Chapter 2
I leave Mr. Dan and his peculiar boat with a friendly goodbye, making a mental note to find a thank-you-gift of some kind for the next time he finds himself here, whenever that will be. With nothing but a hastily packed bookbag and the clothes on my back, I pull Mom and Dad's note from the back pocket of my shorts to find the address to the orthodontist. Assuming it's a clinic, I type the address into my phone's search engine, only to be confused when a poor signal shows me no clinics, not just in town, but not anywhere on the island. Sh$t, am I on the right island? The address only shows a house to the east side of town, and that's when my phone can manage a good enough signal to properly load the search result. I decide to walk to a small baby blue bakery next to a fountain. I'm a little hesitant to open the door, since touching looks to be enough to break the handle right off. Don't get me wrong, the door is beautiful and well painted with care, but it's clearly seen better days, and I don't want to be that girl that breaks a freaking door the second she sets foot on the island.
I muster the courage to grasp the doorknob, and gently twist it open to be greeted by an older woman with a smile so warm it could stall winter. She invites me in with a thick accent native to the region and asks what she can get me. I decline her offer for pastries, informing her I have to go to a specific address. Showing her my phone, she turns her head to an angle with a confused look for only a moment before a light flicks on behind her eyes. She exclaims that the orthodontist operates out of her home, and that address is to her house. She knows her, a resident on the island for the past 10 or so years, to be an oddly eccentric woman whose quirks are rivaled only by her supernatural ability to problem-solve. Odd thing to say to a girl who just walked into your bakery, but I'll take her word for it.
With concrete directions in hand, I exit the bakery, concluding my one and only detour from my parent's very specific instructions. The next entry on the list after arriving at the orthodontist is just "Do everything she says!" followed by "Check over everything in your new house after she's finished with you." You'd think making sure my living situation was in good shape would take priority here, but nothing about my situation is normal, so I should be expecting a little weird. So far so good.
I follow the path provided by the lovely baker woman, clearly a scenic route intended to show the cute town and all its colorful beauty. And picket fences. So. Many. Picket. Fences. Finally passing a soft green building I find to be a bike repair shop; I turn the corner to see the lovely home with what looks to be a tumorous garage inorganically mashed onto the original home in various spots where one half of the building's edge is clearly older. As I draw closer, I can make out a soft humming flowing from Frankenstein's garage. I decide it only polite to try the front door first, giving her a chance to pause whatever she must be doing. I press the doorbell, and a warm hum resonates throughout the house followed by a gleeful "Coming!"
The door flies open revealing a tall woman with frizzled black hair down to the middle of her back, a few streaks of gray among the large mass. The hand not holding the door is propped above the other side of the doorway, her posture like that of a musical theatre star drawing back the stage's curtain to reveal herself ahead of que. An eager smile swims across her face giving way to heartfelt "Hello!"
I can only wave meekly
"Hello. I'm Casey."
"Aren't you ever! A little early? I love that! Come on in!"
I'm ushered past a front hallway littered with umbrellas of different shapes and colors next to two stacks of books collecting an impressive armor made of dust. Once past the kitchen I can begin to get an idea of why she added the garage onto the house. The regular house is so small! That, and she's very tall. Not a good combo. She's able to stand with her back completely straight once in the living room. I'm dragged across a large, ornate brown, red and yellow carpet to a stand by a large cabinet next to a desk. The edges of the room are populated with comfy looking chairs, loveseats and stools. The far side of the room has a half-dome window stretching from knee height to the ceiling, with a section of the wall protruding into the space to form a well-proportioned bench to sit at the base of the large window. Pictures of what I assume are patients and family hang scattered across the walls among odd trophies such as a swordfish, a large catfish with large spines along its, well, spine, and next to them, a mangled backbrace? She excitedly seats me at the other side of the wooden desk before cheerfully sprinting off towards the garage to gather her supplies. She has a lot of energy. Looking at the desk, it has a cute floral design along the edge. It looks handmade. Did she make this? and the chairs too?
She returns with a clipboard and pen and seats herself across from me, still wearing that friendly smirk.
"So, welcome Casey! I'm Dr. Richardson. I'm sure you know I'm an orthodontist, but do you know what kind of orthodontics I specialize in?"
"Um... no?"
