Spit It Out

My most favourite food in the world used to be toffee. I loved that way that it glued my gums together and left my teeth feeling… fuzzy.

My dad has always worked in the sweet industry – ever since he graduated from The University of Manchester in Physics. He’s real smart, my dad, and one of the nicest people that I’ve ever met. Apart from my grandad, but we don’t talk about him anymore.

My dad always brought me, and my sister, toffee when he went away on business trips. But he doesn’t anymore and I can’t eat toffee anymore.

It all started with my hair. I would grow it real long, and then cut it and shave it. I would snap it off at the root and twist it around my fingers until they went purple.

I have always hated the colour purple and the way that it makes me feel.

Purple is dark and bitter and mysterious and hateful. It makes me think of raw meat and dead bodies on lame TV shows. I hate the way it makes me feel. I like that I have control of purple now. I command purple now. I am the colour purple now.

Nowadays, I eat a lot of mashed potato – it’s easy to swallow. I ate a lot of ice-cream to start with, but it makes me have a poorly tummy. Sometimes I indulge in it anyway. It’s good to let it go and feel empty sometimes, but right now, I feel empty all of the time.

I miss eating toffee.

I was thinking, just the other day, about how whenever it’s Boppa’s birthday we always get him huge bricks of toffee, in every single flavour, and how he sits there and sucks it until every last part is gone.

I don’t have enough patience for that and I watch every time as he tears up when he’s swallowing the liquid sugar. It’s not the same as when he has teeth and could pick it out for hours with his fingers and re-chew it until it is all gone.

I went through a lot of shit when I was younger. I guess you could say that I was ‘weird’, but I was also ‘pretty’, so it’s all okay.

One time, my friends and I, did a ‘Physical Attractiveness Test’ and I got 10/10 for my teeth. I am always smiling and laughing for them. On my own I would eat ice-cream, or, nowadays, suck and swallow mashed potato.

A girl that I knew decided to take her own life one night – in the early hours of the morning – and I was there. I listened and was there for her until 8am, until I had to go.

I felt responsible for a long time. I still do, but at least now, it makes a good story.

The next month was an absolute blur. I only remember the tiniest of fragments. My dad would call me twice a week and I would cry. My boyfriend would take home stray cats and feed them their hearts’ desires until the early hours of the morning. And I would buy myself boxes of Krispy Kreme Caramel Toffee ‘donuts’.

One morning I woke up and my bed was wet.

I looked around but he wasn’t there. He was too busy bringing these pussies back to life. Maybe I feel asleep with my bottle of vodka – or was it rum this time? – again, but I couldn’t find anything phallic no matter how hard I tried.

I pulled up the covers and all that I could see was purple. It frightened me. I went into my bathroom and began to wash the nightmare off of my skin – sticky and raw.

That’s when I felt it. I felt numb. And something was missing.

In my sink there sat a pair of scissors and a diamond – a jewel – a piece of ivory – in a cubonic-shape with three and a half stems dangling down.

I don’t smile anymore, but I wouldn’t anyway.

I miss chewing toffee but I know that could never suck it for hours only to just spit it out.

Everyone has 32 teeth that they keep until they die. I am counting down the days.

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