Eating My Way Through... Part 2

Tug, tug. Snip, snip. And the stitches were removed. We waited for a little over an hour before we’re called into the exam room. As usual, our dentist was all smiles and asked how each of us held up against the swelling during the whole of last week. The three of us spoke for about five minutes, thanked her and then opened the door to freedom. At least that’s what I’d like to think. It’s going to be about another week or so before the “crater” will be overgrown with tissues.

I’m already thinking how I’m going to season my potatoes and sauté them. There are fishes too and maybe I’ll think of something later. If before this I chronicled my tussle with post-op troubles, the days weren’t without some pleasant occurrences.

For a start, I could have ice cream anytime I want and the first two nights I skipped brushing my teeth. Before anyone starts cringing, I did swirl a mouthful of chlorhexidine solution.

Everyone around me seemed nicer; not that they’re unfriendly before this but somehow they’re softer and they have that concerned look with eyes that went, “You poor thing. Let me know if you need anything.” See? I told you it wasn’t that bad; so much so I can start to daydream and thought that I revolve around them.

The most delightful of events in the past week has got to be this one vivid dream. It was at a counter where students can make reservations to use a lecture hall for their activities. It’s situated along the busy corridor of the main lecture hall complex and the person on duty that night is my Genetics lecturer.

Here I am, discussing details of the reservation as well as that of the unknown event with a girl; all the while checking the application form. Names, time, equipments. She’s Chinese but has that Pan-Asian looks and she's really fair. Her dark hair hung down over her shoulders terminating between the ends of her scapulae. Ok, shoulder blades. She possesses a smile that warms; and not beguiling or else I’d be running away even in my dreams.

Just before we leave the counter – gosh, I can’t imagine Prof N as the guy handling the bookings of the varsity’s facilities – I remember asking, “Hey, will we meet again?”

She smiled and nodded.

I walk her to the car park; up the ramp towards an awaiting car. She opens the door, we say our goodbyes, and the door then shut with a muffled thud. The window tint cast a bluish-green hue on that oval face as she smiled and waved. And the car speed off. A white, late model Toyota Camry with the registration plate: PJE and some-four-digits-with-8-and-3 in them. Somehow, I look up into the sky and heave a deep sigh. It’s her boyfriend’s car. Funny how I’d know that.

Do I still regard that as pleasant? Well, majority of the dream (at least what I remembered clearly) wasn’t about the driver of the car. So yeah, I suppose I am. Good thing is, she’s not some person that I know existed and definitely not from one of those tv ads; though her looks have a semblance (not resemblance) of an acquaintance. I remembered those letters written in the “Name” field: Amanda.

Yes, yes. People dream and it’s not that big a deal, really. Nevertheless, I find it nice to wake up to a total recollection of that part of the dream and not to a dry mouth.