M Stevens-David
The Teeth
By Martha Stevens-David
Feb 19, 2008 - 10:09:52 AM

Old Perley Eastland had been planning this trip for a long time, a very long time, all of his life as a matter of fact. He'd waited, schemed and planned until the timing was perfect. His wife, Mazie, was going down to Smyrna Mills to visit her sister for a couple of days and he was going to sneak off to Madawaskee for a man's night out.

He'd been married to the same woman for fifty-odd years and it seemed like forever to him. There were times when he tried to remember when he'd last been single but his mind always played tricks on him when he got to rememberin. He'd known Mazie all his life and they'd been in school together too. In fact, his mother and father had been the ones who'd suggested that Mazie might make a man a good wife if, he wasn't too choosy.

Times were hard all over and especially in northern Maine. The First World War was finally drawing to a close in Europe and the men who'd survived were straggling home more dead than alive. It wasn't uncommon to have a soldier show-up on your doorstep asking for food and a place to sleep. If they weren't dying from the mustard gas that was eating their lungs away then their mind was gone from the horrors they'd endured. They didn't stay in any place too long. One day you'd awake and they'd be gone, forever searching for the peace and a home that only existed somewhere else, in another place and time.
 
It was nineteen seventeen and Perley was sixteen. He'd quit school in the seventh grade and gone to work with his father in the woods up to Masardis. When he'd first started, he'd gotten all the friggin scutt jobs that could be found while workin in the woods. He cleared and burned the brush, carried water, filled pot holes, pulled out stumps, limbed trees, curried horses and cleaned the outhouse. If Perley dared to complain, his father just looked at him and told him to "quit your bitchin!" He wasn't going to get any sympathy from him. A man had to work all his natural life and he was lucky to have a job at all, or so his father said.

As time passed, Perley slowly ascended the logger's ranks. He'd quickly learned what a "widow-maker" was and he could handle an ax and fell a tree as quick as tha next man. It had taken a while but he'd learned to handle the cross cut saw too. He'd quickly developed a new respect for the ax, especially after having seen a logger slice half his foot off in one bold stroke.

By the age of twenty, his body had finally filled out from all the hard physical labor and he'd grown into quite a good looking man. He had the wild, dark hair and beard of his French grandfather and the ready smile and clear, blue eyes of his Irish grandmother. He was often teased by the other men that he'd turned into quite a lady killer. He hadn't noticed any wimmin lining up but he kept hopin.
 
At night, alone in his bunk, he'd lie awake hoping that some of the men would talk about the wimmen they'd known or loved. Perley was very interested in the "love" part. At his age, he hadn't known any wimmen and he figured that it was about time. Come spring, at the end of the logging season, they'd have a log drive down the Aroostook River to the big city of Bangor. Some of the men who'd been on the last drive told hair-raising and exciting stories about their visit to "the big city" and Perley questioned them about it over and over again.

The men, egged on by the young man's questions and his innocence, added to and embellished their stories jist to see his reaction. They told of how the wimmen, naked as blue jays, walked up and down the stairs of some of the finest hotels in "Sin City.". And how they smelled of perfume that was sweeter than the sweetest rose. Of how they bathed every day and that their skin was as smooth and white as flour on a hot biscuit. On and on it went until Perley couldn't stand it any longer. He'd crawl out from under his heavy quilts and with the men's knowing laughter ringing in his ears, shoot out the back door to shake hands with himself behind the woodshed.

It was said that any man who returned to camp after the spring run, with a little jingle in his pocket, was a disgrace to all men. They didn't tell him about the diseases, the bed bugs, the fights and the whiskey that would eat your guts out. They figured he'd have time enough to find that out for himself later on when he became a "real" man.

But Perley, much to his regret, never made it down to the big city of Bangor. He'd met Mazie on the street one Sunday after church and that was that. In the years that he'd been working in the woods Mazie had changed a lot. Her top teeth still stuck out in front just a dite too much and one of her lovely blue eyes was just a bit off center, but for all that, she was really quite a striking woman or so Perley thought. She'd finally shed her braids and now wore her dark brown hair in an elegant roll at the nape of her neck. She was never going to be a looker by anyone's standards but she'd do. It wasn't too long before their banns were read and the weddin was underway.
 
