I encountered Death at the dentist's. Truth be told, I really didn't see it coming.
It was the waiting room, specifically. The room of boring posters, exotic toothbrushes and the gentle, underlying wave of fear coming from the children.
Except this time, apparently, the Prince of Darkness was visiting in a rather good disguise.
I certainly didn't spot him when I entered. Too occupied with absent-mindedly licking a gap in a back molar which recently held a filling. And also wondering if this would be more painful than my tattoos.
Nervous? I was, a fait bit. I never totally shook the childhood fear of the dentist. Even now, if I hear that shrill, high-pitched shriek of a dentist drill - or something like it - I get a tad on edge.
Maybe my nerves would have been worse, had I known an agent of shadows currently shared the same airspace.
But, at this point, I still didn't know. I was now busy people-watching, involving thoughts about what the guy sat next to me was in for. He was called up a few moments later. Didn't catch his name.
A short while after that, a young...nurse, are they called? It is 'nurse' only in hospitals, or is it 'aide' or something?
Nah, the science of job titles would make it more interesting-sounding than that.
Anyway, a young, female, dental-health-care-specialist-assistant appeared in the doorway to my far left.
Although I didn't actually see her at first. I looked up when she called out "Mr Death?"
Thinking about it now, it could have been 'Deff'. There's an actor named Mos Def who was in the film The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
But this didn't occur to me then. I stared, utterly transfixed, at Mr Death. A figure of enormous power; yet unacceptable dental care apparently. The figure etched into foreboding stones, hero of so many fantasy tales, famed creator of Hallows...currently disguised as a mature, black gentleman. (Who happened to look a bit like black actor Scatman Crothers, the guy who played Dick Hallorann in The Shining.)
Mos Def is black, too. Just to add a plot-thickening agent.
Anyway, this well-disguised Mr Death stood, removed his coat and hat, and followed the young, female dentist-but-not-quite.
My mind, quiet and bored until this development, felt ready to burst with questions and stories.
Why was Death here? Did ferrying passed souls increase chances of tooth decay or gum disease? Can cadavers cause cavities?
As he's a skeleton, could the dentist fill in any other cavities he might be tired of?
Why that particular disguise?
And why my local dentist? Is that one other thing Hell is devoid of? Besides cheeriness, optimism, hope, a good bench and possibly an occasional blancmange.
Now, although I didn't know this at the time, it was still a long while yet until my dentist was ready to see me and my cracked filling.
But, this did give me several minutes of wondering and guessing about the natures of enigmatic Mr Death and his own oral-health histories.
What I'd give to see his records:
Mr Death. Age: "Older than the moon but younger than the sun."
First record: (as found during an archaeological dig)
19.02.1226 - Teeth loosened by way of large hammer, to fix crookedness
20.02.1226 - Theories that last appointment was a bad move. Sacrifices made to dental gods.
21.02.1226 - Many reports of great pain. Townsfolk disappear under patient's wrath.
...and so on.
Maybe Death has dentures.
Every night, in his own shadowy corner of Beyond, before bedding down in his nest of nightmares, he places his teeth in a chalice of blood, then goes to sleep.
No, that would be preposterous.
I highly doubt Death ever sleeps. He's far too busy.
I imagine even the back-up from his short, dental-related time off gave him a hell of a run-around later on.
I didn't see him again when I was done. Even the guy who had been sat next to me, within the time of my waiting and my appointment, didn't re-appear until after I had sat down.
I wondered, again, what he'd been in for. Or maybe if time had moved for me. To make up for that tedious STILLNESS of any waiting room.
Still, I offer many thanks to Mr Death for not suddenly turning to me and simply saying "Well, you're done."
I also wish him the best of luck with his future appointments and any future disguises as well.
When the time comes, and he really does appear to escort me along and beyond, I'll be sure to make him smile, have a quick look and say "Hey, had some work done?"
Nothing wrong with one's last words being a compliment.
And if he lies, I'll know.
I was there.
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