  rib cage, and his brain began filling with noise. “Dentists” it read, “have the highest suicide  rate of any doctor.” As his vision started going dark and the ringing in his ear reached an ear splitting pitch, his lungs finally regained their ability to function. As oxygen began flowing to  flow to his brain again, he regained control of his thoughts. He wasn’t going to kill himself.  What an absurd thought! He had just finished dental school, he was already established in  his career, he was living in a spacious modern apartment and was looking to buy a house.  These were all things people who killed themselves didn’t have. 

Maybe he should have been concerned that his initial reaction to reading this news  was something along the lines of a panic attack. But how was he supposed to react to the  news that of all the people he knew he was the most likely to die? It was perfectly justified,  thank you.  

He took the stairs to the parking garage, he always did, but this time he realized that  the gap in between the stairs as they wove back and forth was just big enough for a person  to fit though, and plumet the 10 stories down to a painful crushing of bones and flattening  of organs. He ran the last few flights, eager to get out of that death trap.  

The red taillights of his car blinked as he unlocked the car. He still drove a  forerunner, the first car he ever bought on his own. He could have afforded something  flashy and lower to the ground, and he was planning on buying something in that vein latter  down the road. Now thinking of it, that didn’t seem like a great idea. You wouldn’t survive an  accident in one of those. Jacob’s pulse began to quicken again, and his hands got slick  against the black plastic wheel. It’s a good thing the office was close to his apartment, else  he lose control and drive himself off the road.  

Wiping his hands on his scrubs he walks into the building eager to get his mind  taken out of its spiral dragging him farther and farther down. Opening the door to the lounge  where he ate quick and simple lunches with his co-workers he caught a glimpse of that  dental hygienist. Sara her name was, no “h.”  

“Jacob, hi” she said, “how has your morning been?” 

She knew. She had to. She had to know that he had spent the entirety of his morning  wrestling with the fact that he might want to kill himself. He didn’t want to kill himself, but  she must have seen some part of him that he couldn’t quite investigate, and she must have  known. Why would she have wanted to work with dentists anyway? She didn’t want to be a  dentist, probably because she knew she’d end up taking her own life if she did. Sara  probably was some sort of savior ready to be the doctors’ lifelines to life, reminding them  off all the meaning they found in their work. Or she was a sadistic witch who loved to watch  as the people she worked with inched closer and closer to their early death while nudging  them gently in that direction. It was probably the second one. People are rarely as kind as  they lead you to believe, and Sara had some malice hiding behind her heavily eyeshadowed  beautiful blue eyes.  

Jacob took a step back. “Are you okay?” Sara asked, concern weighing the corner of  her mouth down. “You look pale.”  

“I, have to go. My first patent is here.”  

“Oh.” she said, “well I’ll see you at lunch!”  

“No” he called over his shoulder, “you won’t.” and the door slammed behind him.  

If he had to, Jacob would guess 70% of his colleagues lied to their patients about the  number of cavities they had. Any average Joe wouldn’t be able to tell you if they had a cavity  or not, but they are willing to accept the word of a dentist immediately and then pay insane amounts to get perfectly fine teeth filled. Jacob was morally against this. Never would he  ever lie to his patient, because of this they all had full faith and trust in him. 

Jacob thought that work would take his mind off the shocking news that had been  revealed to him, but it didn’t. The monotony of white teeth glaring up at him all day was the  perfect chance for his brain to come up with every way he could end his own existence. The  whir of the drill made a poor soundtrack. The day crept by, halting like the pick against the  tooth. When he finally could return to the comfort of his own home he walked straight to his  bed and laid staring up at his ceiling. It was almost like he was already gone. The dishes  from his breakfast lay on the table, forgotten.  

The next day, Jacob had to go grocery shopping. Jacob regularly went to a high-end,  whole-food, farm-to-table store, but that was all before he was told his mind would give up  on this life before his body ever would. It didn’t matter what he ate now. So, he threw on his  joggers and hoodie, swished some mouthwash around and then walked out the door to the  Walmart just down the road.  

Reviewing his mental grocery list Jacob was inches away from colliding with a man  who need a shower desperately. He willed his eyes to focus and for his mouth to mutter an  “excuse me.” The man smiled at him showing blackened, broken and missing teeth making  Jacob cringe and pay a little more attention. Jacob’s eyes widened in horror as the man  grabbed his arm. Maybe he wouldn’t even have the chance to kill himself before this man  did.  

“How,” the man croaked, “do you feel?” His voice was like door hinges that hadn’t  moved in decades. 

“Huh?” Jacob couldn’t hear this man over the pounding of his heart and the rushing  in his ears.  

“How’d ya feel ‘bout teeth?” 

Before Jacob could answer, he clarified, “More specifically, grindin’ ‘em down to a fine  powder and usin’ ‘em as eye drops. To see the future!” 

The homeless man threw his head back, cackled, and joy split his face in two. He had  thrown his arms up, looking like a champion who had just crossed the finish line first at the  Olympics. He laughed and then sauntered off across the parking lot with a slight limp in his  step. Jacob stared after him until he had rounded the corner, blocking him from view.  

How did Jacob feel about teeth? He loved them, or he had. This was his salvation; he  was sure of it. God had put this man in his path. He was an angel; sent to tell Jacob he had  a future. He just needed to make these eye drops, then he would see for himself the life he  would continue to live. And lucky for him, he had access to teeth every day.  

