It started small. My teeth clenched, then they ground against each other, top to bottom with no space in between. My lower jaw trembled, then to shook. I tried desperately to make it stop, to shift my teeth away from each other but it only became worse.
My jaws started pistoning, my teeth clacking together. I tried to dig my fingers in between my clenched, chattering teeth but could barely bring them to my mouth. I finally thrust my fingers at my teeth and shoved with all my might.
Two fingers wedged, finally, between my teeth. But my jaws were working like a well-oiled machine and they clamped down with bone crunching force.
At last, the tears came. My teeth clattered wildly as I yanked my fingers free. The sound was like a jackhammer in my ears. My heart pummeled against its cage and my throat constricted like a vise. My tears flew about me as my head shook and nodded and rattled.
Somehow, I curled into a ball, my knees drawn up to my pistoning chin, my trembling hands at my forehead. My fingers, splayed and bent backwards, almost touched my wrists.
Terrified, I waited, and prayed, for death to take this painful misery from me. Then, somewhere above the deafening racket, I heard a rush of air. A small point of light appeared. It exploded in a blinding flash.
My mother knelt beside me. As she rested her hand gently on my vibrating back, she spoke.
”No, Lauren.”
Though she only whispered, her voice fell around me like thunder. It covered me and calmed me. My muscles began to loosen. The shaking became a mere tremble. My eyes slowly opened.
There was no light, no mother and no more convulsing. There was only me, sitting on the floor in a puddle of my own tears.
I picked up the ringing phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi Lauren. It’s your mother.”