Perley had worked hard and saved his money and he wasn't about to part with any of it that he didn't have to. As the wedding day drew nearer, he and his father cleaned out the large chicken coop that was located at the back of his parent's house as a temporary first home. He'd bought large buckets of white wash and cleaned and white washed every inch of that coop.

Then he built a bunk across the wall at the far end of the chicken coop and made a bed for himself and Mazie. His father chiseled out a door in the front of a fifty-gallon oil drum and another hole for the top, shoved in a piece of stove pipe and they had themselves a wood burnin stove. Perley built a table and two chairs out of rough lumber and added a couple of shelves along the wall. Now the house was ready. The small building was only ten feet from the well and another fifteen feet in the opposite direction to the outhouse. Looking around at the snug little shack, Perley was proud of all his work. "Mazie should be happy with this," he thought to himself.

The weddin was a quick, simple affair. The priest mumbled a few words in his direction about taking this man and this woman, something about obayin and honorin, and it was over. Before he knew it Perley was forever a married man. After a simple supper at his parent's house, he walked Mazie up the hill past his father's place and down the path past the outhouse to the chicken coop. Perley pushed the makeshift door open with the toe of his good boots and turned to look at Mazie but Mazie wasn't looking at him. She pushed by him into the dim interior, took one look around and shot past him out the door and down the path towards her parent's home without a word.
 
That was Perley's weddin night. There was no lustin, no lovin and no discoverin. Mazie was gone! Perley, too proud to go to the house and have his parents know the details of the miserable event, lay curled up alone on the makeshift bed for the rest of the night. The next day, talk was all over town about the weddin that didn't take and the quick departure of the bride. His parents, shocked and ashamed of their son for the very first time in their life, didn't know quite what to make of it.

A bewildered Perley, ashamed and angry, fled back to the woods like a man being chased by a demon. He took his hurt and anger out on the trees. He sawed, limbed and cut with a vengeance. The other men, after hearing his story, left him pretty much to himself. He'll come around in time, they said to one another. It wasn't the first time that a man had been made a fool of by a friggin woman and it damn sure wouldn't be the last.

Perley stayed in the woods and festered about the situation for the rest of that year and just as the spring rains began, making the woods work impossible, his father came with a message from Mazie. She was agreeable to continue the marriage if Perley was agreeable to live with her at her parents. She made it plain that livin in a in a chicken coop was jist too demeanin and that was that!

Perley smarted and chafed for the better part of three weeks and then he capitulated. He slipped out of camp bright and early one Saturday morning and headed down the woods trail to Masardis. The twenty-five miles slid away and he was home before he knew it. After a wash and a shave, he made his way up Main Street in the direction of Mazie's house and the marriage was begun. What lovin there was and there wasn't much, didn't do much for Perley and he wondered why the hell he'd gotten married in the first place.
 
The years slid by one into another and life wasn't bad and it wasn't good either. Perley spent most of his time in the woods and that arrangement seemed to suit Mazie just fine. If she didn't like it, she never said.

As the large trees became more and more scarce, the woods camp was continually being moved further and further back past Oxbow and beyond until it took three days of walking or riding just to get to the outskirts of the small settlement which was Oxbow.
 
By now, it was nineteen forty-two and the Second World War was well underway in Europe. Perley was glad that he was too old to be drafted. By this time, he and Mazie had been married for twenty-five years and when his mother dropped hints that at the rate they were goin, she was never goin to be a granny; Perley'd just mumble that he'd never spent enough time on top of "that woman" to ever have a kid and that was that.

The hardships and the long days of being a woodsman took its toll on Perley. His once perfect white teeth were long gone, replaced by a set of plastic sons-ah-whores that flipped and flapped in his mouth every time he tried to talk, so he only nodded his head or grunted if he was spoken to. And his head of curly, black hair was only a distant memory. Perley worked in the woods until his body just plumb wore out. He kept goin until one day they found him pinned underneath a tree that he couldn't outrun. They pulled him out, patched him up and sent him home. Perley's days of working in the Maine woods were over.
 