"That's okay! I specialize in therapeutic orthodontics. What that means is that, in addition to regular old braces cemented to your teeth, I use a variety of unique appliances and methods both inside and outside the mouth, to ease and aid in cases of extreme emotional stress. I do this while prioritizing not just the condition of your teeth, but also your emotional health."
"So, I won't just be getting braces."
"Correct, braces are guaranteed, along with a few other things for today."
Can't say I'm too surprised. She seems like a candidate for the nicest human on Earth, but definitely a little weird. Figures I can't get away with just braces.
"A relative of a patient of mine had recommended my practice to your parents last week. I received all your relevant information with instructions to begin your treatment upon your arrival. Your parents didn't divulge too many detail-"
"I had a stress attack and I haven't been sleeping."
Her expression softens.
"I see. I am truly sorry that's happening. Regarding your treatment, your parents have issued the full payment to me in its entirety. I received their signatures as well as yours already, and everything's been processed and set. I just have a few little questions before we begin installation."
"Okay."
"Favorite color?"
"Pink."
"Next, I understand your parents also arranged work for you on the island. Do you happen to have a bike?"
"I... don't think so?"
"That's okay! I'll help you get one once we've finished for today. First things first, we're going to have you change."
She stands to open the top drawer of the filing cabinet next to us, taking what looks to be a small bulky mass of folded denim. She hands this to me and directs me to a changing room past the kitchen, telling me I have to put everything on, and place my remaining clothes into one of the bags in the changing room that I'll be taking home with me. She then leaves the living room herself to retrieve equipment from her garage.
I stand from my chair and walk towards the kitchen, noticing the clothes she handed me have something in them. Once in the changing room, I can spot instructions that my bottoms and underwear go in one of the colored bags provided, and that my shirt can stay on. In front of the room's mirror, I unfold the mass to discover it's a pair of blue denim overalls shorts. A folded pink object wrapped in the overalls falls to the floor. I quickly pick it up, realizing it's a diaper.
What?
Is this a part of the treatment? Did she hand me the wrong bundle? The short overalls look sturdy and comfortable, and like they'd fit me just fine, but a diaper? Really? I'm 24! I realize I've been in the changing room for a little while when Dr. Richardson calls from the kitchen, asking if everything's okay. I respond, asking if I'm supposed to put on the diaper too. She says yes.
Just what did I sign up for?
After a few moments of thought, and awkwardly standing facing the mirror holding a pink diaper, I decide I've come this far. I'll be having some choice words for Mom and Dad once I get the chance to call them.
I reluctantly disrobe and put on the clothing presented to me. The diaper feels, weird. Bulky and kind of in the way. The overalls don't help this sensation at all, merely pressing it against me even more. I look over myself in the mirror. At least it sort of puffs my bottom out making it look bigger. I guess I do look pretty nice in overalls. Finding a guy to date isn't exactly a priority while I'm here, but I'm curious what your average man would think of this. With my luck, everyone on this island is probably so weird this wouldn't be unheard of. I place my shorts and underwear into the gray bag provided and zip it closed. I emerge from the changing room to find Dr. Richardson eating a sandwich she'd made in the time I took getting changed.
With her mouth half full, quickly brushing bread crumbs from her hands,
"Oh! You look lovely! Very cute."
"So... the diaper."
"Oh! Yes! That is a required part of the treatment. I understand it may be a little awkward for a woman your age to have to wear one, but let me put some of your worries to rest. Firstly, you only have to wear it. You don't have to use it, understand?"
"If I don't need to use it, then why do I have to wear it?"
"A few of the treatment techniques I use for stabilizing your jaws and easing emotional stressors have side effects. Some of the light medication you'll be taking while here can potentially weaken the strength of your bladder. Fun fact! Your diapers are actually chemically treated to neutralize the ammonia compounds in waste on contact, and they're also maximum absorbency, so no need to worry about smell or leaks! I only provide the best for my patients! Now, most patients simply tuff it out and never actually use them, but you are required to wear them. I promise, this isn't a punishment."
I gesture around the puffy bulge the overalls do little to mask
"This just... feels awkward is all."
"I understand. Trust me when I say that you get accustomed to this and the rest of your treatment very quickly. Are you ready for the installations?"