When Jacob walked into work the next week it had been 36 hours since his last  meal, which had consisted of a single carrot and half a protein shake. He felt he no longer  required food. Instead, he was running on the knowledge, he would see himself, alive, in  the future. That weekend he woke up at 2:00 am with the metallic taste of metal tools in his  mouth, convinced it was time to go into work, to collect the most essential piece in his  puzzle. 

His first patient was a young woman in her 20’s. A check up as usual, and her teeth  were flawless.  

“Oh my.” Jacob told her. “Look right here on the X-ray. You’ll see a spot forming between  your two teeth on the lower left side.” She, of course, couldn’t see this but agreed asking  what the best way to proceed was.  

“I think an extraction is necessary.”  

“Pull? My teeth? I thought that was only something they did to children.”  

Jacob smiled reassuringly “Usually it is only for children, but I would suggest in your case  we do this, or else with may have to contend with the integrity of your jaw down the line.”  

“Oh, I see.” And they scheduled the follow up appointment.  

Jacob did this another fifteen times that day. Each of his patients were told an extraction  was essential. They didn’t even consider getting a second opinion, Jacob Miller was one of  the good dentists, he wouldn’t lie to them.  

Pulling teeth was somewhat enjoyable to Jacob, more so this time then ever before.  He grabbed the syringe, numbing his innocent patients, then grabbed the plyers. The cold  metal bit into his hand though the glove. Most dentist don’t notice when their patients are  in pain during fillings and extractions, Jacob did.  

Jacob pervious paranoia had turned into a feverish excitement. He would forget that  he left the sink running and wake up in the night to water cascading down his vanity and  starting to pool on the tiles of his bathroom floor. His appetite had left him completely, and

if you were to look in his fridge, the only thing you’d see were a few lonely bottles of  condiments and a gallon of milk that expired a week and a half ago. It was impossible for  him to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time so he spent the night darkening his eye  circles by mixing salt with water to see the consistency the eye drops would make. He kept  these concoctions on his counter in their respective cups, refusing to dump them down.  

By the time next Monday had rolled around Jacob already had five teeth. He only  needed 27 more to complete his set. He collected them in the mortar and pestle and kept  them on the table in his breakfast nook.  

As he stooped over the counter, mixing and mixing in the harsh light from the  streetlamp outside, he hears whispers. They started quiet, just louder than the hum of  silence between words. A nerve in his neck pinches. He is looking over his neck too  frequently. Every night he hears more. The conversations overlap. He didn’t need to feel  guilty; dentist lie about cavities all the time.  

By Friday he had them all.  

His hands shook with what he considered excitement but may have been something  closer to sleep deprivation and hunger. He pulled the bags of teeth out of his scrubs  pocket. The roots of the teeth were still bloody. They looked bare now that they were ripped  out of their gummy home. Once he poured them into the stone bowl next to their  comrades, he was forced to cover his ears. They yelled and cried and moaned. He looked  over his shoulder, certain his neighbors were filing noise complaints The noise diminished  as he grabbed the pestle and started crushing the teeth. With every downward motion his 

breath matched the sound. He saw every open mouth he’d ever stared into — each molar  individually, distinctly, blurring together. Sweaty, and blurry eyed when he finishes  smashing the teeth. He looks up and his neck protests, a familiar strain, not ready for the  sudden movement. His mouth falls into a surprised “oh.” He could have sworn he only had  been smashing the teeth for a moment. The streetlamp had turned off and now he looked at the first rays of sun rising over the skyline. He began grinding. A fine powder. It has to be a  fine powder. The white dust in his bowl is tinged with a rust from the blood-stained roots. Finally, a fine powder.  

The sun is past its zenith. It must be Saturday. He dumps his salt mixtures down the  sink. He will need every bowl, every plate, every cup for what he is preparing. He begins  mixing meticulously until the very last speck of dust is used. His breaths are shallow in  anticipation of what he will see. He has always wanted a family, perhaps he with see his  future wife. Perhaps the first house he will buy. If he could pick, he would want to see  himself, retired, on the beach, his hair has turned white and sporting a rather ugly Hawaiian  shirt. Old, and alive. He has not killed himself; he has made it all the way. 

He is ready to be free, he will know, beyond any doubt, that he does not take his own  life. He grabs a syringe. The kind for measuring liquid medicine. He draws up one of his  solutions, holds the syringe steady above his right eye and drops one, two, three, four, five,  drops into his eye. He moves to his left eye. Five more drops. He blinks, the sediment of the  teeth scratching his eyes. Once he has wiped away the excess he sits there waiting,  refusing to blink. Ready to see. His eyes have dried out completely and filled with new tears  by the time he is ready to try again. 

Jacob Miller pours eight ounces of teeth-water solution into is eyes before he  resigns himself to the inevitable. He didn’t see a future, just the walls of his kitchen and the  window above his breakfast nook with that light fixture he loved. He walks slowly to his  closet, more collected than he thought he’d be in this moment and grabs a belt. He returns  to the kitchen, pushes the mixtures off the table. They fall, shattering on the ground,  pouring their invaluable contents on the wood floor. He pulls the table out, so just the edge  of it is under the light and then climbs on top. Methodically, almost reverently, he wraps the  belt around the light fixture. 

No one can be sure what Jacob Miller was thinking in his last moments alive, but it  can be assumed he no longer loved his breakfast nook.

By Margaret Melva Oldroyd