By Victoria Kayode

Closed mouths get cavities; open ones get drilled.


X-ray images are taken of the inside of my mouth. Each black-and-white capture reveals the depth of the cavern forming between two teeth too far back for me to know them well.

“Let’s schedule your appointment for a filling,” says the hygienist.

Nodding, I glide the tip of my curious tongue toward the site of decay. It reaches between grooves in the dark recesses of my mouth and touches bone and memory. A brief investigation reveals the cause: neglect and sugary sweet words uttered to placate those around me. Sparing them the potentially bitter truths I wished to share had led to overindulgence.  Knocking on my incisors, chipping them away, the acidity of my words rises like bile from my belly. Lockjaw dams their flow, so they swish, swish around. Each word crashes against off-white walls, etching my sentiments on my gums. Their syllables erode my enamel when I don’t speak.
…

Speaking was never my preferred mode of communication. I tended to hold my most intimate thoughts in diaries. Their ink lines cradled my words and restrained my inner voice to the blank space behind them, binding them between hard covers.

A transformation began when summer’s cotton-candied sunsets replaced the fluorescent lights of my sixth-grade halls. That’s when I met a rowdy group of middle schoolers at a forensic science camp. I admired them all for confidently projecting half-formed thoughts and jokes whenever they saw fit. Because I never chose to speak first, they prompted my speech with questions. My voice began to croak out of me, though it never took up much space. Wielding this instrument was uncomfortable at first. It was as though I’d abandoned it to rust in a dark corner of my room and with it my ability to play. I was worried I’d play off-key. However, I realized I had a gracious audience waiting to give their applause when I tested it out.
…

As a natural introvert, that summer camp was a fearful leap into the deep end. Maintaining my silence was a choice I enjoyed, but my friends made speaking feel good. Eventually, the warm summer air that charged my transformation became a shocking cold to my skin.

One day in high school gym class, someone disturbed the rhythm of my walk by flinging the n-word against my ear. This word penetrated the race-neutral atmosphere surrounding me; I became hyper-aware of the singleness of my Black body amidst the plurality of white bodies.

The White friend of the White guy who so casually let this fourth person intrude into our three-person conversation gave him a look that said, “She’s right there!”

“She knows I say it,” the offender hissed with his forked tongue.

Confused by where he believed I came to “know” he said “it”, I kept my mouth shut and tasted the bitter reality resting on my palette. My mind stayed fixed on that moment as my feet carried me forward.

Through some insidious process that started long before this chilling realization, I’d become more than a girl; I became a Black girl. It’s not that I’d never stood before a mirror or noticed my darkness against the lightness of my surroundings, but I’d never been confronted with such unapologetic ignorance. I’d expertly played the role of the easygoing girl. But what did my lack of verbal response say to them? What did it mean for me?
…

Caries develop as acids form from accumulated bacteria. The vicious attack on the tooth’s surface creates a small hole, a cavity. There are five main stages of tooth decay, each marking greater damage to the tooth: demineralization, enamel decay, dentin decay, pulp damage, and abscessed tooth decay.

The white spot decrying the mineral breakdown of my enamel at stage one deepened to a light brown by the time I saw the hygienist. Living out of state, I hadn’t made it a priority to find a dentist in Austin. This winter break made almost two years since my last check-up. The two cavities discovered told me I’d been naive to think I was fine. In truth, all my brushing and flossing had been insufficient.
…

Forever molded by that experience, my mind, body, and tongue hoped to spare my ears, heart, and soul from vulnerability and pain. However, my conscience demanded liberation. An opportunity for this came in the summer of 2020, with Black Lives Matter protests at their peak. My theatre teacher and mentor approached me and two other Black peers with a proposal.

“I think you guys should create something. I’d love to help if you want,” she said.

We accepted her offer. Over the following weeks, we met with other BIPOC artists. These artists would say things like, “My school is mostly white,” “I’m one of the only POC students,” and “I don’t feel like I belong.” We were struggling with the tension between our racial identities and a racist environment. In response, we created pieces reflecting our experiences as artists of color in a world offended by our pigment. My spoken word piece “All Black is Black” traced the contours of Blackness, expressing the richness and diversity of the Black community as I saw it.

Eventually,  my teacher asked, “What do you want to do with these pieces?”

Someone suggested, “We should create a website!”

After brainstorming the who, what, and why of the website, fear strangled my excitement. I took pride in my piece and what we hoped to do but was afraid of speaking out. In my head, the slur that once hit me like a dodgeball was whipping through the air again. When I confided in a loved one, I was told it was “smart” not to publicly speak on what was happening.

Our output never made it online. I felt disappointment and relief — I wasn’t ready to be heard. Some applauded the effort, while others sighed at its breakdown. I chewed on both sentiments, feeling pricks of self-doubt on the cushion of my tongue.
…

There are five common methods used to treat the cavities caused by each stage of decay: fluoride treatments, fillings, crowns, root canals, and tooth removal. The appropriate treatment depends on the severity of the decay, with root canals and removal being the most invasive. However, if caught early enough, the tooth decay can be reversed.

Without treatment, infection can occur. This results in a pocket of puss forming at the tip of your tooth’s root. The pain from this periapical abscess can plague your jaw and induce swelling of your lymph nodes and face. The abscess can go so far as to spread to surrounding tissues and other parts of your body. At its worst, the infection can infiltrate your brain and bloodstream, causing sepsis.
…

Last spring, I attended my first of many protests, but they’ve muddled into one. The heavy clunk of hooves and the trail of dung leading directly to a shit show echo in my memory. The synchronicity of a choir of outraged voices shouting “OFF OUR CAMPUS!” rings incessantly. Even now, my lips parse — they are puppeteered to remember.

My anger exploded. My voice was the sound of alarms.

BANG! The sound of a gun? Screams. Crying. It was tear gas. I grabbed my friend’s hand and ran. Overgrown hedges were underfoot. Pepper spray forced fellow soldiers, peers, kids to their knees. My campus was a war zone. I smelled the heat rising from the sidewalk. We all reached for the sky alongside it.

My anger was fueled by compassion. My voice was an extended hand, “Do you need help?! Water?”

Unlike before, I let every shade of my frustration, every lash of my tongue, every vocal projection expose my feelings. The stakes had always been high, but I’d finally realized I needed to pull myself higher. I’d learned to bark and bite.
…

For a direct filling, the dentist numbs the area with local anesthesia before drilling out the decay. The high-speed friction of metal on bone wears away all evidence of the breakdown that occurred. With the hole widened, the dentist fills the cavern with healthy bone amalgam, resin composite, or glass ionomer. This is followed by polishing and smoothing any roughness, then a quick bite check to ensure a proper fit.

Sensitivity and soreness are expected, but it’s temporary. It goes away.
…

For so long, I thought closing my mouth would keep me safe. Letting these words lie between my teeth was damaging. The only way to expel this narrative was to pry my teeth apart. It was uncomfortable, but the sensation was temporary. It went away.

I keep opening my mouth to show the world what I’ve been chewing on. It seems the quiet girl I knew is gone — this is how I brush my teeth. ■