Looking at her, she's being really patient with me. Mom and Dad already paid her, and I already signed on for the treatment. I guess I'm in this for the long haul.
"Yea. Let's do it."
With a sympathetic smile, Dr. Richardson steps into the living room to wheel over a large dentist's chair, connecting it to a dock in the center of the living room. The chair is an off-white almost cream color with a number of teal Velcro straps bearing a logo with a yellow flower across the seat, back and legs. I hesitantly walk closer, very conscious of the odd sensation of the diaper between my legs. I'm invited to sit onto the chair, where Dr. Richardson starts by explaining the straps as she wheels over a small table with a cloth draped over it.
"So, these are mainly for patients with involuntary muscle movement issues, but after my first 6 patients told me they preferred having the straps on, I decided to do it with all of my patients. I know this is lot to experience all in one go, so I'll give you the option of straps."
She's gotta be joking, right? Right? People actually preferred this? Sh$t. I've come this far. Why not?
"Sure. Let's do the straps."
"You got it! If you want me to take them off at any point, just let me know. Once we start the installation, I won't be pausing. We'll be installing everything in one go."
She says that like I'll be taking part in putting the braces on myself. I hop onto the chair and swing my legs into position. She starts by having me raise my arms to allow her to pull a wide strap over my stomach stretching up to my chest from my left side, then pulling over a slightly longer strap just as wide from my right side, the Velcro connects, and I notice a number of flat loops along running horizontal along the center of the top strap. She then gently brings my left arm down to a small cuff that Velcros around my upper arm. She repeats the same for the right side, the cuffs level with the large strap across my chest. She then reaches behind the chair to bring a long strap over my right shoulder that threads through the flat loop on the strap across my chest, before gently pull it back up and folding it to attach the Velcro on itself. She repeats this for the lefts side. As the second shoulder strap is gently pulled up, the large horizontal strap is softly pulled upwards with it, sitting snug against my chest. With the upper half done she steps to the middle of the chair.
"Next up are the hands!"
She starts by softly taking my left hand and placing it through a thin loop of material, then pulls a strap through a small black folding buckle to tighten it snug to my wrist, securing it next to my outer thigh. As she walks to the right side of the chair, I realize my right hand has instinctively come to the center of my chest. She pauses with a sympathetic look.
"Are you okay? We can just do one hand if you'd like."
After a moment, I nod, letting her know to keep going. She reaches for the right side's wrist buckle and presses a gray clip on the underside of a larger black section closer to the side of the chair, allowing the strap to extend. She brings to cuff up to my hand, still touching the tarp-like teal material holding my chest, and gently threads my hand through the cuff, tightens it, then grabs a black strap connecting to the lower buckle, slowly pulling the strap, with my hand in it, down to the side of my thigh.
She then grabs a long, padded strap from the right side with a buckle on the end, gently drapes it across my thighs, and walks over to the other side to buckle it to its port before pulling the buckle's strap snug, pressing gently into my tights. The material almost reaches the ends of my overalls shorts, showing a line of skin between the two. Finally, she goes to the foot of the chair, and wraps both of my ankles in their respected straps, similar to the ones Velcro'd around my upper arms.
Finished at last, she proudly places her hands onto her hips and grins endearingly.
"See? Not so bad! Try wiggling around. I'll get the rest of the equipment."
After she leaves, I attempt to wiggle and squirm, but it's no use. It's... comfortable? The straps aren't too tight, and nothing feels loose enough that I'm worried I might fall out. It feels snug. It feels a little silly to be wriggling around like this. I actually feel safe strapped up like this. Secure.
Dr. Richardson returns with two other wheeled tables of equipment, bringing them over to a spot behind the chair. She presses a button, and the back of the chair begins to recline. I notice the straps around my wrists and the buckles they connect to are shifting along a track attached to the seat that allows them to move naturally with the chair. That's kind of a neat feature. Once I'm truly at the mercy of Dr. Richardson in that quintessential dental position, she hums to herself as she readies her tools.
"You know, there is a separate restraint system for your head and face! I don't generally use it with my patients, since it's rather... excessive..."
As if this isn't excessive...
"But for your next appointment I can certainly bring it out for you if you want! Completely up to you!"
"Sure. Why not?"
"Sounds good! Now, let's get started!"