After his father's death, Perley's mother up and went to live with her younger sister in Ashland and gave Perley the family home on Maine Street in Masardis. It didn't take long for Mazie to shift houses and they were alone for the first time in their marriage but this really didn't make any difference.

Perley, denied any real love and affection at home, became one of those frustrated old men who look, leer and lust after any female that comes into sight. He became the laughing stock around town because of the way he behaved. If he happened to be standin on a street corner shootin the breeze with a bunch of the old geezers and a person of the female gender walked by, old Perley would look at her so hard that his head would bob up and down in rhythm to her rising and falling bosom. Perley still loved wimmen, he jist didn't know what to do with them.
 
The men, seeing how their risqué talk wound Perley up, embellished and elaborated each and every story, until Perley was hanging on for the next chapter with his mouth hangin open and his loose fittin top dentures restin on his lower lip. One old geezer, a known philanderer around town, told of how he'd slipped off one night when his missus was ah-missin and drove all the way to Madawaskee. He told of how the place he'd visited was wilder than the old west. He said, with a wink and look in Perley's direction, that if a man wanted to have a "really good time," he should go to Ma Maison in Madawaska and ask for Fifi. This information burned its way into Perley's brain until it was all he could think about. Someway, sometime, somehow, come hell or high water, he was going to go to Madawaskee!

Then the day finally came that made Perley think that he'd died and gone to heaven. Mazie announced out of a clear blue sky that she was going down to visit her sister in Smyrna Mills for a couple of days. Perley counted the days before she was due to leave with jangled nerves and baited breath.
 
The day before Mazie left, she called Perley into the parlor and laid down the law. She gave him a long list of jobs that needed doin and she expected him to have them all completed by the time she returned on Sunday night. Perley sat in his rocking chair by the kitchen stove and let her words slid past his brain and out the other side like water down the drain. He was already someplace else. He was thinkin of all the good times he was going to have in Madawaskee from Friday night till Sunday mornin.

Perley was up before the chickens the next mornin. He'd loaded Mazie's suitcase into his old clunker the night before and the only thing he needed to load now was Mazie. She slapped her traveling hat onto her head and thrust her hands into her good gloves and they were ready. Just as she was about to go out the kitchen door, she turned and cast an eye in Perley's direction. "You do remember all the things you're supposed to do while I'm gone don't you?" She asked. Perley looked her right in the eye and his answer was just as false as his teeth. "Of course I do dahlin," he said. "Don't you darlin me!" Mazie shrilled. "Jist make sure that you get those jobs done before I return!" With that final threat ringing in his ears, she turned and marched out the door to where the old truck sat waitin in the driveway.
 
Perley, anxious to be rid of his ball and chain, drove his ramshackle Ford at breakneck speed down the Masardis Road to Ashland. He skidded to a halt in front of the train station at the bottom of Station Hill and upon coming to an abrupt stop; he jumped out of the car with a new-found energy that belied his age. He ran around to the back of the car, took out Mazie's suitcase and puffing from the excitement of her finally leavin and the heaviness of the suitcase, he lugged it inside. He dropped the heavy bag on the floor next to where Mazie stood and with a wave of his hand and a dry peck on her wrinkled, powdered cheek, he was gone.

He threw the old wheezer into reverse and spun out of the parking lot and up Station Hill as fast as the old car could carry him. The last image he had of Mazie was lookin in the rear view mirror and seein her anxious face peerin out the railroad station window behind him.
 
He slowed down a dite as he hit the intersection of Main Street and then he flew up the State Road towards Presque Isle like a man on a mission. And on a mission he was! His head felt light, his breath was comin in short, quick gasps and he gripped the steerin wheel in hands that were wet with sweat. It was forty-five miles to Madawaska and the miles flew by. He never noticed the lovely blue sky of Aroostook County, the softly rolling green of the potato fields or the stands of majestic trees. All he heard was the little song that kept repeatin itself over and over again in his head. "I'm free, I'm free and I'm goin to Madawaskee!"

