Smile Wide

I tried my hardest to avoid cracking a smile. No matter how much the sides of my mouth tried to curl themselves up at the site of my mom, so excited, I stifled them back. “C’mon, let me some of those pearly whites,” she pleaded. No matter how much the slightest smile would make her happy, I stood strong. With me dressed head to toe in hand-me-downs, my mom fumbled with the camera, trying to take a first school-day photo. Every item I wore was stretched beyond repair with faded colours from drastic overuse. This didn’t deter my mom’s spirits; I couldn’t tell if she’d even noticed how the clothes looked since hand-me-downs were the norm in our family. But I knew the other kids at school would notice. And so here I am, suppressing a smile at 8:30 in the morning on the first day of a new school year when the flash goes off, signaling I’m free to walk to school.

           The school day went largely as expected. All the kids gathered in the gymnasium to be assigned to their classes for the year. I was assigned to Mrs. Forester's class, as it was the only Grade 2 classroom this year. On the walk from the gymnasium to the classroom, kids shuffled their places in line to be beside their friends so they could share the highlights from their summers. Vacations, summer camps and cottage weekends were discussed all around me while I fidgeted with the loose threads of my grey Gap pullover. The remainder of the day was full of getting to know you games, which is ridiculous since we’ve been in the same classes with each other since junior kindergarten and we all knew each other perfectly well. At recess, I was picked to be outfield for baseball, which basically meant that I stood around for an hour because none of us could hit the ball to the outfield, but at least I was picked for a team. The first day went as well as could be expected for me, it wasn’t until the walk home that I was maimed.

           The two blocks between the school and my home were a steep hill lined with shops on either end. Pulling more and more loose threads from my sleeve, I passed by a store with a SALE! sign hanging over a pair of mannequins, a boy and girl, in their back-to-school outfits. The boy wore a grey pullover almost identical to my own, but vastly different. His pullover had no running threads, no stretches in the sleeves. The sweater looked like it was his own. Suddenly, a hand clutched my shoulder and spun my whole body around. A group of older boys from school huddled around me, the closest a few inches from my face. “Looking for a new sweater? Goodwill’s back there,” the groups ringleader exclaimed. He punctuated the comment with a swift tug at the sleeves of my pullover, tearing them clean off my arms. Before I had time to process the sudden chill running up my arm, my head whipped around from a sucker punch, and I was on the ground. I could hear the patter from their footsteps running away and feel a pool of warmth filling my numb mouth. Rolling onto my stomach and doubling over, I let the warm blood trickle from my mouth onto the sidewalk. Among the pool of blood, a single white chicklet surfaced. My tooth. Hoisting myself to my feet, I pocketed the tooth and finished the walk home. It didn’t even cross my mind to retrieve my lost sleeves.

           Picking through the amalgam of vegetables and sausage in my casserole at dinner, my mom pressed me about the first day back at school. She asked typical questions about my teacher and the class, and I answered simply with either yes or no. Her questioning culminated in asking, “And did anybody point out your clothes?”. The question rang through my ears, I shook my head no and diverted my full attention back to the casserole in front of me. After a brief silence, I fished out the mildly bloody tooth from my pocket and held it out. “I lost a tooth.” My mom asked how it came out since I hadn’t had any wiggly teeth this morning, and I told her a story about biting down on a fork too hard at lunch hour. “Make sure it goes under your pillow for the Toothfairy, or you won’t get a dime for it.”, my mom reminded. I gripped the tooth tightly in my hand and finished my remaining casserole.

           Before bedtime I washed the blood and bits of gum fragment from my tooth. I placed it down delicately, centered underneath my pillow. Everything was perfectly in place for the Toothfairy’s late night pickup. It all went to plan, waking up I hurled the pillow across my bedroom, revealing a folded dollar bill in place of the tooth. Securing the payment in my piggybank, I got ready for another day. Walking down the hill towards school, I held a gaze with the mannequin wearing his grey pullover, refusing to look down to the red-stained sidewalk and torn scraps of grey fabric. I held the gaze long after passing the shop, looking over my shoulder for most of the walk to school.

           The second day of school was largely the same as the first. After sitting through Math and English classes, it was lunchtime. All the kids ate their food as quickly as possible so they could go outside and play. The class played baseball once again, and I was exiled to the outfield yet again. Sitting around the field, I watched as the rest of the class played. The only action I ever received was returning balls that rolled too far past our infielders. The monotony was broken when a group of older kids approached the plate, asking for a turn at bat. The leader of the intruders was none other than the boy who’d de-sleeved me yesterday. Everyone on the field instinctively took a few paces back, readying themselves for a pop-fly from someone much bigger than themselves. From the first pitch, a loud cracking noise thundered out from the bat. The ball flew past the infielders and directly towards me. Miraculously, the balls arc brought it directly where I was standing and I raised my glove high above my face, ready for the catch. This catch could redeem me in the eyes of my classmates, striking out a big kid. Striking out the big kid who’d bullied me the day before. But then I thought about the mannequin boy’s grey pullover, the feeling of something truly being mine. Moments before making the catch, I lowered my glove out of the way, and felt the familiar sting as my head whipped backwards from the balls’ contact. I felt warm blood fill my numb mouth and quickly spit into my hands. The blood was interrupted by several white chicklets, and several more with each spit. Doubled over on the grass, I spit a mouthful of teeth into my cupped hands. The few teeth that were merely knocked loose I grabbed at feverously, pulling those out too to add to my collection. Within minutes I was surrounded by other kids, looking horrified at the bloody pool surrounding me in the grass. I counted at least a dozen teeth in my hands, so many teeth they were slipping between my fingers. Surely with all this, I could afford to buy some new clothes to wear. Eventually, my teacher cut through the crowd of children to see me. Kneeling in the grass, I looked up to her, showing the gaping holes in my gums where teeth used to reside. Blood poured from the corners of my mouth as my face contorted to a big, toothless smile.