A T A I L

Originally, I had a constricted feeling in the left side of my jaw which continued to tighten as my chin began to grotesquely swell.  After two days of this worsening condition, during which the abnormality continued to grow more pronouncedly public, I surprisingly awoke with an incredible sense of release, as my jaw, though still slightly swollen, had receded and no longer hurt to touch.  

The previous night had provided a needed distraction: an evening excursion to the ‘Shoe for another reunion tour farewell that couldn’t be missed, a marathon session from local heroes The Low Tones, renowned for playing 4 times faster than any other live act.  This time it was definitely their final show.  The ‘Shoe was bursting at the seams...the laces ridiculously loose.  Fans were passing out.  Electricians rushed in and out switching stretchers.  There wasn’t any time or space to be consumed by personal clinical concern.  It was a sight to be seen.

Awaking the next morning with the aforementioned cessation of any painful sensation, I experienced that rare sense of gleeful abandon and optimism that the possibility of recovery allows.  Any additional frustration associated with my present location - a mouse infested rented basement bachelor apartment just off of Little Vistula - dissipated.  Even the incessant gag clicking and intermittent snoring of the neighbouring basement occupant (in her own closed abode), a clandestine survey of “click codas” communicating with some mysterious correspondent or summoning a cult, caused little disturbance or interference to my current resolute relief.  

Still curious as to the cause of this reversal of infection, I  sought to examine my reflection. Beholding my bearing in the bathroom mirror, I was abjectly stunned when I  saw a gush of fetid effluent ejecting from a circular recession in my chin below my lower teeth. 

My dentist, Dr. Kent,  assured me it was no emergency and agreed to see me immediately - in two days.  I worried if, like in a nightmare, my mouth was collapsing, my face debacling, crumbling into crumbs of bone and cartilage.  I wondered what would happen if a mouse got in when I wasn’t paying attention.  The scurrying began to echo.

I cautiously negotiated the interim between my discovered affliction and my scheduled appointment.  I avoided any altercation that may elicit an unexpected excitement.  I tenaciously wore  scarves to cover my mouth and jaw - even indoors. Unexpectedly, the opening in my chin continued to expand and fortify.  And yes, waves still travelled through this passage, this path connected to some deep recess within me, but now the nature of the issue had transformed.  After that initial noxious ejection I detailed earlier, the transmissions became guttural wails, unit utterances, solely sonic vibrations, sessions which joined into longer patterns becoming phrases, then themes and finally, to the keen ear,  songs.  

The morning came and I took the train to see my dentist.

After epic preliminary excavations and cavernous excursions under my dentist’s attention, I sat again in reception, awaiting prognosis.  I  sat beside the air vent and a woman named Delphine who was an Air Traffic Controller.  She was here today accompanying a friend for a “scaling”.  The glass aviary for finches that was usually in the waiting room had been temporarily replaced (while it was being cleaned) by a mother-in-law’s tongue plant decorated with copper bells.    Beside this configuration, Delphine sat chewing on a Reader’s Digest and lapping up an article on dolphin endorphins.

I know because I asked.

I told her of my infection but withheld informing her of my abnormal spout.  It was hidden or, I guess, we were disguised by a plaid scarf.  Regardless, I could not demonstrate the resulting ability at this particular moment, for at this ebb,  I only had a hollow hole in my chin through which I could issue forth deep communication, but currently, civilly, this early in the morning, wasn’t.  

I was called back to the dentist’s chair.  He removed my scarf and opened my mouth again for a peek. He sat back, took a deep breath and said, “You better have a good memory...at least one.” 

He explained  that I had a fistula : an abnormal hole (for humans), like a whale’s blowhole.  He added that the word is from the Latin for flute, and I imagined Mercury and Pan frolicking around, flirting with miniature wood nymphs, dryads and maidens.   I thought of a homunculus Mozart composing his “magic flute”, trying on shoes, whistling, possessed by some intimation of legacy and the immediate impact of permanence.  Or perhaps the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who could be a hero or a villain depending on which population is questioned.

My dentist admonished such theatrical diversions by donning a headlamp, shaking his head and ordering me to, “Open wide.”  He peered into my mouth and then changed his focus to the hole in my chin. He suggested that I concentrate on personal contexts and accept the seriousness of my spatial oddity. He entered his inspection mirror.

Dr. Kent explained, “Now, we need to extract the abstract subtract...or is it subtract the abstract extract…? Anyways, your fistula is the result of an impacted wisdom.”  

I was relieved.  He seemed to have a plan, though I  was  dismayed by the intimation that my wisdom was in some way compromised by a previous collision: Hewn?  How?   

“First, though, please take off your shoes, I need to see … the end...your end...if there’s a fluke - at the end.  A whale’s tail, a fluke. It may be too late to reverse the transformation.  Removing your wisdom could be disastrous to your survival, if the change is past a certain point, so I need to know… is your end, the end,  a fluke?”