The Quiet Dentist

My dentist works in half of a small brick building that looks like it has always been in that spot, trembling close to the ground while other buildings pop up around it. The waiting room has four wicker-seated chairs that could be new, or very old and scarcely used.

K-, the secretary, is also in charge of clipping the bib around patients' necks and handing them two tissues. She has a slight speech impediment and sounds as if she's chewing on her tongue when she talks. I am sure that the circa 1985 Toyota Camry wagon with the "Have you hugged your cat today?" sticker always in the parking lot is hers. However, it's possible that she came with the building and the car is the dentist's.

We found Dr. S- S- back when we had dental insurance but only one car. He was the only dentist in the Yellow Pages who was on our plan and on a bus line. Actually, he is listed after a Dr. I- S- at the same address, who I presumed was his father, perhaps dead.

Dr. S- is not a friendly man, although he can make sincere small talk for a few minutes. He doesn't smile much, which also means that he doesn't fake-smile. 1 has seen him several times and seems to like his quiet, earnest manner.

I used to wonder if Dr. S- became a dentist only because his father was one. His room is so small and so unchanging, though not quite joyless. A photograph his son took in 3rd grade of a bright yellow tree beside a large tombstone hangs on the wall. A window looks out toward the road.

The pale grey-green reclining chair, like the waiting room chairs, seems both old and new at the same time. I have only twice encountered another patient before or after my visit.

Why does anyone become a dentist? Today as I sat in the chair, squinting up at the ceiling, I wondered if the profession attracts methodical, obsessive people. A mouth, a domain with precise and controllable limits. Thirty-two subjects to be washed, dressed, fed and patted on the head, right to left and top to bottom. Do people become dentists because they imagine they will like the job, or because they ask, "How hard could it be?" Or do they become dentists because they need to, because they must bring order to something in this world and the mouth is a logical place to start?

Dr. S- has become noticeably greyer over the past seven years. He is entirely medium in height and build, with grey eyes and a smooth, medium-sized face and nose. His two sons differ widely in ages, the products of different marriages. I know this from our first visit, when he seemed to be trying to make us feel comfortable about bringing 1 there. My husband has never returned, saying Dr. S- is too rough in his handling of the tooth-scraping tools. This is true, or at least Dr. S- never asks if one is "doing all right."

Last month, I took 1 and 2 for a visit. While 1 was in the chair, I had to take 2 to the bathroom. We passed a second exam room, just as narrow, one that I had never known was there. The door was open, and I could see the white hair and white dentists' jacket of a man sitting, his back to me, in the patient's chair, slightly reclined, reading the sports section of the daily paper.

Surely it was Dr. I- S-, the father. Maybe he sits there every day, reading the newspaper for a couple hours. Maybe he sees a patient or two, or maybe not. Just before lunch, maybe he gets up and stands at the doorway of his son's exam room and asks him if he's hungry. Maybe they look out the window together and consider the options.