Beck Rowse
Beck Rowse is a queer writer and Creative Writing Honours student at the University of Adelaide. His work has been published in On Dit and showcased at No Wave, a monthly reading series. Beck writes queer fiction that blends literary and magical realist elements to explore themes of mental health and intimacy.
Rusted Teeth
I made a mistake when I gave my shadow a name. If I hadn’t, maybe Colton wouldn’t be taking out my teeth right now. I’m curious what he’ll say with them… If I were Colton I would scold me. After all, he was unable to speak while I stood silent and Rhys left. Every tooth taken is replaced with a rusted nail. To distract from the pain I watch how the moonlight eats the wall, and how Colton eats the moonlight. I see a crooked tooth. I try to tell him but the blood from my severed gums plugs my throat like thick honey. Colton’s crooked tooth bothers me more than the nail in my mouth. I tell myself I can’t control the world. I often do that. Rhys thought it was bullshit and I think Colton does too. The rain outside my room is a humble drone. The smell of damp concrete through the window reminds me of being a child. I think about how I loved to play in the rain. Colton would always cry when it rained though, I felt bad for him. The tears of a shadow are like ink from a broken pen, they won’t wash off. Now that Colton has teeth I can hear sound echo in his mouth. His cry sounds like the incessant high and low buzz of machinery, with the constant crackle of a record.
Rhys and I met through music. We bonded in class over a shared love for the piano playing of Thelonious Monk. Every lunch we would hire the music hall and imitate him the best we could. Off-notes and all. Because I was stuck inside all my teenage life I was great at piano. Rhys not so much. Though he had something I didn’t have, whenever he played he would smile. It was the only time I could see him smile actually. He would cover his mouth when around other people. Afraid they would see his missing front tooth and laugh at him. A habit from childhood he told me. I told him that at university people are mature enough to not bully a person over a missing tooth. He replaced it with a gold tooth anyway. It was then that he started to sing, and hum when he wheeled me around campus. His voice was sweet and candied like honey. It would drip down into my chest and soothe my panic like a cough drop. I wish I could hear that voice now while Colton takes my teeth. The cry changes with the addition of a new tooth. And I realise now that he’s not crying, he’s trying to sing.
Despite the tone being muddled, coarse in texture like a fresh batch of cement, it sounds familiar. Colton picks up another rusted nail. I hum to help myself remember the name of the song but Colton’s hand cramped in my mouth softens the sound to a useless mute. The rhythmic hit of the hammer draws a percussive breath from my stomach. Meanwhile, the wet wind through the window sweeps in tone. Colton sways softly side to side to our song, and in the slow dance I remember. “Moonlight Cocktail.” It was the song Rhys and I danced to at the Winter ball. The sweetest night of my life, and the sourest.
Rhys took me to a bar before the dance. Apart from a few other people, it was empty that night, but the clustered mahogany furniture still made the room feel claustrophobic, the glum wood seemed to swallow the amber light of the afternoon. At the bar Rhys had ordered a Wisconsin old-fashioned for us both. He wore a Dior checkered brown shirt that complimented his gold tooth and exposed a collar bone. Rhys had an eye for colour and knew how to put together an outfit. The only shirt I had for an occasion back then was from my dead father, it was the one he had married my mother in. So that was what I wore. The bartender resembled my father in the way he smiled at me. It was soft, but demanded your attention. I never returned the smile because I found my mind hooked on a small decayed tooth he had. It looked like a baby tooth that had never grown up. It seemed like the decay had kept it young at a cost. Rhys and I watched the man work. He crushed together a cherry and an orange wedge into the corner of two stocky glasses with the rounded end of a metal bar spoon. It made me feel sick the way that the mangled cherry violently took over the vibrant hue of the orange. I turned away instinctively and found myself caught in the reflection of a mirror on the back wall. I noticed how Colton covered Rhys, and stole the natural tan of his skin. I pushed myself toward the counter and moved Colton out of the way. The counter reeked of an orange scented chemical likely used to clean vomit. I picked up a napkin and held it over my nose to cover the smell. The bartender eventually buried the corpsed fruit in crushed ice, and poured two syrupy shots of Lepanto brandy over the top. He gave me another smile to signify that they were done. I wondered why he had not removed the decayed tooth. I put the napkin in my pocket and paid for the drinks. Rhys and I sat at a table by a window and talked.
“Lay some tasting notes on me!” Rhys said wide-eyed.
I let the old-fashioned soak into my gums for a second, “Grassy…” Rhys smiled and urged me to continue, his gold tooth was out in the open like his collar bone, “Sweet and syrupy, but mature,” I concluded.
