“Stay,” said the parson to his faithful canine companion, Charlie Brown, as he exited the car. Charlie Brown grunted in the backseat, plopped down upon his stomach and began to clean his teeth on the chew stick he stored for just such situations.
“Good morning, Parson,” she said as he entered. “Hope you’re ready for a little adventure today.”
“Ready and hoping I’ll handle the it as best I can,” the parson responded as he followed her down the hall and into the room where she directed him to take a seat in the chair facing the window. “Gosh, it’s been almost a month since you were here,” she noted.
“It seems like only a couple of days,” the parson responded. He watched her carefully, as he always did. There was something intriguing about her confident demeanor. The whiteness of her perfect teeth beamed as she smiled at him. She exuded a confident demeanor that at once attracted and intimidated.
They had been in this place, this very room, together, so many times before, there was a familiar cadence to their interaction. Always it began with her engaging the parson in conversation about his life since last they had met. Often it ended with both laughing at some shared story. And then they came to the purpose of the meeting.
Soon the parson was in a reclined position as she hovered over him. And then she began to demonstrate her accomplished talent, a talent for which he willingly paid.
Later the parson prepared to depart, thanking her for her ministrations, her caring, her considerable abilities.
“You’re welcome,” she said. She suggested a time when they once again might meet. He agreed he’d be there. “Now, listen, Parson,” she said, “I know there’s going to be pain later. You don’t need to live with the pain.”
She handed him a piece of paper on which she’d written a prescription. The parson bid his dentist farewell.
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