Perley drove into Main Street in Madawaska a little before noon and he coasted slowly through town until he could breathe a little easier. He finally pulled into the parking lot of Michaud's Grocery and went in. He scurried up and down the isles until he found what he was looking for, a bottle of gin, some ginger ale and a package of juicy fruit gum. He carried his precious package out to his car and laid it carefully on the front seat. Then he made his way out into the slowly moving traffic. He drove until he came to Benoit's motel, stopped and went inside. He scrawled his name on the fly-speckled page of the motel registry book and took the room key. "Number twelve," he thought. "Yessirree, that's my lucky number!" His plastic teeth bobbed up and down in his mouth as he laughed to himself. He drove his car around back of the motel and parked in front of number twelve.
 
Perley slid out of the car and opened the door to his room. When his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Perley looked around. An old, white chipped iron bed, covered with a stained patchwork quilt, occupied the center of the room. And along one wall stood a rickety dresser, the surface marred with cigarette burns and rings from numerous bottles. On the opposite wall hung a mirror that was so ancient that you could only see your reflection on one side of it. A faded, green shag rug covered the floor and the room had a strong smell of urine, vomit and beer.

Perley, tired from the long drive, lay down on the musty smelling bed for a little snooze and then woke with a start. It was half-past five and he was sleepin! He jumped off the bed and went to relieve himself in the filthy bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face, dabbed a little Old Spice behind his ears and headed for the door. Just before he turned the knob, he turned and glanced over his shoulder at his reflection in the shabby mirror.
 
The image of a little, wizzled, potbellied old man who would never see seventy again looked back at him. His hair had all but disappeared with the exception of a few greasy strands that stuck to the top of his head and his face had more lines than a road map. Heavy jowls hung down on both sides of his jaw and there was a huge flap of rubbery skin hanging just under his chin.

He smiled at his reflection and the plastic gum of his false choppers was so pink that it looked like he had a rim of Pepto Bismal floating above his too perfect yellow teeth. His once proud chest had slid south and ended up sitting on his protruding belly. His clear white skin was now covered with liver spots and wrinkles. He was wearing his best shirt which was a dull green that had turned shiny in spots from all the ironin Mazie had put it through but Perley didn't see any of this. All he saw was a young man of eighteen, with a full head of curly black hair, clear skin, bright blue eyes and a smile that would knock your socks off. "Shitta-God-damn, good enough!" He said to himself as his eyes took in his reflection. He even gave himself a little wink as he turned and went out the door.
 
If skipping had been an acceptable practice for a man for that day and age, Perley would have skipped. He was so God-damned happy! He was finally in Madawaskee, the town he'd dreamed of his entire life! The town that he'd heard so much about. The loose wimmen and the bars. The hell raisin and the night life. The drinkin and the carousin. He had damn well earned it and he sure as hell was going to enjoy every last minute of it!

He strolled slowly down Main Street like a man about town until he finally saw the place he'd been hearin about for so long. The sign beside the door spelled "Ma Maison" in garish, flashing red and green lights. Suddenly, his old body rebelled. His scrawny legs began to quiver and he thought he was going to topple over. His tired old heart was doing a tap dance in his chest and he had difficulty breathing. He leaned up against the old building until he began to feel a little better. "Jesus," he thought to himself, "I've got a case of the friggin heebie-jeebies!" He forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly until his heart stopped dancin and his breathin had slowed down to a gasp.
 
This was going to be a day that he would remember all his life, he just knew it! Perley gathered his courage and once his head had cleared and his heart had settled down a dite, he grabbed the door handle and pulled the heavy, battered oak door open and stumbled inside.

He stood just inside the door and waited until his eyes adjusted to the dim interior and then he looked around. It was a large, square room that stank of booze, unwashed bodies and stale smoke. A long uncarpeted stairway took up one side of the room and a wooden bar, cluttered with dirty glasses and empty bottles, ran along the other side. Battered tables and chairs were scattered here and there and the wide boards of the pumpkin pine floor were littered with ground-in dirt and cigarette butts.
 
