Jaimee Kuperman

Driving to the new dentist’s office the slow drive of a new place with the McDonalds that I don’t go to on the left, the mall two miles away. The Courthouse and the Old Courthouse road signs that break apart, the fork in the road that looks nothing like a fork or a spoon, in fact at best, maybe a knife bent in a dishwasher that leans to one side. And I know the dentist will ask about my last visit and want to know in months that I can’t say some time ago and I know he will ask me about flossing and saying when I’m in the mood won’t be the appropriate answer. He will call out my cavities as if they were names in a class. I brush my teeth before going in. It’s like cleaning before the cleaning person but I don’t want him to know I keep an untidy mouth. That I am the type of person who shoves things in the closet before guests arrive.