I kept quiet about my toothache until Jimmy walked into the bathroom and saw me spitting blood. That rat bastard. He never learned how to knock.
He saw the line of spittle and blood streaming from my chin. He pointed his finger at me with triumph gleaming from his black eyes. “Oooooh, I’m going to tell mama.”
“Tell her, you brat. It’s nothing.” I hated the metallic taste in my mouth. I couldn’t tell if it was from the blood or from the tap.
“Mama, Charlie’s got a bad tooth!”
I put him in a headlock, but he slipped out of my grip. He was only ten years old, but he was already a few inches taller than me. No one would ever know that I was the older brother.
“What’s going on?”
We both paused when we heard mom’s whiskey and cigarillo growl. Jimmy grinned at me and ran towards her.
“Charlie has a bad tooth, and it’s making his mouth bleed. I think he may need to get it out.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need to go to the dentist.”
She glared at us. “You know we can’t afford a dentist. Wait right here.” When she came back, I already knew what she would have in her hand. That same pair of now-rusted pliers. It had been in our family for as long as I could remember.
She gripped my jaw with her calloused hand. “Open your mouth, and tip your head back.”
“It’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt.” A tear rolled out of one of my eyes. I hoped that didn’t make her mad. I heard Jimmy giggle behind me.
“Keep still,” she said. She peered into my mouth for a few long seconds. She jiggled the bad tooth with her thumb, and I saw black spots in front of my eyes. The pliers dropped by her side. “It’s just a loose tooth. It’ll fall out soon enough.”
Jimmy groaned. I turned around to smack him over the head. He was doubled over with his hands over his stomach.
Mom lit a cigarette. “What’s the matter with that one?”
Jimmy bit his lip, but he couldn’t hold back the scream. I knew it had to really hurt. He’d been whimpering since last night. He thought I didn’t notice, but I did.
“It’s his stomach,” I said. “I think it might be his appendix. Do you want me to call 911?”
She cuffed me in the back of my head. “Don’t be stupid. You know that’s not how we do it. Come here, Jimmy.” She pressed hard against his lower abdomen. “Does this hurt?” His high-pitched howl gave her the answer.
“It probably is his appendix,” she muttered to herself. She nodded at me. “Go wash your hands, so you can help out.”
“No, mama,” Jimmy whispered. “Please don’t.” I was surprised that he could still talk. I almost felt sorry for him.
“Hush now,” she said. “Your appendix is going to burst like a ripe sausage. Then you’ll really be sorry.”
When Jimmy opened his mouth for one last scream, Mama stuffed it with a wash rag laced with one of her home-made chemicals. Whatever it was stank worse than a garbage can, but it made Jimmy silent. He didn’t move at all.
She came back with her tool kit. The dull scalpel looked humongous in her hand. For a brief moment, I completely forgot about my toothache.
Hana K. Lee is a writer of genre short fiction and has been published in thuglit.com and rumble: the micro-fiction ezine. She is also one of the contributors of the anthology “Hell’s Hangmen: Horror in the Old West.”
You can find Hana at myspace.com/little_eyes.
Ouch. That one actually made my stomach twist.