He glanced at his watch and it read six fifteen. "Where is everybody?" He thought to himself. Hearin a sound behind him, he turned and found himself staring into the eyes of one of the ugliest women he'd ever seen. She must have weighed three hundred pounds and her ample body was encased in a dress that had once been red velvet but now was just a faded, reddish-orange rag. Her dyed black hair was piled on the top of her head in a twisted knot that resembled a rat's nest. She looked him over with blood-shot brown eyes rimmed with black paint. Her lips were plastered with a thick coat of orange lipstick and there was a heavy growth of black hair covering her top lip. The rest of her face was covered with a white powder that was embedded in the lines of her pock-marked skin.

She slowly looked him up and down in a way that was as old as time and her look made Perley feel all whoosey inside. She opened her mouth, slid her white coated tongue around her greasy lips and then she said, "What can I do for you, my little man," The stench of her foul breath hit Perley full in the face and he closed his eyes. He tried to erase the sight of what he'd just seen but it wouldn't go away!
 
He backed up until he felt the edge of the bar jab into his back. The woman leaned closer to him and she rubbed her beefy hand up and down his chest. Perley's old heart nearly exploded! She moved closer and leaned her chest into his. Then, she licked the edge of his ear with her crusty tongue and he felt her hot breath on his face. "What can Fifi do for my little bebe?" she growled in his ear. Perley couldn't move and he couldn't speak! He was like a dummy frozen in time. His brain was all jumbled-up and fragments of thoughts slid round and round in his head. He inhaled and smelled the odor of too much perfume on a body that had been unwashed for too long. He felt both revulsion and attraction at the same time.
 
Fifi, taking his inaction for acquiescence, took Perley's old work worn hand in her huge mitt and slowly led him up the shabby stairs. He stumbled along behind her like a small boat in the wake of a tug. She opened the first door on her left and pulled Perley inside.
 
The large, square room held a beat-up dresser, an unmade bed and a small chair loaded with dirty clothes occupied one corner. The faded yellow, wall paper hung in tattered strips along the walls. The single window was draped in a thin opaque material that was stained and torn. A single, fly speckled light hung from the center of the ceiling and the room had a smell that even Perley, who'd spent sixty years of his life in a back woods camp with unwashed men, couldn't identify.

Fifi gave Perley a playful shove that propelled him backwards onto the disheveled bed and then she threw herself down on top of him. Perley, smothered by her weight and affection, squeaked a mild protest and hearing this, Fifi drove her crusty tongue into his left ear. "Ah, my cherie, at last you haf found your tongue," she crooned to him. She locked her large arms around Perley and crushed him against her in an ardent display of passion. Perley, unused to all this physical affection, lay where he was, thrust this way and that, like a rag doll. Fifi, picked-up Perley's hand, stuck one of his fingers in her mouth and sucked gently on it. Perley moaned from the sensation and the mere thought of what she was doing. Fifi, thinking that the seduction was well underway, slid off the little man and began a primitive sexual dance around the small room. She thrust her ample hips to and fro and slid her beefy hands up and down her muscular legs in a seductive manner. With fat fingers, strangled by rings, she grabbed the hem of her tattered dress. Perley, mesmerized, watched as the rag inched slowly upwards. His eyes were drawn to the dark area just above her knees and Perley screamed as his mind registered what his eyes had just seen. Fifi's private parts were parts that Perley had seen on himself all his life! Perley flew off the bed, out the door and down the stairs like a tom cat being chased by a dog. He never looked back and he didn't stop runnin until he reached the safety of his car.
 
With his breath coming in short, painful gasps, he tore open the package he'd bought at the grocery store, grabbed the bottle of gin and took a long pull. He gasped as the cold liquid burned its way down his throat to his belly. Every time he closed his eyes, the horrible image of Fifi slid before him and he took another gulp of gin. "Those sons ah whores in Ashland, I'm going to kill them me," Perley mumbled over and over to himself. Finally, drunk, he laid his tired old head back against the seat and slept.
 
