Inside My Mouth

This is a mold of my actual teeth

“Are you married?” he asks.

I shake my head no, as much as I can with his fingers inside my mouth. Blue plastic crinkles against my teeth, the scent of latex, spit, and blood drift into my nostrils. Immediately, I regret my honesty because his eyes look a little too joyful as they smile down at me, peeking out from above his mask. I should have said yes. I should have lied. I’m married, I’m married, I’m married. Jesus, why can’t I just remember to be married sometimes?

He somehow understands my too honest answer and enthusiastically responds, “I’m not married either. Not anymore!” 

He had already looked at my paperwork and informed me that we are the same age. It’s always strange when I meet normal adults in the world that are my age, doing normal adult jobs, having normal adult lives. They seem so much older than me.

I am weirdly stunted or maybe just disinterested in all the societal standards of what someone my age should be doing, yet I feel pretty mu…