ANDREW JACKSON AND THE GUM DISEASE, GINGIVITIS

By

Aaron Sitze

"I'm worried about the gum disease gingivitis," Andrew Jackson said.  We sat in the shadows of the spruce in May's mid-morning warming.  Andrew Jackson sat with his legs crossed on an old stump, his bulb of a chin leading his face in a survey of his surroundings. I sat in my chair, and my arms rested like cats.

"Uh-huh," I said.  My mind was on more important things.  The garlic had pushed up its spicy green fingers from the garden, and when the wind blew, they waved a gentle hello to me.

"Hello garlic," I said, waving discreetly so Andrew Jackson wouldn't notice.

It's a nice morning, the garlic said.

"Goddamn inflammation of the gums." Andrew Jackson muttered.  He ran his fingers roughly through his white hair, which stood up as though called to attention.

"It's a serious condition" he told me sternly, "and it's afflicting a sizable portion of our nation.  I fear it may yet afflict me."

"Don't doubt it," I said.  The garlic and onions were getting ready to have a thumb war.  One, two, three, four, they said, let's have a thumb war.  I noticed the onion unfurling a new sprout that, in the next few days, would reach across the row and hook the garlic's shoots.  But I didn't say anything.  I knew the garlic would just complain and grow unevenly.  Besides, having the garlic defeated by the onion would give its greens an extra kick.

"I won't doubt it.  I won't at all," Andrew Jackson said, turning to face me.  His eyebrows had grown considerably since I had seen him last.  They balanced dangerously on his face.

"I meant I don't doubt it.  That it's a problem.  Gingivitis."

"That name: gingivitis.  Like a mad Russian.  There's a sergeant in Vermont who had to quit the service because of gingivitis, you know.  Didn't even know how he got it. Probably some young tart."  Andrew Jackson pulled a lime out of his breast pocket. "Me, I'm not taking any chances."  He jabbed his thumbnail into the lime and began to peel it. 

"What are you going to do with that lime?" I asked.

"Well," he said, "limes cure all manners of mouth diseases.  The disease reacts to the lime, and releases its hold on the mouth tissues.  In fact, the only reason that limes taste sour is because of the reaction they have with disease in the mouth.  If your mouth were completely disease free, limes would taste as sweet as peppermint.  Therefore, limes are not only a good indicator of the disease level in your mouth, but sucking on them and spitting frequently will prevent the onset of the dreaded gum disease gingivitis.  Good oral hygiene is incredibly important, you see, in my line of work."  In one motion, he flicked the last of the peels into the air, and before it landed, he ballooned his mouth with the lime.

Andrew Jackson's face went into contortions, his eyebrows jerking and braiding themselves for strength.  He stood up from the stump and shook his body.  The lime juice ran down his jowls and fell into the earth.  There was a look of confused amazement on his face when he finally sat down.

"How often do you have to do that?" I asked.

"Two to three times a day is best," he said, running his tongue over his teeth.  "But from what I'm told, the gum disease gingivitis will take advantage of any foothold it can get.  Inflame the hell out of your gums, quick as silver.  I want my mouth as clean as it can be, so it's limes for me until they start tasting sweet."  He got to his feet and straightened out his long, woolen coat.  It was navy-blue and hugged his waist.

"New coat?"

"It is indeed."

"Looks like a girl's coat to me," I said.

"It had better not be," Andrew Jackson said.