A Tooth for a Tooth: The Ethics of Retribution

My fingers move counterclockwise, then clockwise. It is primarily a question of feeling. Closing your eyes always helps.

“Not long now, ma’am. “Dolores.”

I nodded. Then snoring fills the room. I continue converting the endodontic file.

“Dentists are not doctors.”

My father’s voice echoes in my head.

It’s been snowing for two days. I’ll be closing the office early today, with Ms. Delforce is the last patient. I feel my assistant’s eyes boring into my head. Some teeth are easier than others and some require me to take my time.

This morning I went to my old church. On the outdoor benches, snow covered the chairs like cushions. I saw white feather crystals covering the ground while some of them bounced in the air. In a few days everything will be different. A reminder that whatever we bury inside comes out.

I was handcuffed with broken teeth. My fingers were constantly burning. It was a similar snowy day a year ago. I should respect myself, but my legs are shaking. In the distance, a red pillar rests on his tombstone. Who said that the grave is the end of history?

I remove the rubber dam and the assistant takes the final x-ray.

“The root canal is ready, ma’am. Delores “Get home safely and let us know if you need anything.”

She smiles and hugs me and reminds me that I am her favorite dentist.

As I walked into my office, I whispered, “You should let her go!” Everyone, including the deceased, deserves a second chance. »