• non malum est •

• non malum est •
Went to the dentist to have a tooth (cap) installed. Something in me finds that ironic – the latent Luddite in me, I guess. A masked Dr. Beckmann teased her swarthy masked assistant about a “secret Santa” situation, and of possibly “gifting” a [slinky] dress (as I imagined it) to she, who was openly coveting it – as, enthralled, my tooth and I sat, literally under her thumb, gently, but firmly pressed, waiting for the glue to set. (She has strong fingers and a soft touch with sharp tools – I like that in a professional person.) Then she playfully displayed a smattering of Latin, chiding my dental dysmorphia, gently, with, “Non malum est,” under her breath. (“It’s not as bad as all that.”)
Though I’ve only seen her (unmasked) face once, in a mirror, and that, darkly, (sigh) it could be love, I think. Impossibly, I keep seeing those masterful, nitrile-gloved hands, like little baby-blue Hells’ Angels – adorned with gleaming instruments, hovering over me. Although I know it’s impossible (mainly because of those new slurpee-straw dealies they hang from your lip), the latent Luddite in me longs to hear her say to me, disinterestedly, “Now, rinse, and spit.”
~ Tim Burchfield
2/24/15

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