He raised the glass to his mouth and I watched his Adam’ apple, speckled with patches of amber light, pull the liquid down his throat. “I wish I had the gift of the gab like you,” he said, “It really does taste exactly how you said.”
I’m not good with compliments. My thank you was a weak smile.
“I wish I could pick the right words like you always do,” Rhys studied the dead orange in the glass with one eye shut, “It would help.”
I was uncomfortably aware of the saliva in my throat.
“I have something to tell you,” Rhys picked out the orange peel and played with it.
I wanted to press him for an answer but I worried the words would come out as spit. I swallowed shards of ice to calm my throat.
“Ah, crap,” Rhys stood, “How about I tell you after we have some fun?” He dropped the orange peel back into the drink. We left the bar soon after. Rhys trailed behind with Colton on the walk to the university.
I don’t flinch when Colton takes out the next tooth. The nerves in my gums have been severed beyond repair. Instead I notice how the clouds warp the moon outside. They shift Colton around the room. I feel him move over my stomach. Acid crawls up my oesophagus and brings blood along with it. I throw up on my legs and a burn stays in my throat. The wind carries the smell around the room. I can’t control where it goes. With my head tilted to the ground I watch Colton unscrew another rusted nail from a birdcage. This time when he inserts it into my gum he stands over me, his mouth hovering over my ear. The volume of his voice seeks to burst my eardrum. I think back to the dance once more.
Rhys was greeted at the hall by a girl. Her features were classically beautiful. She reminded me of Billie Holiday. The girl had a perfect set of teeth, and they were highlighted by red lipstick that had found a way onto them. I had the idea to give her the napkin in my pocket, but I thought that I should give her and Rhys privacy. To pass the time I looked around the room. An arched window towered over us and the newborn moonlight split Colton across the polished floor. A breeze of grass and tobacco came through from outside. I noticed Colton eavesdropping on Rhys’ conversation. He told me that they talked about the horrible rain. And then he cried. At that moment Rhys knocked on my shoulder with an elbow and told me he was going off to dance. He would be right back, he said. When I looked up to nod and give him a smile that said, I’ll be okay here, he had already vanished into the crowd, the girl by his side.
It was just me and Colton then, who had crawled on to my lap. I told him that the rain wouldn’t last. That the wind would take it away at any moment now. That it would take it to a place far away and lock it up in a cage made of iron. He told me that the cage would eventually rust; that the rain would escape and come back for him. I told him that he can’t control the world. I felt horrid. Anxiety did not mix well with alcohol. I tried to distract myself by watching Rhys dance but the crowd of couples was a sick blur to me. Nausea overcame me and a small portion of puke came up. I held it in my mouth, the vile taste soaked into my gums. It tasted like brandy but with a stark note of salt from the acid in my stomach. I was glad to have kept the napkin.
Rhys returned quickly, he must have noticed. He locked his arms under my armpits and lifted me out of my wheelchair. Colton’s cry stopped, and he laughed for once. Over Rhys’ shoulder I saw the girl from earlier. She was shocked. Some students pointed at us and laughed. I let myself enjoy the moment. I knew I couldn’t control what they thought. Colton danced and mingled with the other shadows on the floor. Rhys hummed to the tune of the music and the burn in my chest faded. I had begun the opening crackle of a sentence but I was stopped short when Rhys’ hum changed to a cry. I felt a wet face on my ear, and a word enter.
“Goodbye,” Colton says. I bite my lower lip with my new, rusted teeth, Colton finishes the sentence anyway, “I’ve been given an order,” his hoarse voice bleeds into my ear like a picked scab, The words sway through my mind endlessly. I want the wind to travel through my ears, into my skull, and to take the words away with the rain. The sentence I left unsaid that night is now rust in my mouth. Colton with a full set of teeth moves behind me, and the heavy wind outside covers the sound of my crying. He grips the handles of the wheelchair and pushes me with help from the breeze. I submit myself to his control, and I let him take me where he wants to.
The wind gets us to our destination swiftly, and I know why Colton took my teeth now. I try to tell him that he can’t control the world but the rusted nails in my mouth gate the words. Flowers decorate Colton on the ground and the wind draws a sweet, grassy scent from them. I have always hated the smell of flowers. Colton points to a headstone in front of me. Unbleshimed, and marble. I hear a groan crawl, and slither in Colton’s throat. Regret sits in my stomach. Finally, a gust of wind blows the words out of his mouth. Regret gurgles up out of my stomach, and I don’t hear the sentence over the sound of vomiting. The wind carries his voice away to an iron cage. Far, far away.