My brother is a womanizer. His conquests are accessories. Their teeth, his trophies, dangle from his neck or accentuate his ankles, tucked beneath shirt and pants. I imagine him in the beds of his lovers. He sticks his tongue into their full faces. He licks the corners of mouths they use to lie to husbands, lovers, and friends.
When they are enamored by his charm, seduced by his words—bees seeking pollen—he takes from them. He rolls his tongue back and forth and knocks loose a tooth or two. When they shake, open their mouths wide in ecstasy, he plucks them out and holds them tightly. They, too busy with small aftershocks of pleasure do not notice they have lost something precious.
While he is home stringing another tooth on his necklace the woman will feel a dull ache in her mouth. She will taste the remnants of blood and wonder when or how she has managed to lose teeth. She doesn’t question why she didn’t taste blood. He drank it. Only now, with an empty mouth, will she consider all the ways she will struggle to eat. Chewing is hard and swallowing the truth unbearable. She practices how she will smile at potential lovers to hide the dark holes. It is almost impossible to master.
In a parallel timeline he will dance. Tap his feet and hands in motions of ancestors long forgotten. The echo of teeth on his bracelets, anklets, and necklaces will echo around his empty bedroom. They will keep him company. He moves faster to make more heat and fill his room the way he filled these women. The rattle sometimes makes me cringe. I’ve heard it once or twice while I have been at his door waiting to knock.
“Brother,” I whisper, “Why do you gather teeth?”
His response is the rhythm of teeth chattering. I’m not sure he even knows.
I think of my mother then. I have never asked her when she lost her teeth. I crawl through my memory pick them apart like petals of forget me nots. She has always kept her dentures on the right side of the sink at night. They are her way of saying
“Good night... I love you.”
I creep into their bedroom. I shine a flashlight into my dad’s drawers, his closet, and open his bags. Each time my shoulder relaxes from the strength of my exhale. I kneel; a final prayer. Rake my hands underneath the bed and finally the mattress. I feel them then; his dirty secret.
I pull the teeth out slowly. They are whispering things but I do not understand their language. I wonder if it is because I still have all my teeth. Are they crying or trying to tell me to take them away? In the light they shine like properly polished silver. I wonder how many times my brother has heard my father’s teeth song echo and if that is what inspired him to take teeth too. I wonder how often he saw him but mostly, I think of how my mother has perfected the art of hiding her dark holes. Mother; master of smiling with no teeth.
Master of hiding pain.
When the house is empty of male pheromones and male bones I crawl into the kitchen; her favorite place to be.
“Mother, why did you let yourself lose all of those teeth?”
She stops cutting peppers and says, “It is easier to swallow men whole that way.”
This short story was originally featured in Fast Funny Women edited by Gina Barreca (2020). It’s a wonderful collection of flash fiction from some seriously brilliant women writers. I hope you check it out if you haven’t already.
I can’t even remember what prompted me to write this story but it is one of my all-time favorites. It packs a delicious punch while also exploring gender roles in a family. I especially love how the mother in the end twists her being toothless as a benefit to consuming men (haha!).
TELL ME:
What feelings did this story evoke? Is there a particular line or turn of phrase that struck you? In what ways did you see gender roles play out differently in your family? Did this piece make you reflect on the lessons and behaviors you’re passing down to your own child?
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I love this! It gives me Toni Morrison vibes. I could read an entire book on the mother’s lore.
I’m late to the party but I have to admit reading this had me clinching my jaws at the thought of all the times I lost teeth to men in my past. I wonder if I can get my trophies back or if dentures are the only replacement.
I knew I would better understand short stories by spending some time in your publications.