All blackness but spotlights like a movie set. I was still in high school, but couldn't go this day because I was sick with the problem of my teeth coming out. They didn't fall or anything, but came out as if glued together between the cracks--a mouth shaped set, newly removable both top and bottom. And the spaces ached without the roots. On the way to spending the day shopping at an underground mall with a friend, I adopted the habit of taking my teeth out to have him gape at what was beneath them--a powdery, blackish burnt umber surface dry as if colored with conti crayon. My youngest sister was even younger (Martha, 15) and also sick, so she came along as we took the elevator down to the shops. The doors parted to reveal what looked like the dullest doctor's waiting room--off white walls and a crowded, friendly reception desk. It was then that I remembered the one task mom left us for the day: to drop off a card, marked with an 8 digit code, at this very desk so the clown would remember Martha's upcoming birthday party.