The plastic man

Park up outside the huge converted house and walk from the car up the path to the door which would have been the back door before the house was converted. Inside it smells clinical and the air is warm and although the house is still mostly set out like a house structurely it feels impersonal and intimidating. The reception desk is through a door and into what would have been the entrance hall once the faceless woman has taken my name we go into the doorway to our right into what would have been the living room. Now there are padded but bench like seats all around the outside of the room with a centre island of bench seats around a centre piece with magazines stacked up on it. There are potted plants and blinds just like in a normal house and on the wall high up is a TV which is almost always playing children's programs. It's quite a large room which feels safe in comparison to the rest of the building. I sit hunched over against one wall with my dad beside me. He doesn't talk to me as he flicks through magazines and fidgets about impatiently. I try to watch the tv or look at a magazine but I know what's coming and every time a nurse walks into my room my stomach drops, waiting for my name to be called. Finally my name is said and I nudge dad to let him know we've been called. We follow the nurse back past the reception desk and back past the door to the carpark. We turn left up the staircase. The stairs are very steep and carpeted and the wooden bannister is has been painted so many times the white gloss feels almost sticky and thick to the touch. With the nurse in front and my dad behind I feel trapped and I'm forced to walk forward. Turn left at the top of the stairs and walk down the landing past one room and to the last door on the right. This door is also white gloss and outside is a little alcove where there are two seats and a little coffee table with more magazines on. We are told to sit down and wait until he's ready to see me. My stomach is churning and I sit frozen to the seat,barely breathing while we wait in silence. I want to tell dad I'm scared but I'm scared to tell him. I know he either won't respond or he will give me a look that says I'm being silly. The door to the room opens and the nurse leads us into the spacious room. There's a window with a window seat to the left that looks out over the roads we just came down. There's a seat against the wall bear the door we've just come through and dad takes a seat while I make the walk across the room to the far right corner where the chair and all the instruments are set out waiting. He stands behind the chair pulling his mask and thick latex gloves on,smiling at me with those falsely white straight teeth and that tanned skin in his plastic face. I sit down shakily and feel the chair moving under me, Lifting me up so i can't get down easily and escape. He lies the chair back and shines that blinding light in my eyes. I begin to feel him poking round in my mouth with his fingers, the taste of those gloves is poisonous and nauseating and he's stretching my mouth so it splits at the corners. He calls out let's and numbers to the nurse, his words are interspersed with hmmm and oh dear sounds and I feel my pulse quickening,knowing it means even more work. "i always like seeing you, I get paid lots for all your fillings" he says sounding more than pleased. When he finally allows me to sit up he turns to dad and speaks past me, over me, ignoring me like the disgusting child I am. He tells dad I need more work. 3 fillings and perhaps an extraction too. "its a good thing you don't have to pay for all the work" he says to dad laughing. Dad looks disappointed and I sit in the window seat,looking outside and wishing I was dead while trying to keep my tears from spilling over, I know that when I cried before I got nothing but told I was being stupid and made to feel like a pathetic baby. The memories of having the work done are mostly clouded still but every day more comes back to me. Right now I can only rememwber the hopelessness and the sound of the drill and the pain. But not much else apart from the taste of those gloves almost feeling like his fingers are violating me and touching me where I shouldn't be touched. He makes me feel sick, ugly and violated. I am disgusting for having bad teeth,a disappointment and let down as a daughter. Dad has always had nearly perfect teeth and my sister too, why am I such a disappointment.