Teeth

  the shady creek bed

I found teeth in the bed of a dry creek on the way to the cliff.  I was not looking for teeth there, and when I spotted them among the pebbles and broken pieces of melted bottles, I crouched to take a better look. At the beginning, covered in mud they looked unrecognizable, and only when I picked them up with my two fingers and brought them closer to my eyes the picture gradually became clear: I was holding a lower jaw of unknown human with my bare hand. But instead of dropping it on the floor, I dropped it into my pocketbook.

The thought that the jaw might have been made of gold occurred later, and prompted me to wash it with soap and sponge.  Yellow metal was shiny and without rust.  Like anyone else I was looking for the meaning, especially in the situation like that, when dressed in tight summer dress and high-heeled sandals I started on the perilous path to a cliff and got distracted by unusual deposit on the polluted bed of a dry shadowy creek. The meaning in this case was: look where others don’t and you will find gold!

I had other reasons to use 20 odd minutes in my schedule between two compensated job assignments to take a walk on the cliff. The cliff precipitated over the intersection of Belmont Avenue and Rock Hill Road, and gave a feel of desolation to everyone who ventured there from the surrounding streets of cheerful suburban community. To pause on it’s edge some sixty feet above the blight industrial park relieved the stress of senselessness. The gold found on this path had a double potential to make sense: as an overall philosophical justification of unconventional ways, and as an extra buck.  

That evening I showed teeth to my family at the dinner table. It freaked everyone out; they laughed, but my husband said that it would be a hard sale.

A week later I had an orthodontist appointment in Ambler. At the end I took the jaw out of my pocketbook and showed it to the hygienist. The dental artistry of the porcelain teeth on the golden plate delighted her. She called the doctor, and together they estimated it in about four to five hundred dollars. The receptionist who peaked in the doorway suggested taking it to Sam. Sam had a gold-buying business on Butler Pike only couple blocks down the street. They knew him because their patient, a nice old lady, carried homemade cookies down to his store every time she came for an appointment. Sam was a high-school buddy of her late son.

Pale blue gems of Sam’s eyes set in the copper of thin eyelids made me realize that I didn’t even know the current price of gold. He took out his cell phone and theatrically pinched a number to find out the exact exchange rate, but no one answered. “According to yesterday’s rate,” he said, “this much gold would cost ninety-seven dollars,” and he took out the money, which I accepted.

I was driving away when at the sight of obese water tower on the intersection of Butler Pike and Church Road I heard a call from the teeth, “You sold us unfairly!” I turned my car back with the squeak in the wheels. Now driving towards Sam’s bulletproof door I imagined his freckled face. I couldn’t think of a single argument. I forgot my cellphone at home, I didn’t know the exchange rate, and I was at risk to be late for work. At the red light at Ambler train station I made a careful U-turn. Passed obese water tower the pressure started building up again. Who cares what the argument, I must face the scoundrel!

Sam rendered surprise on his inert face. He stood me up at the door while looking for keys. “I changed my mind,” I said putting money on the counter, “give me back my teeth.” “But I cannot,” he argued, “it’s already in the truck!” “What truck?” I wondered. “The truck, which takes my gold to the smith.” “Where is the truck?” “In the back of the office.” “Go there and get my teeth!” “But I cant. They are mixed with all other teeth there.” “How often people bring you teeth for sale?” “You would be surprised.” “I remember my teeth very well. I will recognize them.” “But I cannot leave you here alone, when I go looking for them.” “I will wait outside.” “Give me fifteen minutes.” And I found myself outwitted again.

Fifteen minutes later, fingers jitter, he opened a plastic sandwich bag with a few miniscule remnants of golden plate buried under the dust of crushed teeth. “So,” I said, “that’s what worth ninety seven dollars? Thank you for honesty. I am just coming from the orthodontist office up the street. They recommended you as an honest man. They have seen the teeth.  I can call them as witnesses to verify that it cannot be all the gold I brought here.” With a little more copper in his face he took out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet. “I can give you another hundred dollars and that’s to my disadvantage.”  “It is not what the gold was worth!” “Two hundred and fifty dollars altogether. I am losing money on this deal because I don’t want you to spread a bad word about me.” The jitter spread to my fingers when I stuck money in my pocketbook.

melted jars in the creek bed

 The debris that made me wonder up the bed of the dry creek contained melted glass bottles. In the past I did a project where I stained used jars and bottles, broke them and arranged the pieces to restore the original shape the best I could. I fired them in the kiln to the melting point to see if their brokenness could be mended. The melting temperature for glass is over 1000 degrees. 

I climbed up that creek next day to look for answers. There were no signs of the body of unknown human whose teeth I just sold and I found only a few more pieces of melted glass. The climb ended at the open mouth of an underground pipe. I had no way of finding out where this shit originated.

 

jars and bottles from my kiln