The sound of a car driving past his parking space woke Perley and he sat-up and looked around. He was still in the motel's parking lot. His brain snapped and cracked like there was a lightening storm trapped inside his head. His eyes were filled with grit and swollen shut. He tried to swallow and his tongue drug and stuck to the roof of his cotton tasting mouth. He fumbled for his watch and saw that it read ten forty-five. "Good friggin Christ!" He thought to himself, "I've been out for four hours!" He fumbled for the key and after a couple of tries, the tired engine roared to life. He eased the car out onto the main drag and like a herd of turtles, headed south. Slowly and carefully he crawled down the deserted road out of Madawaskee.
 
A harvest moon was hanging low over the eastern sky and every time a bright shaft of moonlight hit his eyes, it felt like a laser burning holes in his retinas. He'd wipe the tears out of his eyes with the sleeve of his favorite green shirt and the horrible smell of Fifi's heavy perfume would waft up his nostrils. The fragrance would make his stomach flip right over and he'd grasp the steering wheel a little tighter, take a deep shuddering breath and drive on. Feeling a chill, he switched on the heater and a blast of hot air burned its way up his nose. He hitched himself forward on the seat and glued his foot to the accelerator. The engine coughed a time or two and black smoke came creeping up through the rusted out floorboards. Perley gripped the steering wheel in a death grip and was surprised to look down and see the speedometer hoverin around seventy. "Jasus!" he swore to himself, "All I need is a friggin big speedin ticket to have the perfect ending to this friggin day!"
 
The miles crawled by and after a while, the road signs began to look a little familiar and Perley realized that he'd finally reached the State Road. Another thirty miles and he'd be home. He gunned the old car and tore down the State Road towards Ashland and home. Suddenly, the cadence of his tires hitting the tar road, began to sing an all new song, "I'm sick, I'm sick, I think I'm gonna be sick!" was the song that rolled over and over in his addled brain. The exhaust fumes, combined with the heat from the heater and the alcohol downed on an empty stomach, were a lethal combination.
 
Perley lunged for the window and rolled it down. He gasped as the cold air hit him in the face. He opened his eyes and saw that he was just starting down Mchattan's Hill in Castel Hill and at the same instant his overburdened stomach rebelled! The contents of his stomach, along with his false teeth, shot out the window and hit the tarred road at seventy miles an hour. Perley heard a sharp click as his dentures separated and flew in opposite directions. Overwhelmed by all that had happened, Perley slid his foot off the accelerator, slumped back in his seat and the car coasted to a stop at the bottom of the long hill. He lay back against the seat for quite a while and when his stomach had finally stopped its heavin, he wiped the sour spittle off his mouth with his sleeve, sat up and looked around him. Suddenly, his

mouth felt awfully empty! "Oh my God!" He groaned to himself. "My choppers, my choppers are gone!" He ran his hands all over the seat and they weren't there. Then he remembered. He wrenched the door open and staggered out into the road. He turned, squinted his eyes against the bright moonlight and looked up the long expanse of hill. He didn't see anything that resembled his teeth. "My Christly teeth must ta bounced off into the tall grass at the edge of the road," he thought.

   Perley staggered across the road, dropped down on all fours and began scrabbling in the roadside grass, looking for his teeth. He was moaning and swearing when he suddenly became aware of someone standing in front of him. "Is that you Perley?" A voice asked. "Yes and I wish to Christ it wasn't," Perley answered. He looked up to see Hugh Mchattan standing over him. "It's kinda late in the day to be looking for strawberries, ain't it?" Hughy joked. "Well," Perley lied, "I've been over ta Presque Isle to supper and the damn chicken musta been spoilt." He hiccuped and burped and a whiff of gin floated past Hughy's nostrils. "From the looks of you," Hughy laughed, "That must ah been one hell of a chicken. It looks like it got the best ah you." "Oh, it was Hughy, it was!" Perley whined. "So, are you lookin for the chicken?" Hughy joked. "Oh Christ no!" Perley moaned. "It's me choppers! When the chicken took off, it took my choppers right along with it!" "Well, where do you think you lost em?" Hughy asked. Old Perley looked up the long moonlit hill and said, "That chicken and me parted company about halfway down this jeesley hill!" Hughy turned and looked up the hill and at the vast expanse of crab grass at the side of the road. "Well, I'll give you a hand," Hughy told him.

