I feel now that I ought to have apologized to the dental hygienist for the odorous junk she pulled from between my teeth when I was a senior in high school. She scowled and said something about why we should take punitive action against those who don’t floss. I said nothing but I thought about it for the rest of the visit and beyond.

I knew she would probably tell the dentist of my indiscretion. I pictured them murmuring to each other behind the chair, or laughing over a shared clear, stain-free cocktail after work. I created characters that would flirt and snicker and tell little stories about their day. She would end on my teeth, an illustration of just how disgusting her job can be. She’d shake her head and look into her drink and ask why she ever thought she could enjoy such a thing.

The doctor nods, marveling at this new openness and begins crafting the admission he will give, something candid and heartfelt to show he has depth and thinks thoughtfully about the complicated world around him. When he refocuses, she says something about how happy she is she pulled through all of that unpleasantness and got her degree. He nods and after she goes silent for a moment or two he confesses that he likes to people watch at the mall sometimes. She nods, wondering if he’s uncut.

I know that in reality that dental hygienist doesn’t give a crap what I did with my teeth or even remember I was ever there. I payed her to clean and advise, but beyond that she had little influence on my hygiene. I still don’t floss adequately and really, the only thing I remember is the story she inspired in my mind. It illustrates why I want, and desperately need to be a writer.

This obscure anecdote has little to do with my personal background but I find my background somewhat uninteresting. I grew up in Oregon with a single mother, in near poverty with a distant father who suffered a traumatic brain injury before I was born. I think that and being gay isolated me a lot and I found myself turning to TV and movies for company. The people on screen gave me something to aim for. I saw ambitions and dreams, completely unlike those around me. The people I knew survived but never reached for anything more. TV showed me what was possible. I grew up fast and independent. I turned to fiction to deal with an emotionally unattached mother and an absent father. I felt a connection to the people on screen. I think life is overwhelmingly arbitrary but in fiction things have meanings and motivations, life can be ordered and the terrible things people do can be explained. Things can be understood and there’s always someone there.