My Best Friend
A fun-filled positive Science Fiction tale
My best friend…
(I wanted to say Harrison Ford. I could watch his adventures any time, any place)
But she had asked me about someone real. Truth be told, my real friends were my doctor, dentist, and therapist. Seriously, what more could you expect from a girl with crippling social anxiety?
The people I had to see, that my brain needed to survive, oh ya…and actors in movies…(that safely kept their distance and kept their dialogue to themselves) …those…those were my friends.
My therapist went on to tell me all the reasons I can’t connect to others, the reasons I can’t remember my past, and the reasons for my social anxiety…blah blah blah…They all come from undoubtably abuse and emotional trauma that must have occurred in my youth…blah…blah. As I looked into her eyes, I tried to recount all the words to Harrison Ford’s monologue in Raiders of The Lost Ark.
She smiled at me. I smiled back. And I thought, “Yes, the actual Ten Commandments. The original stone tablets that Moses brought down out of Mount Horeb and smashed, if you believe in that sort of thing. Didn’t you guys ever go to Sunday School?”
Make more friends she encouraged (never knowing she was actually one of my closest).
And I thought on, “Look, the Hebrews took the broken pieces and put them into the Ark. When they settled in Canaan, they put the Ark in a place called The Temple of Solomon, where it stayed for many years, till all of a sudden… whoosh, it was gone.”
Blah blah blah she kept saying. And Harrison Ford kept talking to me in my head.
I smiled. She smiled. Then she asked what I thought about it all.
I replied, “Oh, Marcus. What are you trying to do, scare me? You sound like my mother. We’ve known each other for a long time. I don’t believe in magic, a lot of superstitious hocus pocus. I’m going after a find of incredible historical significance, you’re talking about the boogie man. Besides, you know what a cautious fellow I am”
The look of pure consternation on my therapist's face burned into my mind as I walked home from my appointment. I knew in that moment I would never make a difference or dent in this universe
That’s when I decided to do it. I would call the closest thing to a real best friend I had.
“Dr. Chew…” I said. “Umm…I’d like to make an appointment.”
The thing that I loved about dentists was that they do all the talking when you come to visit. Dr. Chew was the best: always exuberant, chatty, and funny…
…but something strange was happening as I sat there with my mouth wide open in his office that next day. Dr. Chew was less than his usual chatty self. He kept staring at the back of my newly-grown molars, screwing up his eyebrows and muttering, “it can’t be…it just…can’t be.”
I mean they had grown in rather fast, but I was a growing woman, and wisdom teeth come in around your 20s, right? Anyway, I couldn’t complain (and I couldn’t exactly ask him what he was talking about because my mouth was being held open by tools that only allowed me a mere grunt now and then). When he finally finished up and asked if he could schedule me again the next day I asked him if there was something wrong…
“Wrong?” He said… “No, something miraculous…” He sighed. Without another word he ushered me out the door and I was left to ponder if I should get a new dentist or not.
But fate, and social anxiety, compelled me to come back the next day. Deep inside I knew my curiousness and longing to find some meaning in this life would always bring me through his doors again.
“Sit.” He said. I opened my mouth, expecting him to examine my molers again but he shook his head. “I want to talk to you about something.”
“Oh…what?” I asked, hoping I wouldn’t have to speak too much.
“How much do you know about archeology?” He began, a little wide-eyed….
I didn’t want to seem rude so I entertained the question lightly.
“I mean, Indiana Jones?” That was as deep as my archeologic knowledge went. I held back from reciting any more monologues.
My best friend, the dentist, replied. “My father was a famous archeologist, took me on digs when I was young. I think that’s when I first really started to love teeth…” he said, pacing his office.
He paused, waiting for me to respond but I couldn’t think of anything to say so I merely nodded and waved my hand in a way that helped him to go on.
“Did you know teeth are like snowflakes?” He exclaimed. “No two are the same. Every human’s, as unique as a fingerprint, their set of chompers…one of a kind.”
“Oh…” I began, wishing I could just be watching Indiana Jones again.
“I need to show you something.” His voice became so deep and serious. I eyed the door and started to plan an exit strategy in case Dr. Chew went coo-coo.
“I want to show you the archeological records my father found from the lost king of the land, the king who died mysteriously nearly 600 years ago.”
“Why are you showing me this?” I asked.
“Do you know the legend?” He breathed. And I shook my head, lost again.
“The king is said to return one day, back to the people — to redeem them, to usher in the new millennium.”
“Oh.” I paused. “Um. Ok. So…ya….why are you telling me this?”
“Your teeth.” He inhaled deeply. “Your teeth are an exact match, a replica of the lost king’s teeth.”
A silence danced around the room for a moment and my best friend, the dentist, went on. “My father believed in all sorts of conspiracy theories” he said. “…conspiracies involving the lost king. I never ever believed in any of them…Watching him on his death bed, I thought he was mad.” He said.
And then he knelt on his knees, “until I found you. Your majesty. I found you, I finally found you.”