I bit the dentist. If you gouge your hook into my cavity and ask me if it hurts I’m going to bite you. Like the crocodile in Peter Pan. My main virtue may be my strong teeth.

I get my dentistry done now at the hospital. They put you under and after you can’t have solid food or your lungs will collapse. The doctor illustrated this by drawing eyes on a sandwich bag, then blowing it up and popping it on his chest. At the same time as the pop the nurse jammed the IV in. The last thing I remember is the doctor crumpling the puppet with its head blown open.

I couldn’t eat for three days. I could have broth but chose not to. Not snacking is murder. I wanted some mixed nuts but kept imagining my chest flattening like the card guys in Alice’s Adventures. Or my head blowing open.

On the fourth day I ate breakfast and threw up. Life is simpler, my mom said as she wiped it up, when you don’t bite people.

She’s probably right.



Rolli writes – and draws a little – for adults (Hayden’s Ferry Review, New York Tyrant, Rattle) and children (Ladybug, Spider, Highlights). He’s the author of the new short story collection, God’s Autobio (Vancouver: N.O.N.), which has so far been reviewed by no one.