   The hours passed and the night wore on with no sign of the teeth. "Jesus Perley, Those teeth could be to hell and gone," Hughy said. "I doubt that you'll find them till spring!" "Spring!" Perley howled. "I can't wait till spring and besides, Mazie's comin home on Sunday and she's gonna friggin kill me!" Perley wiped slobber off his lower lip and then he said to Hughy, "You'd think them pink and white sons-ah-whores would be shinin like a pig's ass in the moonlight!"
 
There wasn't much left of the night by the time Perley finally made it home. And every time his blood shot eyes started to close, the image of Fifi's face would slide across his eyes and he'd come to with a start.
 
All the next day and night Perley's tired mind raced through one wild scenario after another trying to find an answer that Mazie might believe. Finally, he decided that he'd just lie and tell Mazie that he'd sneezed while using the toilet and his teeth had fallen in and he'd flushed the toilet without thinking. He hated to give her so much ammunition to use against him but there was nothin else to do.
 
At four-thirty on Sunday afternoon, Perley, slid off the rumpled bed and made his way to the toilet. He showered and shaved then he made himself some strong coffee and drank it while he paced back and forth across the kitchen floor, rehearsin his story, until it was time to go pick-up Mazie.
 
Mazie was already pacing back and forth across the station platform when Perley pulled-up in a cloud of exhaust. He gave her a little half-hearted wave and without a word, threw her bag into the trunk. Mazie, like wimmen the world over, know when something isn't just right with her mate and her bright blue eyes examined the length and breadth of him and it wasn't too long before she noticed the black circles under his beady eyes and his sunken cheeks. "Don't tell me that you were in such a hurry to come and get me that you forgot your teeth?" she asked. Perley flashed her a quick look and then turned his attention back to his driving. "Not exactly," he answered. "Not exactly what?' Mazie pressured. "Well," Perley whined. "I had a little accident while you was gone."
 
Mazie gave him another scorching look and then she asked. "What kind of accident, an accident with the car?" "Noooo, not with the car," Perley hedged. "Well, for good Gods sake, do I have to be a detective or what!" Mazie exclaimed. "Just tell me what happened to your teeth!"
 
"Well", Perley fumbled. Exasperated, Mazie swatted him on the arm with her pocketbook. "I sorta lost them down the turlet!" Perley answered and he slid a sideways look in her direction. A look of total disbelief slid across Mazie's face and she sat back against the seat with her mouth open. Then, her mind racin for an appropriate answer, she sat where she was, openin and closin her mouth without a word comin out. Perley knew that he was going to catch hell for a very long time to come.
 
From the moment that she'd learned about his missing teeth, Mazie never let up. She found one way or another to mention his teeth during every simple conversation. She told everyone they knew and some they didn't, how Perley had lost his teeth. Then she'd stand back with a smug, self-righteous "I told you so" look on her face while the neighbors laughed their asses off.
 
It had been a long, hellacious winter and finally, in the middle of January, a spring thaw came to the county. Mazie, seeing that the ice had melted off the State Road enough so that it was passable, called over to Dr. Rhodes in Presque Isle for an appointment for a new set of choppers for Perley.
 
It had snowed all night the night before they set out for Presque Isle and the landscape was covered with nearly two feet of fluffy new shit and the plowed back snow banks were nearly as high as the telephone wires. Mazie amused herself by singing along with the radio and watching the snow covered scenery as it slid by.
 
They were about halfway up Mchattan's long hill, when something glinting on the top of a snowbank caught Perley's eye. He slowed down a dite to have a better look and what he saw made his old heart jump in his chest like a rabbit going across a potato field. Sitting on the top of the snow bank, like someone had placed them there, was the top part of his false teeth and they were sitting directly in Mazie's line of vision. Perley, hearing the sharp intake of Mazie's breath as she recognized what she had just seen, gunned the old car and flew past the pink and white sons-ah-whores as fast as the old car could carry them.
 
First Rights by Martha Stevens-David (c) 2003